Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Act One

Sweat drips from the tip of her nose. The droplets land around her feet as she practises amongst the others. The ballet studio is bathed in the soft, natural light of midday sun as it streams through the expansive floor to ceiling windows that cast a warm, golden hue on the polished hardwood floor. Mirrors, pristine and unblemished, line one side of the room, reflecting the image of the ballet barres that stretch across the opposition and the graceful forms of the dancers. The melodic notes of the classical music acts as a soundtrack to the room, adorned with the gentle rustle of wrap skirts and worn ballet slippers as each of them work through the intricate steps.

Glissade, piqué first arabesque, retiré passe devant and into third. The first repetition.

"Again!"

Each dancer takes several steps backwards. Glissade, piqué first arabesque, retiré passe devant and into third. The second repetition. Stay en pointe.

Third repetition comes after another instruction to go again. Glissade, piqué first arabesque, retiré– Shit! She thinks when she can't seem to stay en pointe, stay on your toes.

Another shout and the dancers return to their starting positions, each breathing heavily and watching each other carefully. The early July heat has their hair sticking to the napes of their necks and their forehead as strands fall out of the girl's buns. The sequence repeats four times and they must stay en pointe, each careful not to look at the dwindling time on the large clock on the back wall beside the District One emblem. I must stay en pointe, she thinks, I can do this. With a deep breath, they each make it through the sequence of steps once and then twice. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest as the sunlight streams brighter through the windows. The third repetition is complete, then the fourth, and the music shuts off; signalling an end to the morning rehearsal since everyone inside is required to present themselves in the main square at two o'clock this afternoon.

Taking a gulp out of her water bottle, she wipes the sweat from the back of her neck with the soft hand towel embroidered with her initials; SN. She shakes out the fatigue in her legs and leans down to remove her pointe shoes, ignoring the conversations humming around her. Her toes are throbbing, one bleeding and sporting a large new blister that she could feel through her pointe shoes with every roll over; but it's something she's always been taught. Pushing through searing pain has been drilled into her from a young age, even at the tender age of three, the prima ballerinas and teachers seemingly preparing their future dancers for the rewarding life of a dancer.

"Hey! Earth calling!"

Fingers snap in front of her face, startling her out of her daydream. Jupiter stands beside her, patting at her face with her own towel and the furrow of her brow is almost hidden by the thick fringe that she keeps out of the bun.

"Sorry." She shakes away her thoughts; turning her attention back to placing her pointe shoes into her dance bag and replacing them with her normal ballet flats. "You were saying?"

"Are you okay?" The friend beside her asks, genuine concern written across her face. "What's got you so distracted today?"

"Is it the Reaping?" Paris, another of their friends asks her. "You shouldn't be so worried, girly, there's always a volunteer."

She takes a deep breath. That's exactly what. But of course, she can't exactly tell that to her group of friends. Not without them fretting and worrying over her, and replacing her in the ballet school's end of year production. The one they were already practising for in early July. It has to be perfect. She's finally earned the role of Aurora in their showcase - if she can hang on to it.

"Speaking of," Zeal says, running his hand through his hair. "Do we know who's been chosen this year?"

"I heard someone say Silino was picked last night." Cullinan pipes up, stuffing his hoodie into his duffel bag after deciding it was far too hot to wear clothing other than the vest top he had danced in.

"The girls?" Holly pries as she joins them from the changing rooms, already having removed her leotard and put on comfortable shorts and a loose fitting tee. "C'mon goldilocks," she nudges her elbow into her friend's ribs. "Your siblings are our latest victors, you must know who they've picked!"

"Sorry?" She repeats, not having paid much attention to their conversation.

"Seriously, what's up with you?" Paris asks.

"I'm okay," she says, trying to get out of the group's questioning. "Just... I'm always nervous today, especially after Mere, and with the recital, you know. There's a lot on my mind."

"Of course." Jupiter says, tone filled with reassurance. "It must be awful having your siblings leave for weeks at a time. I'd go insane without my sister around. If you need anything then you just let me know, okay? We can go over your steps together, if you want."

She smiles at her appreciatively and nods, relieved when she seemingly drops the topic, only for Cullinan to bring her siblings back up. "I'd love to be like them. The Capitol seems so luxurious, I mean imagine the size of the ballet studios over there, and the riches they have. I swear they both come back richer every year, it's insane!"

"It's not all that," she shrugs, "they're pretty busy with— actually, you know what, nevermind."

"C'mon!" Paris' tone is inquisitive.

"Let's leave it, yeah?" Jupiter shuts the conversation down, smiling when she receives a small smile of gratitude from the subject of the questioning. "We can't have our Aurora having stress fractures already."

Paris huffs but quickly changes the topic of conversation, choosing to speak about how each of them are doing their hair for the Reaping and who they're going with; knowing that being seventeen and eighteen - or almost seventeen in her case - makes them more than likely to be on camera in the square. The six friends step out of the studio and onto the warm streets of District One, the summer air immediately heating up their skin. Several of her friends whistle knowingly as they spot her boyfriend, Maverick leaning casually against the white brick wall of the dance studio, eyes closed as he soaks up the sun. A smile lights up his face as he sees their group approaching, "hey, baby girl."

"Hey."

"That looked... difficult. Well, fun for you I guess... Graceful too, but you know, difficult. I could never do that." He rambles, making her laugh.

"And that's why you aren't a dancer." She responds, pressing a chaste kiss to his check, surprising him.

"What was that for?" Maverick questions with a smile, his cheeks turning a pale blush of red whilst she leans against the wall next to him, just shrugging sweetly.

"How long were you watching?"

"Not long," he responds, grabbing her hand and picking a pen out of his pocket. He begins to doodle on the skin of her hand, making her mind swim with ideas about how she is going to be able to cover this up or get him to stop with rousing suspicion. "Paris and I are going to go shopping at the market when it opens after the reaping."

"Should I be worried?" She jokes.

"No, we're just looking for a gift for something happening soon." He notices the sly smile that spreads across her face, and shakes his head, gripping her hand tighter. "I've said too much."

"Don't tell her you found out," he sighs, nodding his head towards the dirty blonde girl laughing with the rest of her ballet friends a few paces away. "Yes, we're supposed to be shopping for a gift for next week. For your birthday. What would you like for your birthday?"

"I'm not sure," she shrugs nonchalantly, "maybe some new ballet shoes, or just the ribbons."

He nods and all their friends join them by the brick wall again, and they enjoy the sun before Holly asks, "what time is it? I'll need to leave by one if I have any chance of being ready in time."

Cullinan looks through the large windows of the ballet studio, peering slightly so that he is in view of the time. "Twelve twenty, why?"

"Twelve twenty?" She screeches in disbelief before frantically running in the direction of her house and ignoring the confused calls of her friends behind her. If she doesn't leave now, she is going to be seriously late for her pre-reaping preparations. She already is late, and her siblings are not going to be happy with her. She's never late.

The streets, usually busy around noon with the bustle of school children on lunch and adults travelling to and from work, is tranquil as most of the population prepares for the reaping, and so her hurried footsteps echo. As she rounds the familiar corner, the girl's ballet slippers whisper against the pavement, their rhythm punctuated by the occasional gasp of breath. The neatly bowed ribbon of her ballet bun has begun to come loose, tendrils of hair escaping like golden threads caught under the sun. She frantically reaches up to secure the bun that adorns the crown of her head, fingers tugging at the carefully arranged bobby pins until the strands come loose and her hair cascades behind her just as the door to her house looms ahead.

Bursting through the door, her ballet bag swings wide and she skids to a stop along the hardwood floors, her breath heaving. With a quick glance at the mirror, she adjusts her now tousled hair and dares to push open the door to the living room.

"Satin Eve Nicholo!" Her mum's voice rings through the room. Her mum, brother and sister are all sitting in wait on the couch. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, the academy's prep team has been waiting for you."

"I'm so sorry." Satin directs her apologies to the prep team sitting in pop up chairs surrounded by boxes of makeup and hair appliances. "I lost track of time at rehearsal. I'll be quick."

"You don't have time to shower." The hair stylist tells us, pointing at the watch secured to her wrist.

"I do. You won't want to work on my face like this. I promise I'll be five minutes." Satin smiles softly, before running up the stairs towards the bathroom before anyone can stop her. Throwing her ballet clothes in a pile beside the shower, she doesn't even wait for the water to warm up before hopping in and scrubbing the sweat from her body and out of her hairline, making sure she uses her favourite raspberry scented body washes and shampoo. When she hears her mum call for her again she jumps out and hastily dries herself off, then running downstairs in the white bathrobe left hanging on the hook behind the door.

As soon as she re-enters the living room, the prep team swarms her and immediately moves her into one of the pop up chairs. They get started straight away; the sounds of hair dryers and other tools filling the room. Makeup artists are light handed as they work, highlighting her cheekbones and running colour in the naturally slim contours and over the apples of her cheeks; plucking and primping as they go. Her hair, once dry, is meticulously straightened and then the barrel hair waver is used to give the golden blonde some bounce and to make sure that the waves aren't at all frizzy. The highest ranking member of the prep team then brings in the outfit that the academy has provided her with before they each pack up their belongings and leave the house within what seems like seconds.

Satin quickly changes into the jumpsuit, which has conveniently been made out of her namesake, and as she looks at it she can already tell that her outfit is much more luxurious than the dress the girl last year was provided with, and she knows this is due to the victor status of her siblings. The baby pink hue of the jumpsuit is reminiscent of the candyfloss skies and whispers of innocence and sweetness. It's immediately clear of the strategy she is expected to play upon once she arrives in the Capitol. She'll have to have a word with her sister about that. The v-neck neckline adds a touch of sophistication to the outfit, the thick straps balancing perfectly on her shoulders and leaving the top of her back exposed. Cashmere appears behind her.

"You don't have to do this, you know." Her sister whispers as she slides the cream jacket over her shoulders.

"She's right, Tina." Gloss says quietly, appearing in the door. "No one knows it's you other than the trainers. I know that you've never really wanted to do this."

"It's okay." She smiles as she turns to face both of her siblings. The latest victors from District One. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mere." Satin sighs, "the directors have cleared me, I've practised with knives with you every day and Gloss has taught me how to properly use a sword if I have to."

"Okay." Gloss agrees with a nod. "Then we'll be there every step of the way to get you whatever you need."

"Thank you, but I'll be okay, trust me."

"You're my baby sister, Satin." Cashmere implores. "I'm not going to sugarcoat anything because they're only going to target you in there, but I'm just looking out for you. It's okay to not go through with this if you're worried about anything at all."

"I'm not scared if that's what you're asking." Satin rolls her eyes. "I know what I'm getting myself into."

Cashmere sighs, "I know, I know. I just want you to know that you have a choice, okay?"

"No I don't." Satin laughs sarcastically. "I never had a choice, the second you won your games, I always knew I was next. But you've both prepared me as well as you can, and besides the trainers told me that every seventeen and eighteen year old is weak. I'm their best option. I'm not going to sentence some poor untrained girl to her death."

Cashmere sighs again but Gloss snorts at his youngest sister's words, causing both sisters to slap him; Cashmere on the back of his head whilst Satin hits his shoulder. The ride to the justice building is short, given that the volunteers always get the luxury of being escorted to the reaping. As they step out of the car, Cashmere and Gloss give their younger sister a tight hug before they are escorted away to join the other victors on the stage. "You've got this."

Approaching the desk, the peacekeeper on duty takes a small blood sample from the tip of her finger and as he instructs her to create a fingerprint beside her name, he gives her a knowing smirk. "May the odds be ever in your favour, Miss Nicholo."

She smiles shyly at him and as she passes into the main square, she receives glares from the older classes. Satin keeps her head down, watching the floor in front of her as she walks and somehow manages to avoid the bewildered looks of her group of friends, each of them buried in the middle of the rows of teenagers. Satin, however, follows the directions of the academy trainers and stands at the end of her row and pointedly ignores the whispers around her.

"Tina!" Paris shouts, trying to catch her attention but she just shakes her head slightly and keeps her gaze trained ahead for a few seconds before Jupiter's face appears in her eye line.

"Satin?" She asks carefully, "what's going on?"

Then, the clock tower chimes out for two o'clock and the mayor steps forward to commence the Reaping, welcoming the District's children into his square. Satin can't focus on the pre-reaping ceremonies, remaining still as the mayor launches into his speech, the reading of the treaty and the usual video outlining the meaning of the Hunger Games. The video sounds distorted as it finishes and then the mayor introduces each of District One's victors, and Satin watches her brother wave to the cheering crowd. Then her sister. After everyone in the district focuses on their escort, Amaryllis Barclay, she speaks jovially into the microphone. "May I wish you all a very happy Hunger Games!"

Her purple ponytail swishes as she teeters towards the Reaping bowl, on giant lime green heeled boots that perfectly match her lipstick. "As usual, ladies first."

Her hand dives into the glass ball and she makes a show of picking various pieces of paper out before dropping them back in and clutching another with her long purple fingernails. Satin finds herself thinking about why the escort even bothers with the formality of the Reaping when everyone already knows there's a volunteer lined up every year. It doesn't really matter which name is fished out of that bowl. Finally, after several faux picks, Amaryllis holds a slip of paper, slowly unfolding it and clearing her throat.

"Jupiter Cassidy."

Satin barely has time to hear her friend's gasp in front of her before her hand is raised high in the air. "I volunteer as tribute."

Jupiter lets out a held breath, shoulders relaxing until she registers the voice that volunteered and she spins rapidly on her heels to watch her friend. Amaryllis is smiling at her from the stage as Satin is escorted by peacekeepers onto the stage, head held high and a soft smile across her features, being careful to lift her feet as she walks to avoid scuffing her shoes or tripping up the steps in her haze. She casts a glance at her sister who looks almost pale, even underneath the bright smile and all the makeup the prep teams coated her in, before looking at her brother who smiles widely at her and nods encouragingly.

The escort gives her an expectant look, "and your name, sugar?"

"Satin Nicholo."

The district cheers and it drowns out the words of the escort, but Satin can't tell if that's because she's nervous having everyone's eyes on her in a non-ballet setting. I suppose I better get used to this, she thinks through the smile beginning to hurt her cheeks. Amaryllis slowly makes her way over the bowl filled with male names, fishing around performatively again, and Satin uses this time to look over the faces of the crowd, trying to find this year's male volunteer.

Silino Gatlin volunteers seconds after the boy's name is read aloud. He's eighteen and impossibly tall, even to Satin who stands at a tall height for an almost seventeen year old girl. He's toned and everyone can recognise his confidence as he walks up the steps of the stage. Standing at about six foot five, he's larger than most other volunteers but it means he will be awful if they end up in an arena where stealth is required. Satin finds herself hoping that they will be, before pushing the thought away and shaking Silino's hand as the escort repeats their names one final time and leads them into the justice building so that they can say their goodbyes.

In the justice building, one of the peacekeepers escorts Satin down the hallway to the left whilst Silino is taken into a room on the right side of the building, before the guards leave their rooms, if only to stand outside the door and filter their visitors. Looking around, Satin finds herself in an elegant room with plush pale golden carpets, fleur de lis wallpaper and a selection of couches and armchairs arranged carefully around the grate fireplace. A small, dark wood table in between the selection of seating, housing several crystal bottles and glasses, clearly used as a reception room when members of the Capitol visit the district. She recognises the room as the same one she visited when she came to say good luck to Cashmere two years ago, and tries to work out if anything has changed since she was last in the justice building but she doesn't get much of a chance as a knock on the door signals that her first visitors are here.

Her parents step through the door. Her mother wears a bright smile on her face, one identical to the grin that can often be seen on herself and Cashmere, and also Gloss too - if you know what you're looking for. Whereas her father's eyes are wet and slightly tinged red. They both knew this day was coming eventually but while her mother looks more than assured in her abilities, her father looks sick with nerves. She hugs her mother first, and the older woman blinks away the beginning of tears from her eyes as she runs her fingers through her daughter's blonde curls before stepping back and allowing Satin to bring her dad into a hug. He embraces her in an enormous hug, his natural soft and reserved personality mirroring hers and it's like they can communicate telepathically, but he sighs softly and strokes the back of her head lovingly. "You win this thing my littlest princess, my ballerina. I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your seventeenth birthday but I'm sure your siblings will have special privileges. Make sure they look after you, yeah?"

"Yeah." Satin says quietly at the same time her mother says, "of course they will."

Her mum is the one to ask the question, "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Make sure they don't replace me in the ballet? Please." Satin begs, pleading with her mother to do anything in her power to stop the ballet school picking another Aurora on the assumption that she won't be returning home.

The door opens again and a Peacekeeper gestures her parents out of the room, her dad finally stepping back after a few moments and taking a long glance at his youngest daughter before they are required to leave the room, doing so with a smile. Seconds later her friendship group spills inside, toppling over each other in a manner so ungraceful that nobody would believe they're ballet dancers.

"Satin, why?" Holly asks, bringing her friend into a hug.

"You volunteered for me." Jupiter breathes out.

Satin shakes her head. "I'm sorry that your name was called like that."

"You were the chosen volunteer, weren't you?" Cullinan asks her with a quick raise of his eyebrow. The question makes everyone in the small visitors room laugh, cutting the growing tension immediately; though they can tell it's a serious question that needs to be answered.

"Of course I was." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "They told me last night, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I was just so stressed about it going well."

"That's why you freaked when you learnt it was twenty past twelve, wasn't it?" Zeal asks, committing his usual habit of running his fingers through the straw-like texture of his dark brown hair. The boy looks her up and down and gestures to her jumpsuit. "And this outfit..."

"You look stunning, goldilocks." The compliment leaves Paris' mouth and everyone gasps. Paris isn't known for her tendency to give compliments. In fact, it's quite the opposite; the girl rarely gives even an inch of praise to someone that isn't her. "Oh don't look at me like that," she laughs, "I can't pay one of my oldest friends a compliment before she has to fight for her life?"

"Are you ready?" Jupiter stammers, still evidently shaken up by having her name called out at the Reaping. "I mean, you can't exactly kill someone with your dancing."

"Of course she is," Cullinan's voice overshadows hers. "Her siblings are our latest victors, Jupe. She was practically born for this, and she'll come home stronger than ever."

"I know, it's just that I- I guess I..." Jupiter's voice trails off.

"Spit it out, Jupe. We're here to see Satin off, not talk about your issues with the Reaping." Paris deadpans, a slight edge to her voice, but it's all in love. At least I think it is, Satin wonders.

"It was nearly me and I don't think I'd be able to kill someone, that's all."

"I've been training knives with Mere after rehearsals, and Gloss has taught me the basics of sword fighting. I'll be okay, trust me." Satin explains.

"I just wish you would have told us before now." Holly sighs, picking at the skin around her lips in a nervous habit. One which the ballet academy's instructors and directors have been trying to get her to quit for years, though unsuccessful.

"I didn't know how to bring it up." Satin tries. "I wasn't going to just burst out with it during rehearsal."

"Well, you should have." Holly spits out, turning on her heel and leaving the room before she is even called. Paris apologises to her quickly with a small curse under her breath and chases their shortest friend out of the justice building. Zeal is the next to leave, pressing a short kiss to her cheek and wishing her good luck.

"You don't need luck, Tina." Jupiter reminds her. "I know you can win this."

Soon after she leaves with a tight squeeze in parting, leaving only Satin and Cullinan alone in the visitor's room. They stand there in silence for a few seconds before the boy steps closer to her, placing one hand on her lower back and the other holds one of her golden waves. His hand begins to move even lower as he speaks, "you're far too pretty to die in the arena."

"What?" She manages to whisper, face contorting into an expression of anger.

"Try to stay alive." He says as his hand rests on the curve of her ass. "If not for yourself, then for me and Maverick. I've always wondered what it's like to be with you, you can't die until I've had the chance to experience that. Unless you think we have time now?"

"No." Satin's choice of tone is strong, pushing the boy off of her and slapping him around the face. He looks surprised at her strength but a smirk crawls across his face and he leaves.

She's left alone in the room, and a few minutes pass until she's wondering if her boyfriend is even coming to say goodbye to her at all. She paces the room, until she hears the door being thrown open and Maverick stumbles in accompanied by an instruction of the Peacekeeper guard that they only have a minute remaining.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He says.

Satin shrugs, "it's okay, you're here now."

"Don't let them kill you. Silino's an idiot. He doesn't deserve to be in there with you." Mavericks rolls his eyes, breath still heavy from what Satin now knows is the run from the male volunteer's visitors room to hers. "Don't form an alliance with him."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust him around you. He's trouble." Maverick sighs, speaking to his girlfriend like she's a child.

"This is ridiculous, Maverick." Satin remains calm. "He's my district partner now, I'm going to have to have his back for at least a little while. Can we please not argue about this right before I get on the train."

"You're right, baby girl." The brunette boy holds onto his girlfriend's hands. He pulls her in towards his body and places a short kiss on her lips. "Try not to die. I'm not sure that I'll survive without you. I think I love you."

The Peacekeeper re-entering the room prevents Satin from answering because the door opens harshly and the officer shoves Maverick behind him, pulling him quickly out of the room. Within seconds, she's alone in the room again, but it doesn't last long as the door is soon pulled open and Marvel enters the room.

The tall boy looks around, taking in the different items of furniture, walking around and examining the different woods and textures, even reaching a hand out to trace the fleur de lises on the wallpaper before he turns to face his friend when she clears her throat. He laughs. "You'd think this room would be nicer, wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"I mean, golden carpets definitely shouldn't be paired with dark woods and whatever kind of dark yellow wallpaper this is." He justifies, sitting down in one of the available chairs and waiting for Satin to do the same, clearly not worried about the time limit that they're given for these goodbyes. He holds one of the crystal glasses in his hand, watching as it shines under the sunlight streaming through the window before he continues. "I would've thought that they'd give us nicer furniture, it looks like we could be in District Nine. Anyway, I came to see you just to tell you not to die."

"Why? You want a go at me too?" Satin scoffs.

Marvel's face scrunches up in disgust. "Ew, Tina, that's disgusting. Don't get me wrong, you're beautiful, you know, objectively. But you've been my best friend for years, it'd be like dating my sister. Who said that shit to you?"

She ignores his question to ask, "then why're you here?"

"I want you to come back home. If you don't then who am I going to laugh with, or at? Who's going to see the raccoons with me if you die?" He explains simply, before removing the comedy from his voice when the Peacekeepers remind him of his time limit. "Look, you're smart and you're pretty - again, objectively. You can use both of those things to your advantage in the arena, I know you can because we both know that Silino's not as smart as you are. Don't let whoever came in here before mess with your brain, especially if it was Maverick because you know you have to take everything he says with a handful of sugar."

"A pinch of salt." Satin laughs, correcting his idiom.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Marvel waves off her correction, standing to bring her into a quick hug before the Peacekeepers barge through the doors and grab him by his upper arm, while another enters to pull Satin away in the direction of the train. "You got this, see you soon, raccoon."

Once they have been led onto the train, Satin takes the time to examine her surroundings. The train is a lot nicer than any other place in District One, and that's saying something when you consider that Districts One and Two are the richer districts in comparison to the rest of Panem; and Satin can't help but think about how the outer district tributes must feel at the extravagance of the train carts. The train immediately starts to move and the speed makes Satin's stomach twist. She's never been on a train before, there was never any need for her to travel anywhere further than the small town that is home to her maternal grandparents. Her preferred, and only really, method of transportation is walking, given that she walks to and from school, the ballet studio and the training academy day in and day out; with the occasional bi-weekly short journey to Victor's Village to see her siblings.

The train is even fancier than anything in One. She's never seen a room as lavishly furnished as this train car, not at the training academy, not at the theatre and not even in Cashmere's or Gloss' houses in Victor's Village. Every single piece of furniture is somehow the most expensive thing she's ever seen and she can't help but stare until Amaryllis leads the two tributes into the dining cart, where four of District One's Victors are sitting in wait. The two mentors - Ledger and Regina who each won a decade ago - and their junious counterparts, both of Satin's siblings, welcome them into the room. This is Gloss' second full year as a mentor and Cashmere's first but as they've only just officially aged in, they'll be shadowing the two older mentors until next year.

"Satin. Silino." Gloss says, and Satin has to do her best to stop from jumping at the sudden sound of her brother's voice. "Come and sit down, you need to eat."

The two of them take a seat at the two seats reserved for them on the one side of the table. The table itself is solid mahogany, and just as lavish as the furniture in the other rooms, with matching chairs with tufted cushions of a deep green colour. Avoxes then enter the cart, bringing out various dinner plates. Rich varieties of soup; crisp, fresh salads; before a high protein meal of roasted poultry, with side courses of potatoes, grilled vegetables and cheeses. None of them speak during the meal, though Satin recognises the discomfort in Cashmere's eyes as her older sister refuses to make direct eye contact, forcing her to remain looking down at her plate. The meal is incredible, cooked to perfection and the perfect balance of food groups that Satin is sure that the nutrition teams from District One must have a say in the meal they're provided with because it's not unlike the meals they're instructed to make at home. Although, she thinks, it tastes so much better when you don't have to prepare it yourself.

Once the meal is over and the plates have been cleared away, the escort guides them into another cart of the train; one with a large stretched couch, and a giant screen secured to the wall. The broadcast has just begun and Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith can be found on the screen, speaking animatedly to each other about the diverse group of tributes they've been gifted with this year.

It's Ledger who speaks up next, deep voice booming through the train carriage. "We're going to watch the recaps of the Reaping so I want you both to make mental notes on who you think could cause you any issues and who could be helpful."

They sit down beside their mentors, Satin perched next to her sister, as the oldest mentor points to the screen where the Reaping for District One has just started. She watches as the screen plays District One first, of course. Her own volunteering is replayed for the nation, and she's pleased with herself when there isn't a second of hesitation after Jupiter's name was called out. She looks confident on the walk through the square and there's no sign of anxiety on her features as she climbs across the stage and introduces herself, nor is there any apprehension when the Silino volunteers himself, moving to stand beside on the stage. They look just how Satin expected; perfect District One volunteers.

Their allies in District Two are large - also perfectly fitting their expectations. The girl looks to be around five foot five, maybe five-six at a stretch, but Satin is sure that she's going to have a few inches on the girl, something which may just play to her advantage. She's got dark brown hair and her eyes look to be a matching shade when the camera focuses on the determination shining through; replaying the moment she thrust her hand into the air over and over again until the camera changes to show her partner volunteering. The male tribute from Two stands at about six feet, matching the girl's appearance almost to a tee. Brown hair, though it's mousier, and brown eyes. Both of District Two's tributes are large, packed with visible muscle and have the characteristic bloodthirsty expression that everyone has come to recognise as the markings of those from District Two. Though, they don't seem to be as dull as the volunteers from the previous three years, and Satin makes a mental note of this; noticing that her siblings are making eye contact over her head, and probably thinking the same thing.

District Three is unremarkable, both of the tributes being under sixteen and short, wiry characters with little to no muscle. District Four however appear older and stronger than they have in the past, with both of their tributes looking as if they're sixteen or seventeen, and leaving Satin wondering how they're going to feel about having a new mentor who is younger than they are. The girl especially looks to be about average height also, with a dirty blonde tone to her strands and piercing blue eyes that look even sharper through the tears that she is desperately blinking back. That minor detail is something that would likely be overlooked by the outer districts, none of them being afraid to cry on the stage after having their names pulled, but both of the tributes from One can recognise it immediately, and those from Two are likely to have similar thoughts on their own train. It's something they can work with though, and Satin makes a mental note to ask her sister if she thinks that the Fours are worth including in their alliance as the two of them engage in a strong handshake on stage.

Districts Five and Six are both averagely aged, with tributes looking around fifteen, but they're incredibly skinny and clearly underfed, with each of them sporting sullen facial features and dark rings under their eyes. District Seven are on the younger side, appearing to be about twelve or thirteen, and cry on stage out of fear. The broadcast quickly moves away from the anguish of the children's parents and onto District Eight, where a large boy is chosen. He's evidently peeved, if the sour expression on his face is anything to go by, and his eyes seem to glint angrily as he takes the stage and glares into the crowd. There's an argument brewing at the edge of the roped off area of the square and the peacekeepers quickly usher the boy, and his shaking district partner into the justice building. The next to show is District Nine and both tributes are weeping uncontrollably, probably due to their age. Satin can't help but feel sorry for them. She knows that she shouldn't, they're going to have to die if she's to return home, but they're both young and small and full of panic. She's relieved when they move on to District Ten, because she doesn't want to come across as weak in front of Silino. There's no way that he's feeling sorry for them, she thinks as she casts a quick glance in his direction and finds him watching the screen intently with a smile on his face. The girl in District Ten looks bored - for the lack of a better word. Her expression is confusing but Satin makes a note of it anyway, knowing that it's something she can bring up to the mentors after this has all finished. Her district partner, and then both of the tributes in District Eleven afterwards, all seem well fed, and if she had to guess, Satin would think that they're likely part of their district's merchant class. But they don't exactly scream of bloodthirsty nature, even with their size. Finally, District Twelve is as eventful as always, which isn't much. The district square is tiny and seems spacious when compared to that of the others, and it's deathly quiet as the names are pulled. When the tributes are finally on the stage, they can be analysed fairly quickly, both skinny and tall and underfed, looking as if they're practically starved. The girl can't be much older than fourteen, whilst the boy looks to be older but likely weighs less than she does.

Then the anthem plays to close off the visuals before Caesar and Claudius begin to speak again, analysing each of the tributes closely. It seems as if Regina moves to mute the television but when their own Reaping is the first to be analysed as potential contenders, she leaves the volume up to hear what the commentators are saying.

Claudius is the first to speak. "I wondered when we would see this one, Caesar." He points a laser onto the picture of the two tributes on stage, standing up straight with their chins held high and hands clasped together in a demonstration of unity. The red pointer hovers over Satin, and then the commentator pinches the screen of his handheld device on and the picture zooms in until her head and shoulders fill the screen. "The third Nicholo sibling."

"Ah yes," Caesar muses in response. "Tall, blonde and beautiful, just like her siblings."

Ew, she thinks, weirdly flattered by the comments even if they did come from Caesar Flickerman. My hair looks good though.

"A sure advantage having two victors for siblings." Claudius agrees with a nod. "And when you look like that."

Ew, she thinks again, barely disguising her disgust. Then the picture swiftly moves across to Silino, panning upwards so that the top of his head is in frame. "And this one isn't a sight for sore eyes either." Claudius continues.

"Our Tribute Affairs division has already provided us with the genetic information of our tributes, and it says here that Silino is six foot five." Caesar practically gushes over the man's height. "I'm sure that will give him a natural edge in the arena."

"And I, Caesar, am positive that the ladies in the Capitol will be flocking to him like sheep once he arrives tonight."

"The both of them, actually." The green haired host forces out his infamous chuckle, before moving to analyse the first of their competition - District Two.

Great, I'm going to have to fight off people in the Capitol? Satin questions herself mentally before she is broken away from her thoughts by Regina's voice, the television screen now silenced. "What did you notice? Who stood out?"

"District Two don't seem as one dimensional as they were the past few years." Satin answers. "I think that we should invite the Fours to join us this year, and the boy from Eight looks strong. There's something about the girl from Ten, too."

Silino agrees with his district partner the second that Ledger looks at him expectantly, waiting for his take on the Reaping. "She looks smart, you can tell that she's up to something by the look on her face." He says, referring to the girl from Ten, before continuing. "All of the tributes from Ten and Eleven look well-fed, and probably strong too, so they'll need eliminating earlier than usual."

"And the boy from Eight?" Ledger asks.

"He can fight, and with that angry glint in his eyes, I expect him to." Silino answers.

"Can he?" Gloss probes further to see how much they have picked up from just one viewing.

"Yes." Satin's response is short. "You could tell from the way he moved."

She points to the television screen, where the commentators are analysing that very boy's body language. He seems to have very good balance as he climbs to rickety stairs up to the stage, somewhere where they've seen several of the District Eight boys stumble in the previous years. When he reaches the top, he stands with his legs perfectly shoulder width apart and his head high, just as many of the children in the academy have been taught ever since their first lessons.

"Well done." Regina says, nodding in approval. "You both have good instincts because that is exactly what I noticed as well. I would usually say that District Two would be able to overpower you, but with both of your heights being well above the average for your genders, I'm not feeling as inclined to believe that this year. However, we will still need to assess that during training, and I have no doubt that we'll still need to come up with a strategy to outsmart them. The four of us will speak to the District Four mentors tomorrow morning about the possibility of them joining the alliance. I wouldn't worry too much about the girl from Ten, she might be smart but I don't think her mentors will be of much use to her; though I'd suggest that we keep an eye on her nonetheless."

Ledger continues his co-mentor's speech. "The rest of the outer districts aren't much of a threat to you both, even with the likes of Eleven being larger than usual. Like you pointed out, they seem to be much better fed this year so they'll probably be on the stronger side, but nothing I think you can't handle."

"Is that all you wanted us to see?"

"Mostly." The male mentor replies to Silino's question. "But the boy from the Eight."

"The fighter?"

"The fighter, yes." He agrees with a small nod. "But that's not all, do you know what else I saw?"

"What?"

"A threat." Gloss says.

At the same time, the older mentor says, "A problem. I saw a problem that you're going to have to deal with. Do you understand me, Silino?"

"I understand." The boy says before the mentors dismiss the tributes to their own train compartments; as well as directed not to change out of their Reaping clothes so that the Capitol citizens who will come to greet them can get the best first impression.

Chapter Text

The Capitol is objectively impressive but it’s the last thing on Satin’s mind as the train pulls into the station a few hours later.

The first thing she’s thinking about is sponsors; she knows how the Games work after watching both of her siblings go through in previous years. Therefore, under Cashmere’s instruction, she stations herself in the window of the train cart, carefully marking the page of the book she spent the journey reading and placing it on the nearby coffee table before waving to the Capitol citizens, blowing the occasional kiss when someone does something brash to grab their attention. Thankfully, the trains are soundproofed because the District One tributes can already tell that the crowd is noisily shouting at them, complimenting them; objectifying them.

Ledger, Regina, Cashmere and Gloss are the first four off the train, followed by Satin and Silino, with Amaryllis herding them towards a large building which they can only assume is the Tribute Centre.

Citizens reach out for all of them as they pass by, and each of the mentors stop to allow the Capitol fans to fawn over them; stroking their hair, clothes and faces. Satin stands frozen behind her siblings, using Gloss’ tall frame to shield her until a man with deep cerulean skin and icy blue hair – that has obviously been styled to match that of Caesar Flickerman – spots her and darts out to grab her, palms stretched out as he nears. Spooked, Satin instinctively takes a step closer to Silino, edging towards her large district partner, and she is relieved when he moves between her and the man. The blue hands land just below the man’s pectoral muscles and it doesn’t take a genius to work out where he was intending to grope the young girl. Satin gasps but anger flashes across Silino’s face and he slaps the man’s hands away harshly.

Fortunately, Amaryllis behind witnesses the encounter and she rushes forward, quickly taking control of the situation and announcing that the group must be going; pulling her mentors forward and glaring at anyone else who tries to reach for her tributes. No one dares stand between Amaryllis and her schedule.

There’s cameras everywhere, and each one captures the tributes’ reactions to the incident – Satin’s calm demeanour, polished, poised and the perfect act of being unfazed; and Silino’s white-hot fury, over-protective mannerisms and glaring eyes. Every camera catches the subtle way he leans closer to his district partner, away from the crowd around them, and whispers into her ear to check up on her.

And as terrible as it sounds, whilst Amaryllis shoos them into the lobby, Satin thinks she might have found her strategy. Obviously, she’ll have to run it past her mentors first – Regina will be the only potential obstacle because she knows that Cashmere will support her decisions no matter what – but she may have worked out how she can outsmart not only Silino, but the Twos and the Fours as well.

The ride in the lift is incredibly short. Thank god, muses Satin, because the seven of us all jammed into this small of a space isn’t overly pleasant. The doors open into a thin entryway and once the golden door is pushed open, it reveals one of the largest floors Satin has ever seen, a perfect match to the mental image inside her head.

The ceilings sparkle with diamante encrusted corners in a variety of jewel tones; with sapphire blues paired with complimentary silver accents and the ruby red matching the golden tones of the adjacent room. The walls are a pristine white, covered in a reflective glossy paint that bounces off the colours of the furniture in delicate rainbows that dapple across the floor. Amaryllis doesn’t let her tributes sit on the identical douglas quilted sofas, paranoid about damaging the diamond tufted decorations on the seats in their outfits; instead directing them towards the room that they’ll be staying in for the next seven nights. “In fifteen minutes we will be meeting the Twos on their floor for the usual seven o’clock meeting. If you would like to change into something more comfortable then, please do so now.”

Satin knows that she wants to change into something more comfortable because the white ankle boots she’s wearing are beginning to hurt the arches of her feet despite the thick block heel, and the baby pink jumpsuit isn’t practical either; and so she quickly enters the room that she’s been allocated.

The room itself is the epitome of minimalist luxury, soft creamy white walls with a single piece of abstract art and a large window that is framed by sheer curtains in the palest shade of ivory that immediately has Satin thinking about how much sunlight they’ll allow in each morning, and whether they’ll let her use an eye mask. At the centre of the room is a low platform bed with clean lines, a soft cream velvet frame, and crisp white linens punctuated with a single gold throw at the foot and oversized pillows embroidered with golden thread. The more the girl looks around the room, the one golden accents she notices shimmering around the room; the sleek marble nightstands, the delicate gold-brushed lamps with elegant frosted glass globes, the chandelier made of intertwined gold rings suspended over the bed, and the wall-mounted mirror opposite the bed with a slim gold frame that amplifies the light along with the minimalist white chest of drawers that are opened with subtle golden bars. It’s expansive and extravagant and so evidently what the Capitol perceives the citizens of District One will enjoy, that it has Satin wondering how the other floors on the Tribute Centre are decorated – is floor four themed around the ocean? Is the seventh accessorised with wooden features? Are eleven and twelve made of entirely natural, mineable materials?

The floor is a polished pale oak, and a large plush area rug with a fine gold geometric pattern softens the space around the bed, as she unzips and toes off her boots and rummages through the drawers for the clothing available to her. The top drawer contains what she assumes will be her training outfits, the middle is filled with various undergarments and socks – thankfully – and she finally pulls a matching white linen trouser and top set from the bottom drawer.

In the bathroom, she finds a control panel that is not unlike the ones in her siblings’ bathrooms in Victor’s Village, just with tons more buttons. Satin decides against removing her makeup, knowing that with the angle she’s expected to play her stylists will be applying some to her face before the arena anyway – even if the thought does worry her slightly because of the bacteria it’ll harbour and the damage it will do to her skincare. The giant mirror highlights a few smudges which she quickly cleans up before brushing out the curls the Academy prep team put into her hair at lunchtime and ties it into a high ponytail.

Silino is already in the common area when she arrives, with Amaryllis already in a frenzy despite them seeming to have a couple more minutes before they’re expected on the second floor. It seems she’s waiting for Cashmere and Gloss because the other older mentors are already on the couch, and when the siblings enter, fresh-faced and also in more comfortable clothing, she straightens up and ushers them all towards the lift.

Cashmere throws her sister a cardigan as they all squeeze back into the lift, a lantern sleeve design that looks much cosier than anything offered to the younger tribute, and smiles at her. “Put it on, I don’t want anyone seeing more of you than they have to.”

Well that’s weird, Satin thinks. She might only be sixteen but her older sister has never had a problem with anything she’s chosen to wear before. Perhaps it’s to do with the incident at the train station.

Ledger addresses them briefly as the lift begins to travel upwards, knowing they have minimal time before they’re exposed to the Twos. “When they ask you questions, you answer exactly as they were asked. No extraneous information. No traps. If we even so much as look at you twice then you need to be quiet, immediately. Yes, these are your allies, there’s no doubt that it’ll be productive, but if either of you is to win then they need as little to work with as possible.”

“Get to know as much about them first, though they’ll likely have been briefed in exactly the same manner as you. We can discuss strategy later.” Regina adds as the lift stops on the second floor, presenting the four mentors, two tributes and one escort with a dark wood door that has intricate swirls and fleur de lis’ that are coated in a thin layer of golden paint.

Amaryllis knocks and the door opens a minute later, perfectly on time as the District Two escort is welcoming them into the suite. The walls inside the suite alternate between matte black on one side to a shiny white on the other with gold coving that swirls into the shape of delicate leaves, and there’s lots of deep reds, purples and blues, and metallic accents on the dark wood furniture. It’s not dissimilar to the metallic palette of the floor below and it almost confirms Satin’s earlier theory as she allows a bright smile to grace her features.

She knows that Regina said strategy second, but if she’s to execute the plan in her mind enough for it to work then she needs it to seem realistic from the get go, not as if she’s carefully calculated every aspect after the meeting. She needs to make sure that every member of the alliance believes her every word.

As they each take a seat, Satin can’t help but feel like she’s being sacrificed whilst the mentors settle in amongst each other. It surprises Satin that the Twos only have one mentor for each of their tributes because she knows that a district can bring along as many as they wish to, and District Two certainly don’t have a shortage of victors to choose from. It’s Enobaria’s fourth year as a victor, which by District One’s protocol would mean that she’s only in her second consecutive year of official mentoring – though the system may work differently in District Two. The presence of Brutus doesn’t surprise her but what does surprise her is that the man doesn’t look as terrifying up close as she expected, which works to rocket her confidence and she smiles at him warmly. If only to show that she’s not afraid of him, or his tribute.

The mentors introduce themselves to everyone briefly and then a silence settles over the room as everyone waits to see who will speak first, no one really wants to introduce themselves first, afraid that it might be a sign of weakness. Satin’s shyness comes out of her hiding, wrapping its arms around her and slamming her mouth closed, as she looks down nervously at her fingers and shuffles closer to her district partner.

In the end, it’s Silino who speaks first, unable to stand the tension. “I’m Silino Gatlin.”

He looks at Ledger to see if he should keep talking, but he tightens his lips, and knowing that’s one of the signs they spoke about earlier, Silino smiles at the girl beside him. Satin keeps looking at her hands, wringing them together in nerves, and ignoring her older mentor’s nudges to speak, and so the eighteen year old pipes up again, grabbing her hand. “And this is Satin. Satin Nicholo.”

Cashmere gives her sister a strange look when she allows the boy to speak on her behalf, but Satin shrugs, and waves her off to signal that she’ll talk about it later. She’s not about to ruin things but launching into an explanation of her behaviour in front of the Twos.

“Victoria Burton.” The girl from District Two says. A very pretty name for a very plain girl. A pretty name that is reminiscent of one of the ancient goddesses of victory, a hint of the childhood that the girl has experienced and the plans her parents have laid out for her since birth. Victoria is several inches shorter than Satin, probably standing at average height at five foot six – easily an inch shorter than the girl from One when they’re sat down – but likely twice her weight, made of all muscle. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a very tight slicked back bun, evocative of the hairstyles that the girls in the ballet company have to wear from examinations and showcases. Satin is surprised the young girl doesn’t have tension alopecia if she’s been wearing her hair like that everyday since she was old enough to tie it up herself. But when the girl settles her eyes on Satin, she can tell that she’s assessing her, looking her up and down as she tries to figure out how long she thinks she’ll last in the arena. Satin can tell that the girl Two doesn’t think she has a chance in hell. She wants to keep it that way, for now.

“Bastian Patrick.” The male tribute from Two replies, though everyone can see he’s peeved about being last in the speaking order. Bastian’s appearance matches his district partner’s, mousy brown hair that is faded at the sides of his head, and brown eyes. He’s also huge with bicep muscles that visibly bulge past the cuff of his sleeve, but probably only has about an inch on Satin, making him at least five below Silino. He shoots Satin a smile that she returns, despite it feeling a little too predatory and flirty.

“What a talkative bunch.” Brutus starts laughing, worrying Satin that he’s laughing at her because she hasn’t said anything yet. “Anyway, we all know why we’re here. Normally our districts form an alliance, so why don’t you talk about your skills and we can decide if that is something we would like to do this year. Bastian, start talking.”

“Hand to hand combat. Swords. Anything sharp. I also dabble in building shelters.” The boy says. This makes Satin laugh, which she immediately realises was his intention because he moves his grin from his district partner and onto her, winking at her quickly. The thought of Bastian, a highly-trained District Two sword-fighter bending every which way in the arena to pack a woven combination of moss, grasses and leaves full of soil and debris, is absolutely ridiculous. Besides, it’s highly unlikely that they’ll ever need to use it given that they plan to gain control of the Cornucopia, they’ll never have to find or create camouflaged shelter.

Victoria grins back at her district partner. “I much prefer to use blunt weapons. Maces, garrotes, clubs. I’m also partial to a sword.”

The girl’s answer surprises Satin but she makes sure that it doesn’t show on her face, even if her stomach turns a little at the statement. Victoria’s choices aren’t too common in the arena; many of the Twos pick knives, or swords; sharper, quicker. Except for the one year where the only weapon available in the arena was a mace, all blunt and short. She knows now that Victoria prefers to be up close and personal to inflict her damage. Entirely too personal for Satin. She’d much prefer to keep her hands clean.

Silino is up next. “I’m good with most weapons, but easily the best at spears.” He’s selling himself short. Way short. He’s a perfect shot with a spear, even better than several of the trainers.

“Satin?”

Satin raises her eyes from where they’ve returned to her fingers in her lap. She smiles at her brother. “I prefer knives, and endurance.” She purposefully keeps her answer brief, holding back a smirk as a matching one spreads across the faces of the tributes from Two; especially Bastian. Her plan is already working. She knows that she’s good at everything in the Academy – maybe not as good as her sister is, but good nonetheless – but she’d much prefer to keep some of that to herself. Besides, it’s not like the Two would care to hear about her endurance training or the acrobatics she’s capable of in her ballet shoes; only caring about brute strength.

They each turn to their mentors, waiting to see what they have to say about their skills and the possibility of the alliance; though they all know that they’re going to agree — if only for entirely selfish reasons. It’s then that Satin hears Enobaria speak for the first time at this meeting.

"I think that all of them could benefit from an alliance." She says. “They all seem to have a good number of skills. What do you guys think?”

Ledger answers as if the tributes aren’t sitting around him. “They all seem competent, and I’m sure that one of them can secure the win; something that the alliance will surely help with. Navigating the arena dynamics. Don’t you agree, Brutus?”

“I do. Is there anything else you think we should discuss before we negotiate the terms and strategy after the first day of training?”

Satin turns to her sister and mouths ‘District Four.’ She nods and whispers into Regina’s ear. The older mentor repeats her actions and they communicate quickly, before Cashmere speaks.

“My sister— Our tributes think it could be beneficial to include the Fours in the alliance if they get a positive reaction from the parade and do well on the first day of training.”

Brutus and Enobaria communicate non-verbally for a few seconds, with pointed glances and raised eyebrows but they agree and Enobaria nods. “I’m inclined to agree, well spotted. We’ll speak to them tomorrow depending on the audience’s reaction to their parade.”

“Perfect.” Regina smiles, and all the mentors look pleased with themselves at the formation of another successful alliance. Satin keeps her eyes flicking between her siblings and the tributes from Two, well aware that it makes her look nervous; exactly what she wants. There’s an almost unbearable tension in the air as the room falls silent before the volunteers are dismissed. “Very well, Satin, Silino, Amaryllis will take you both back downstairs and we’ll join you once we’ve agreed on the terms.”

The escort ushers the two tributes back down to their own floor, but not without commenting about how she fancies their chances after speaking to the District Two escort, and nudging Satin about the lingering look that follows her into the lift; from Bastian.

Once they’re back on the first floor, Amaryllis excuses herself to her room, stating that she trusts the two teenagers enough not to do anything stupid. “Like jumping from the floor or stabbing each other.” She’d uttered, which had made them laugh.

“What do you think they’re discussing?” Silino asks her, throwing his legs up on the footstool and tapping the couch beside him to get his partner to take a seat.

“I’m not sure.” She admits as she sits down next to him. “Sponsorship deals perhaps? Or strategy?”

Silino, who is now hungry again after a few hours have passed in the Capitol despite the meeting taking less than twenty minutes, grabs a handful of the chocolate covered delicacies laid out in the bowl resting on the coffee table and pops them into his mouth. He restarts their conversation about their future allies. “They’re something.” He starts.

“Yeah.”

“Victoria’s interesting, isn’t she? I mean, a garrote? Mace? She’d have thrived in sixty-one with her preference for blunt weapons, but never have I seen someone gravitate towards one in all of my eighteen years. I feel like she’s going to pluck out all my eyelashes with her fingers.” He jokes, eating more chocolates and expressing his fondness for the dessert. “And Bastian, he’s not very original. Hand to hand, swords, the usual District Two stuff; but at least they’re as predictable as ever. I don’t like the way he was looking at you, though.”

Bingo.

“Me either.” Satin says. He’s playing right into her hand, and she’d feel guilty if it wouldn’t save her life. “I don’t think they’re too keen on our alliance, and I don’t trust them at all, he’s creeping me out already and we’ve only spent ten minutes with them.”

“He doesn’t like me.” The man shrugs. “I can tell that much but I don’t care, I don’t like him either.”

“You should care.”

“Why? I’ll have to kill him either way.” This is the first time Satin has heard the overly-confident attitude she knows many of the trained tributes possess; and it’s even worse than her brother’s. He sounds like Bastian. It’ll be his downfall.

“Of course you will.” She plays into his ego. “But if he hates you then he’ll have more of a reason to kill you quickly, and I’ll need your help. I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do to me.”

“Alright, you drive a hard bargain.” Silino concedes with a chuckle. “We aren’t going to be able to trust them for very long.”

Satin nods her head in agreement. “You’re right. I don’t even trust them now. We need to get the Fours to prefer us in training because then when everything happens in the arena, they’ll side with us. It’ll be four against two.”

“No pun intended?”

“No.” She giggles. “We’re going to need their support.”

“We’ll get it.” The eighteen year old reassures her. “Though, I’m not sure if the alliance is a good idea at all. I’m thinking it should just be us, we should get in there and kill them as soon as the bloodbath starts.”

“I don’t know…” Satin says, wringing her hands nervously. However, unfortunately for them, she doesn’t think he’s wrong. She actually agrees with him. The Twos think they can win by themselves, they always do.

The door of the lift opening breaks their silence, but their mentors don’t say anything until they watch it shut and return to the lobby of the Tribute Centre. They look absolutely furious, and it’s almost unsettling the way their gazes remind Satin of the way her siblings looked in the arena; angry and determined.

“Do not trust them for even a second.” Regina says the moment that the doors shut. “You must stay vigilant because they are looking to end the alliance as soon as possible. Satin, you will need to be especially careful.”

“Why?” She asks. “How do you know that?”

Gloss scoffs. “The same reason Cashmere had to be careful, you’re a Nicholo and it’s a liability in their eyes.”

“It’s bullshit.” Cashmere adds. “You’re just as skilled as they are, they just haven’t seen it yet.”

“But we’re both included, right?” Silino asks. He grabs Satin’s hand, making both of her siblings raise an eyebrow. “I’m not allying with them without Satin.”

It’s Ledger who answers. “You’re both included.”

“They agreed that you’ll bring in a lot of sponsorship money and viewership because Panem is already very familiar with you, Caesar has already been talking about during the recaps. And Brutus mentioned that Bastian is keen to have you as an ally, though I’d try to steer clear of him as much as you can without pissing him off.” Regina explains.

“Alright.” Silino breaks the silence that lingers over the suite. “We’ll keep an eye out. We were just talking about eliminating them in the bloodbath.”

“And how do you propose doing that?” Ledger asks sceptically. It looks like he’s considering it.

“Satin’s fast.”

“Speed isn’t everything.” Regina points out, and all three Nicholos look at her with something akin to offence in their eyes. Speed has always been their strong suit, being faster than the rest and securing the best things before anyone else can; especially when the sponsorship money is to be shared.

Satin realises that her own official mentor doesn’t believe in her abilities. She wishes that the older woman hadn’t come along to the Capitol. “I’ll get to the cornucopia first.”

“You might be able to get there first but you would have to remove Victoria from the equation first – she’s the slower one – and by the time you take her out, Bastian would be waiting.” Regina explains, walking herself towards the hallway as if she’s already bored of this conversation. “He would easily beat you in hand to hand.”

They all know she’s right. Despite Bastian being approximately the same height as the young girl from One, he’s more muscular and he’s stronger. She wouldn’t have a chance in an up close battle against him.

Gloss is the one to change the subject, sensing that it’s gotten a bit too grave for his youngest sister. “Look, don’t panic, we can fine-tune our strategy later on in the week. Our main priority is speaking to the Fours tomorrow morning, which I’m sure will be a blast considering their newest mentor is a newly-turned fifteen year old, and then the opening parade in the evening. Go and rest, your prep teams will be up at midday to get you ready.”

“Gloss is right.” Ledger compliments the younger male mentor, giving him an approving nod. “District One has some of the best stylists so don’t worry about that. Everything else we can figure out later.”

The older mentors dismiss them to their bedrooms before excusing themselves to their own, shutting the doors behind them like they’ve had enough of their tributes for the day; Satin can only hope that tomorrow is another day as she enters the cream marble of her bathroom and presses the buttons for makeup remover and face wash. She quickly washes off her makeup and re-enters her bedroom, sitting on the white linens of the bed and soothingly stroking the golden throw at the foot when a knock sounds on her door.

Cashmere doesn’t wait for an answer before she enters the room and sits beside her sister on the bed. “What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” The younger sister replies.

“You and Silino.” Cashmere wiggles an eyebrow that would be almost suggestive if she wasn’t fully aware of his sister’s boyfriend. “And the fact that you didn’t speak in that meeting unless spoken to. I know you’re shy Tina but that was on another level.”

“I have a plan, Mere.”

The older blonde shuffles further backwards on the bed, crossing her legs underneath her and turning to face her younger sister with a smile that shows intrigue. “Alright, spill.”

───────────── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ────────────

Most of the outer district tributes are ushered into the preparation rooms the moment they arrive in the Capitol the next morning, knowing that it’ll take a long period of time for them to be even remotely ready for the parade that evening. The District One prep team, however, enter the first floor at twelve noon and converse with the tributes over a protein filled lunch before they pull them down to their prep room on the basement level. As she enters the private room, – cold, empty and white with one singular window that overlooks the Capitol streets – she’s met with the three people who are assigned to her. They’ve each got dyed skin and hair, in shades of various jewel tones that perfectly match the district they were given, but they’re not too garish compared to the other citizens she’s met.

They introduce themselves. Flavius is a short man with a dark green mullet; Maia is a woman of average height with sapphire blue skin and icy white hair; and Hemera’s eyebrows and eyelashes are excessively long and tinted an unnaturally bright ruby red hue. By the time Satin has appraised them, they’ve moved on to discussing another Capitolian socialite who made some kind of grave error at a high-society party in the presence of game-makers and victors. Maia is praising the green chemical-smelling slimy gel substance that they’re slugging all over Satin’s skin, her hair secured in a plastic wrap to protect it. Apparently the stuff costs more than half of victor’s monthly payment, and each tribute gets their own tub of the gel to be slathered in, and Satin refuses to think about the chemicals going to her brain until she’s instructed to rinse off the gunk and stand under the full-body drier.

Flavius holds out his hand and leads the tribute to a flat bed so that the waxing can begin. He pinches her ass as she helps her up and Satin flinches, having hoped that the group of people who wax naked children for a living would be at least a little professional – not groping her at least. The only communication they have with her is praising various parts of her body as they reach it, stroking and pulling at her skin after they rip hairs from each and every inch of her, despite her having come into the room at beauty base zero. They don’t treat her carefully, and she feels incredibly uneasy, wishing that all of their beautification would be over as quickly as possible which is something she’s never wished before. And the cooling lotion barely works at all as it’s rubbed in, probably from being left too long before it's applied.

One of the women removes the wrap from her head then massages product into her scalp and runs it down the bright strands until it shimmers under the light in a metallic silver tone in a perfect contrast to her golden blonde, and Flavius applies a bronzing liquid to her limbs, rubbing in slow circles to leave any streaks. Meanwhile, the other woman excessively plucks at Satin’s brows in a manner that has her worrying that she won’t have any hairs left after they’ve finished with her, and she focuses all her attention on the woman’s sapphire blue green and eyes that appear kind despite the frosty colour before she steps backwards to admire her work.

Finally, after what seems like hours, they allow Satin to stand from the bed and they stand her on a circular platform that spins her in a circle when they press a button. She feels like she’s in a microwave – highly scrutinised under a spotlight – as she spins and they apply another layer of airbrushed tan onto her skin so precisely that she’d be impressed if she wasn’t so uncomfortable. And then another layer of thin body glitter.

“Beautiful.” Flavius winks at her, eyeing her up and down several times over. “You District One volunteers are always the best. If only the Hunger Games were a beauty pageant because you’d have already won, my dear. You’re so beautiful and so so like your sister. The citizens won’t be able to keep their hands off of you.”

They already had an issue with that yesterday, Satin grimaces, but she grits her teeth and holds her face in a well practised smile. She knows that she can’t afford to piss off any Capitol citizen regardless of their status. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.”

“Please,” Flavius almost begs, “remind her that I’m expecting her visit.”

“And so like your brother too.” Maia exclaims, clapping her hands together and it turns Satin’s stomach much like it did earlier. “He has some wonderful assets.” She turns to Hemera and giggles. “And Pandora said he knows how to use them.”

Gross, Satin’s face wrinkles in disgust. There’s one thing she definitely didn’t want or expect to hear about today and it’s her older brother’s sex life. Although there’s some confusion because she knows that Gloss doesn’t have a girlfriend; his latest one broke up with him after he returned from his Victory Tour with a suspiciously hickey-shaped bruise on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and she knows he hasn’t had another since.

She looks around for a robe of any kind that she can wrap around her body to shield her from the predatory gazes of the preparatory team, but there isn’t one in sight so she has to remain exposed as one of the female members of the team straightens her hair and secures it in place with an excessive amount of gel and spray that leaks from the giant poles above and fans around. The front strands of her head are slicked back in an almost wet look before the prep teams gather all of their tools and belongings and shuffle out of the room to make space for the stylist.

Persephone is infamous in the District One Academy. She’s one of, if not the best stylist in the Games and has been requesting to dress the District One females since the second Quarter Quell. She’s notorious for her extravagant outfits that border on scandalous and revealing, and Satin is almost nervous to uncover what the older woman has in store for her.

“Satin. It’s lovely to meet you.”

The woman smiles when the young girl greets her in return. “Hello, Persephone.”

“My reputation precedes me.” The stylist smirks, holding a garment bag in one of her perfectly manicured hands and using the other to dramatically swish her hair over her shoulder. She certainly has a flair for the dramatics. “You’re stunning, love. You’re a little china doll just like your siblings, I’m sure that this outfit will make you look positively radiant for the parade. Are you going to be using the usual angle?”

“I assume so.” Satin shrugs shyly. Although she’s unsure of what the usual angle is, – Cashmere hasn’t exactly told her in plain english yet – she has an idea. It’s highly likely that she’s going to have to play the same cards as her sister did, a classically beautiful volunteer from District One. She knew that from the reaping outfit she was dressed in, the comments from Caesar on screen, the attitudes of the prep team, the words of her stylist. She hopes so anyway, because her entire plan rests upon it.

“Perfect.” Persephone beams. She holds the garment bag out in between herself and her tribute and unzips it. “I’m sure I’ve got your measurements right, doll, but try this on, would you? Then we can start perfecting your nails and makeup. Your hair is already exactly what I envisioned.”

Satin immediately pulls the outfit on, thankful that she’s finally going to be covered with some kind of fabric. Though, she’s barely covered at all when her stylist threads her hands underneath Satin’s hair and clasps the hook and eye shut at the base of her neck. She’s been dressed in a nude leotard that isn’t too dissimilar to the outfits she’s worn for ballet performances before, however, this particular bodice has been crafted completely from mesh, the sheer fabric blending seamlessly with her skin and creating a barely-there illusion that highlights her body; simultaneously twisting her gut into knots. The entire surface of the fabric is covered in countless, meticulously placed rhinestones that cascades from her shoulders and around the plunging keyhole neckline that falls in perfectly cut straight lines to expose as much of her decolletage as the stylist can get away with. The shimmering patterns are clustered densely at the shoulders and chest and scatter delicately down the torso and along her hips, fading into a soft, shimmering gradient that flickers under the lighting. The nude mesh is almost invisible and Satin almost feels sick at the thought as she realises that the whole nation is going to see her half-naked body; she can’t even begin to imagine what her friends are going to think, nevermind what her boyfriend will think of her.

But she can’t say no; she can only smile as Persephone holds a hand-held mirror up to her back at such an angle that she can see the back of the leotard, which mirrors the front. The rhinestones flow down the spine in a delicate trail, creating both a sultry and sophisticated look that would be perfect for capturing attention. The stylist hovers around, forcing her fingers underneath the fabric to test the amount of give and praising herself when the fabric is laced so tight that Satin has to force her lungs to expel oxygen.

“What do you think? Perfect, isn’t it?” The stylist asks with a grin.

“Absolutely.” Satin returns the stylist’s smile despite her apprehension.

“I knew I liked you, doll.” Persephone winks with a grin. “Of course it is. I designed it. But we’re not finished just yet.”

The blonde laughs nervously and the stylist begins to hand her accessories, giving her instructions as she searches for the right makeup and nail designs. The first thing Satin is handed is a large necklace made of thick diamonds that she’s only even seen in the cutting centre her father owns back home, and her hands tremble in fear of dropping it as she fiddles with the tiny clasp to secure it around her neck. It hangs right in the dents of her collarbones and shines even brighter than the rhinestones surrounding it. Stacks of bracelets are next, then silver rings covered in dark sapphires and matching earrings that dangle in an unbroken line towards her chin. Her nails are painted a light blush pink – and this is the one thing that Satin agrees with, the use of her favourite colour – and her glitter is added to her makeup in the form of silver eyeshadow, a pearlescent highlighter and a pale pink lipstick covered in glitter-infused lip gloss.

She finishes her accessories by laying a complementary nude mesh cape covered in rhinestones over Satin’s shoulders and secures it around her neck with a hook and eye clasp that rests just above the necklace. Large rhinestones are stuck to her slicked back hair using eyelash glue and small pieces of silver tinsel are tied around individual strands which makes her hair sparkle in the light as if she’s the diamond she’s meant to represent. Finally, she’s handed silver heels that are once again, covered in diamantes. Persephone spins Satin around twice to test her ability to move and has to look up to the tribute a few metres away, because the heels have raised her to over six feet tall.

“Perfect. Radiant. Beautiful. I have once again outdone myself.” The stylist praises herself. She turns to her tribute. “Now, you must get going, you’re expected in a few minutes. Your sister is waiting for you outside, do say hello for me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Satin nods.

“And Satin, doll? I know you’re much more docile than your sister, but you mustn’t let them eat you alive.”

Whatever that means, Satin thinks, but she nods at her stylist again. Just like the woman said, Cashmere is waiting for her outside the room, and her face pales when she sees the outside her younger sister has been dressed in. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I don’t know.” Satin says. She already feels insecure enough as it is, without reminders that she’s about to be on national television half naked. “Where’s Gloss?”

“At the mentors screen.” Cashmere explains. “I can’t walk over to the chariot with you because we have to keep up appearances but we’ll be there the second you climb off, alright? You’ll do great, just remember what we said early, smile at them, wave, blow some kisses just like you did at the train station and they’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. I know you’re uncomfortable but you look beautiful, Satin. You can do this.”

“I know I can.” Satin replies to raise her own self-confidence. “Are you sure you can’t walk me at least halfway? It’ll help my image. My plan.”

Cashmere concedes with a sigh and walks her sister into the giant hall in the underbelly of the Tribute Centre and towards the chariots. She makes it beside the District Twelve chariot and then veers to one side with an encouraging nod to her younger sister, to where she can see their brother waiting with the other mentors beside a giant screen at the back of the room. Satin spots Silino waiting by their horses at the front, and feels the eyes of everyone on her as she approaches, making sure that she smiles at the Fours as she passes by, desperate to make sure that they like her more than Victoria and Bastian.

Her district partner is wearing a tunic made of the same mesh material as Satin’s leotard, with nude dress pants. Rhinestones also cover his body, including not only the mesh tunic but the contours of his muscles as well, and they have matching jewellery. She can’t help but look at the size of his arms; his biceps are almost the size of her legs. He waves for her to approach but a hand on her arm stops her.

“Oh Satin,” Bastian’s voice purrs from behind her. She turns around and is met with a predatory grin spreading across his face as he looks her up and down. “I’d make a move if I didn’t think your brother or boyfriend would fight over the chance to kill me.”

His words are unnerving, in a way that typical Hunger Games violence isn’t. Satin expects him to be stereotypically violent - smashing things, punching people, making threats that he’s sure to act on – but she didn’t expect to deal with harassment from another tribute. She’s experienced it with the Capitol citizens, both at the train station and in the prep room, and she sees it all the time at home. Drunk men leering at the Academy girls or her ballet friends when they walk home isn’t uncommon, and Cashmere has told her stories of men being weird when she has to make a visit to the Capitol but she thought that they’d put a stop to that in the week before the Games.

Discomfort immediately settles inside her stomach but Satin knows that she can’t anger him. It would be dangerous, and her entire plan depends on him thinking she has nothing else to her except for her beauty. And she has to play into it so she looks away from his face and mutters. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

His smile turns smug. “Even better for me, baby, I want you and I don’t even have to ask.” He could almost be joking but his tone is far too cold and the ease in which the words leave his mouth give her the impression that he’s completely serious. “Why is he acting so–”

Silino steps between them, removing Bastian’s hand from Satin’s upper arm immediately and glaring at the boy from Two. “Enough, you’ve made your point Bastian. Fuck off, we’ll talk to you and Victoria later.”

“Chill out, Silino, don’t be so hostile, I thought we were friends.” He stretches the words out, mocking him as he rakes his eyes over Satin’s form once more. “I’m not gonna hurt your pretty little girlfriend yet, man. You’re so uptight.”

Over Bastian’s shoulder, Satin can see Victoria watching their interaction. Her brown eyes are cold and calculating and full of disdain, which feels wholly unnatural given their current situation, and she narrows her eyes gaze, staring at the heels on Satin’s feet, before she breaks it and refocuses her attention on her district partner as he turns away and reaches his own chariot. It’s then that Satin notices their matching outfits of brown and gold, with flat gladiator sandals that add nothing to their height. Perhaps that’s the source of her disdain, Satin thinks, though she can’t be sure and she doesn’t understand why. Her height bothers her.

“You okay?” Silino asks as he gently guides Satin back in the direction of their own chariot a few paces behind.

He’s looking at her with concern as she approaches the white horses and non-verbally communicates with the handler until he allows her to run her hands along the mare’s mane to calm her nerves. The horse’s hair is dense yet shiny and filled with glitter which transfers onto Satin’s fingertips as she deftly braids the strands of white hair and ties small knots at the end until she’s asked to stop because she needs to step onto the chariot. “I’m okay.” She finally answers her district partner. “I feel a little gross but I’m okay. Thank you for stepping in.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” The eighteen year old flexes his bicep jokingly. “He’ll have to get through me first.”

Satin feels a little bit guilty that she’s already planning his death when he seems so intent on protecting her from the Twos, but she’s aware that his overt defence of her might also be an act on his part and she won’t allow herself to become too comfortable. The mentors have finally been allowed near their tributes because she can see her siblings approaching, with Brutus and Enobaria close by, and the District One stylists are a few metres ahead, walking with purpose. “He doesn’t stand a chance against you.” Satin giggles, perfectly playing the act of a blushing girl with a crush and the man in question looks so proud of himself that it takes all of her self control not to laugh at him.

Persephone and Antonius, Silino’s stylist, assess the condition of their outfits when they arrive, and Antonius hisses at the male tribute when he sees the small pile of rhinestones now on the floor. He bends to pick them up and immediately begins to restick the jewels to the boy’s arm with a stick of adhesive as he berates him for his untimely heroics.

“I’m just practising for the arena.” The male tribute laughs. “I have all the time in the world for heroics.”

“No.” Ledger interrupts as the four mentors come to a stop beside their tributes. “You have time to step onto your chariot and that’s about it.”

Silino laughs again and raises his hand in surrender before he steps onto the chariot and holds a hand out for his district partner. “Satin?”

“I’m coming.” She says quietly, making her way back around from the horses and reaching for the boy’s outstretched hand that allows him to assist her onto the small wheeled platform that they’re going to be pulled through The Avenue on.

“You both look great.” Regina says after she’s given the tributes an appraising glance. One look behind them shows Satin that the heels she’s wearing is absolutely intentional, that with both District One tributes standing above six foot tall, the view of those at the front of the Avenue – the president and the important game-makers – are going to be obstructed by their frames for a long while. “I’d like you both to look triumphant, confident, ready. Make it clear to the audience that one of you is going to win this, cheer, wave, show yourselves off.”

Satin doesn’t miss the way her own mentor looks at Silino as she reminds that one of them is going to win this. All she can do is hope that she can prove her wrong.

Ledger nudges Gloss to tell him to practise his encouraging instructions, and Satin notices her brother doesn’t even flinch before he adds to the older mentor’s advice, almost as if he’s been waiting for the chance. “Make sure you’re keeping eye contact as much as possible because you want to keep all their eyes on you and the more personal you can make it, the more inclined they’ll be to sponsor you.”

They both nod and they hear the whistle over the intercom that announces they’ve only got one minute until they’re to begin the parade. Satin tries to swallow her nerves, shaking our limbs so that she doesn’t appear stiff during the procession. Persephone takes a step closer and sprays the young girl with the strongest perfume Satin has ever smelt in her life – which almost makes her sneeze – with the comment that it never hurts to be overly prepared, the sponsors might be able to smell them. She smiles as Cashmere gestures for her sister to lean down.

“Ignore Regina.” The older blonde states. “She’s an old crone who doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore. You can do this, just imagine you’re on stage, you’ve just finished a ballet. It’s no different really.”

“Good luck.” Gloss adds. He’s speaking to both of the tributes but Satin can tell by the way he smiles at her, that he’s mainly directing his well wishes to her. “Not that you need it.”

The horses start to move and Satin stifles a giggle as she notices Silino, out of the corner of her eye, having to catch himself in the front of the chariot to keep from stumbling whilst she uses her balance from years of ballet to stabilise herself. She plasters a fake beaming smile onto her features right at the entrance to the Avenue of Tributes, preparing herself for the thousands of people screaming at them. It’s just like a standing ovation after the ballet, she tells herself.

They are definitely screaming. Satin has to hold back the urge to clamp her hands over her ears to muffle the noise because the moment the first horse’s hoof hits the cobbled avenue, the crowd erupts into thunderous applause so loud that it feels like it should have broken the sound barrier. It’s deafening and every way Satin turns, there’s an extravagantly dressed Capitol citizen fighting for her attention – clambering over each other to make eye contact with a tribute. The journey down is filled with cheers and miscellaneous hand movements such as waves and blown kisses; and the citizens are eating up every second of it. Some of them are throwing flowers as far as they can in the hopes of it landing on the chariots, despite the knowledge that the tributes have been instructed not to lean down and pick anything up. The closer the District One vehicle gets to the end, the more eye contact Satin makes with the citizens. Gloss has told her that the richest men and women in Panem are always occupying the seats nearer the palace, and she knows how important sponsors can be. They were partly responsible for stopping her brother from completely starving, and for helping her sister recover from an altercation with a giant-fanged venomous spider. She can only hope that she doesn’t have to rely on them too much, but any amount of money can’t hurt in the Hunger Games.

She tries not to pay attention to the screens as they travel down the seemingly miles-long stretch; only paying attention to the balcony of the Presidential Palace. All of the closest advisors and friends of the man who rules the country are sitting with him and are staring intently at the procession below them.

The president himself sits a few metres back from the railing in a large chair reminiscent of a throne. Satin knows the man doesn’t sponsor or bet on any of the tributes – which Gloss says is to keep riots at bay in the outer districts by not showing favouritism – but she quickly deduces that piquing his interest could only help her in the long run. Right?

She meets his eyes and musters the widest, most charming beam of a smile that she can; she’ll never admit to Cashmere that she pretended she was her, with all of her unwavering confidence and beauty. The old man smiles back at her, as tight lipped as ever, but his smile is unnerving. She’d even go as far as to say creepy. And he looks far smaller in person than he does on screen; much more fragile, much more vulnerable, and it startles her a little but she makes sure that no one is able to tell by maintaining her composure; so much so that she doesn’t break her stare with the president until the District One chariot makes a small circle and comes to a stop at the left edge of the courtyard.

Finally, Satin can pay attention to the eleven other chariots rolling in behind them; although she doesn’t cease her waving hands. Their potential allies in District Four have been made to look like multicoloured fish, fit with iridescent scales and they’re draped in nets – Satin thinks that they might be trying to draw in sponsors by reminding them of their latest victor who trapped people in nets last year, though she isn’t sure if it’s a good idea. Moving model train tracks surround the tributes from District Six, and District Seven are as usual, dressed like trees in brown fabric and green headpieces. Ten are cowboys again, and District Eleven are draped in chequered linen and their arms are wrapped with vines that perfectly match the headdresses.

The speakers boom as President Snow steps up to the microphone at the edge of the balcony to give his welcome address. “Welcome. Welcome tributes. Thank you for joining us today, your sacrifice is applauded and we shall salute your courage. The Capitol knows that the coming weeks will require a vast amount of determination and effort, but I assure you that the reward of becoming a victor is one of the highest honour that can be bestowed. I urge you to remember that our victors are forged through the trials and challenges of the games, and that you all can emerge victorious. I hope every one of you strives to follow the footsteps of those before you, both from your district and otherwise.” A sense of pride fills Satin as she thinks about her siblings and all the challenges they had to face; the first siblings in the history of the Hunger Games to both come out on top, giving District One the title as the only district to have successive winners. Many of the children in the Academy want to emulate their success, and Satin finds that she’s among them despite never having admitted it to anyone before. She doesn’t have a choice. She’s not going to fail them, she refuses to embarrass them, she absolutely will not force them to grieve her. The pressure is astronomical but she can’t back down now. President Snow’s speech continues and she only realises that she’s managed to zone out the latter half when she hears him say, “We wish you Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

The crowds go absolutely insane after that and the horses circle back on themselves and head back towards the Tribute Centre, and it involves more attempts to charm potential sponsors as the tributes make their exit.

The stylists immediately swarm them when they glide into the underbelly of the Tribute Centre and Satin realises her hand and feet are tingling slightly, making her even more nervous than she was before as Persephone has two workers carefully lower her down from the chariot.

“Well done, doll.” The stylist chirps, flipping her pink hair over one shoulder and unclasping the cape from around Satin’s neck, catching it before it falls to the floor. “They loved you, of course, although I expected nothing less in my outfit. And I am so glad you listened to me and didn’t let them eat you alive.”

Satin is still unsure what that means, and she turns to Silino, who is smiling at her. His voice is a little too loud as she tries to adjust to the much lower volume inside the Tribute Centre. “We fucking killed that.”

“You’re shouting.” She laughs, jokingly raising her hands to her ears like she wished she could have earlier and notices that the tributes from Two and Three are staring at them because of his overreaction.

“Let them stare.” Ledger is the one to answer as he calls over the tributes so that they can begin to walk over to the lifts to take them up to the first floor. Hopefully for the night. “The two of you were so brilliant that I’m glad we have four mentors this year with how many sponsorships that will have brought in.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely.” Regina answers for him, and for the first time, she actually smiles with pride as she addresses her tribute. “Everyone I passed has been talking about you. It’s a brilliant sign but we still have so much work to do to secure you the win. We’re meeting the Twos and the Fours upstairs.”

So much for heading up to bed for the night.

“The Fours are joining our alliance?” Satin asks sheepishly.

“They are.” Gloss nods.

“Do we have time to change?” Silino asks, and Satin finds herself thankful that it’s him that asked, afraid of being thought of as shallow.

“Yes.” Regina says. “But be quick because we’ll be meeting on the second floor for a quick introduction to the Fours before we run you through how the alliance will work. Cashmere is going to take you upstairs while we take Gloss to speak to the other mentors.”

“Don’t take too long.” Ledger says with a smile. “Please. I don’t want to be up all night. I’m getting old now.”

Cashmere looks like she wants to object to being left out of the meeting with the other mentors, but Regina gives her a look that silences her before she can even open her mouth. The older of the Nicholo sisters rolls her eyes and leads her tributes into the lift, which they have to share with the pair from Ten, who as they expected, are on the older and taller side. They block the way for the group from District Five who try to force their way inside and turn to face each other. The girl from Ten still looks bored out of her mind, still showing very little emotion after the tribute parade, as they all squeeze inside the lift and it begins to move.

The ride is awkward and incredibly silent as the lift moves, despite Cashmere’s attempts to fill the atmosphere because it seems that the mentors from Ten don’t want to even dare a glance in Cashmere’s direction. The tributes, however, won’t stop staring at Satin and Silino, who both tower several inches over the both of them – probably eyeing them up.

What would Cashmere have done? Satin questions herself, mentally weighing up her options of how to interact with the Tens. She finds herself wishing that she was more like her older sister; more confident, more intimidating. Cashmere would know how to properly react. And she’s running out of time to say something, if she’s going to say anything then she has to do it now.

Cashmere looks at her expectantly, as if reading her mind, but Satin shakes her head. I have a plan to stick to, she thinks. Instead, using the last few seconds of the journey to her advantage, she nudges Silino’s side, alerting him to the looks they're receiving and plastering a look of discomfort on her face. He immediately catches on and snarls at the pair. As much as he tries to hide it, the boy from Ten flinches, but the girl remains motionless, unfazed by it and she continues to squint at Satin suspiciously as the doors open on the first floor. Her gaze lingers, Satin can feel it burning into the back of her head, and when she turns around, the suspicion has still not lifted. It clouds her features, her eyebrow slightly furrowed and her lips pursed, as if she’s telling Satin that she sees right through her weak, defenceless act.

“What's her problem?” Silino laughs when they’re alone on their floor. He looks at Satin. “You were right, she’s definitely planning something. Regina did mention to keep an eye on her; we’ll need to eliminate her quickly.”

“Bring that up in the meeting.” Cashmere answers on behalf of both her sister and the other mentors. “Now hurry up and change before I get lectured by Regina for letting you be late.”

The boy snorts and heads down the hallway, leaving Satin to make her way to her own. Once she’s in the privacy of her own room, the heels are the first thing she pulls off, discarding them on the floor and lightly massaging the balls of her feet that have started to ache. Heels are so unnecessary when they aren’t made to accommodate the bruises on her toes from years of ballet. Ordinarily, Satin would buy extra padding for the insides, but they haven’t given her any and she knows that she might have to personally request those for the interviews. And she doesn’t particularly enjoy how tall the shoes make her. People often get uncomfortable when a woman is over six feet tall. Especially at sixteen. They never know quite how to speak to her. Then comes the rest of the outfit, peeling away the cape and leotard – and as much as she wants to cringe that the entire nation has seen her whole body only covered in nude mesh, she can’t help but appreciate just how dazzling the outfit is. It shines under the lights as she neatly folds it and places it on top of her bed. The accessories take even longer, removing all of the jewelry and being extra careful not to break the delicate diamonds inlaid into the neckline and the matching earrings; or to damage the huge, real sapphire in the rings. The bracelets are the least of her worries with the time constraints, but she’s still careful with them, piling all of the jewels on the vanity in the room before running to the bathroom. She decides against taking off her makeup or changing her hairstyle, because the more high maintenance and vain she can look for this first meeting with the Fours, the better. On the stool of her vanity, there’s an outfit that she knows Cashmere must have had a hand in because of the colour scheme; gentle hues of light pinks and whites that she loves. There’s no one else in the Capitol who would have picked that out for her. She slips it on and walks outside.

“Are you okay?” Cashmere whispers to their the moment she steps out of the room, nearly making her jump from the shock.

“I’m fine.” She says just as quietly. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Cashmere eyes her suspiciously. “I was talking about the lack of outfit. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

The older sister looks past her, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the living space where her district partner waits for her. “Silino. What happened at the tribute parade?”

“What do you mean?”

“Spill.” She orders. “Or I’ll kill your chances of winning before you’ve even begun. Who threatened my sister and what did they say?”

The tall teenage boy looks guilty for a second, sending Satin an apologetic look as he deems Cashmere’s threat enough to do exactly as she instructs and spills his guts about everything Bastain said. He explains about the ease in which vile threats of rape and coercion left his mouth, directed to Satin and how she assumed they were dating. How he isn’t going to hurt her yet.

Immediately, Cashmere becomes worried, and noticeably so. She has complete faith in her little sister but she also has first hand experience of how brutal men from District Two can be, and so it’s only natural for her to be a little anxious about the threats. Then there’s the opposing fact that it already seems as though Satin’s plan is working to some extent, because Bastain appears to only value her for her looks and not her abilities; respecting Silino more.

“He said that to you?” Cashmere asks her sister. “In an open space where there are cameras everywhere? I can get him killed for that.”

“I’m fine, Mere, honestly. Like I told you, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, men are creepy all the time. It’s just what you expect when you look like we do. Don’t harm your own image in the Capitol just to help me– us.”

Though, as hard as Satin tries, her words are of little comfort to her sister because disbelief flashes across her face. “This isn’t just a catcaller, Satin. Those I know you can deal with, because I taught you how to. This is different.”

“And you taught me how to deal with this too.” Satin rebuttals. “He’s my ally, I don’t have much of a choice apart from dealing with it. I’m stuck until he dies or until I do.”

“Don’t say that.”

Satin narrows her eyes in her sister’s direction, gesturing subtly towards the boy who is still standing beside them, watching in uncertainty of where exactly he fits into their argument now that he’s seemingly finished being addressed. She doesn’t want to risk the possibility of her district partner seeing her as anything other than needing protection from other men. Though, she’s surprised when he decides to pipe up.

“Then we leave the alliance. He’s a psychopath, we can go on without him.”

Cashmere is the one to respond. “No, you can’t back out now. It’ll only make you more of a target because they’ll take offence to being rejected quicker than they wonder why exactly you’ve left the deal. I do agree that I wouldn’t have suggested it if I’d known how sadistic he is. God, Enobaria must hate him.”

Both tributes raise eyebrows in confusion at their mentor's last whispered statement. What does she mean about Enobaria hating him other than the final events of her Games? Satin thinks to herself but she doesn’t have too much time to consider any other possibilities because they have to be upstairs.

“Then let’s go upstairs. Regina will murder us if we’re not there soon.”

“As you wish.” Cashmere says with a dramatic sigh and a matching gesture towards the lift.

Inside the glass lift, Satin turns to her sister and then to her district partner, making brief eye contact with them both. “Neither of you can tell Gloss about what he said, okay?”

“I have to.” The older sister argues. “Article three of the Nicholo code says that we have to tell someone when we’re worried about one of our siblings. And I can’t tell mum and dad because they’re not here; Regina is an absolute no-go; which only leaves Gloss.”

“You can’t. Please, Mere. I don’t care about the code right now, I’m serious. He’ll only make things worse.”

“But–”

“Stop treating me like a child!” Satin snaps, before quickly apologising. She doesn’t want to be fighting with Cashmere at all, but especially not less than a week before she enters an arena she might not make it out of. Then, her plan rushes to the front of her mind, and she paws nervously at the oversized knitted jumper, drawing attention to her movements as she fiddles with the thick cuffs of the pale pink jumper. “I know I’m not as good as either of you, but you can’t tell him. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

“Promise.” They both concede as the lift stops on the second floor.

The second floor is just as unwelcoming as it was yesterday, as dark and matte black as before, and they’re the last to arrive. She switches expressions seamlessly, painting a beaming fake smile across her features with the knowledge that she needs them to prefer her; she needs them to trust her more than any of the others in their alliance for her plan to work. She still feels like she’s about to be sacrificed.

Regina is seething as they enter, searching for their seats. “How nice of you three to finally join us.”

“Sorry.” Satin mumbles her apology, trying to look shyer and weaker than she is, whilst Silino grins and mentions something about answering duty when it calls out to him, making his mentors roll their eyes and dismiss them to their seats. The mentors have grouped at the either end of the table, and Cashmere seems to immediately slot in beside Regina, which leaves space on each side for the two tributes.

One look at the positions tells Satin which way she should move, but Silino chooses for her. Thankfully, it’s the same direction she was hoping for and he guides her to the chair with a hand resting on the small of her back before pulling out the chair for her and walking around to the other end. She’s opposite Bastian and Silino is to his right but that’s preferable; she doesn’t want to sit next to him and the longer she can avoid it, the better. The female tribute from District Four gives her a small smile as she settles, which she returns before looking to her own right and noticing their newest mentor.

Finnick Odair is only fifteen, and is likely younger than his two tributes – of which Satin supposes that she’s going to learn whether she’s correct or not in a moment after they’ve all re-introduced themselves. He’s dressed sharply in a dress shirt and it looks slightly ridiculous in comparison to the others’ casual wear, but at least he’s prepared and ready to try. It’s evident that his first year of being a victor hasn’t changed him too much – he’s got access to nicer clothing and cologne that is a luxury for most fifteen year olds, but he’s still the same golden curly-haired boy with a mischievous cheek-splitting grin, freckles and a small spattering of acne across his chin and above his jawline, that the Capitol are likely going to be fixing soon. He smiles at Satin as she gets herself settled and she makes sense to grin sweetly back before paying attention to the cuffs of her jumper again; ignoring the confused glances that her brother throws her over the young victor’s shoulder.

The female tribute from Four speaks up with an introduction after Mags, at the head of the table, gestures for her to do so. “I’m Calamari Hampton and I’m seventeen. I’m quite good at spearfishing because I often go out on the boat my dad owns.”

She seems strong enough, Satin deciphers noticing that Enobaria, on her diagonal left, is nodding across to her own tribute. Though she’s finding herself at a disadvantage being on the same side of the table as her siblings, because she can’t see their reactions. She’s relying on Silino’s facial expression. And it’s tricky to work out people’s weaknesses without the only person who knows of her plan.

“How good?” Bastian asks, but it doesn’t seem to be coming from a pace of interest but of skepticism. Almost as if he doesn’t believe that girls can be any good on the boats. Sexist pig.

“Good enough to kill you when it comes to it.” She bites back, instantly impressing Satin – and Cashmere, even if Satin can’t see her, she can practically feel the joy radiating from her sister about the drama.

Victoria, on the other side of Calamari, growls despite the threat not being issued directly at her. She’s clearly taken the attack out of loyalty to her district, which doesn’t surprise Satin at all because she’s heard from both of her siblings that Twos can be a little patriotic. And very territorial.

Bastian chuckles, mocking the girl. “I doubt that, sugar. There’s nothing to you. I like my girls a little… taller.”

“Then it’s a damn good job I’m not looking to marry you then, isn’t it? Besides, there are plenty of female victors, you just don’t want to hear it.”

“You can believe whatever you want.” The boy says dismissively, though his eyes flick to Satin’s as if wanting her approval, and she has to smile as their eyes meet for a second before she looks down at the table.

Both Gloss and Silino notice her discomfort, as well as everyone else’s; though it’s Finnick who breaks up the small argument after a not so subtle nudge from the older mentor. “How about we all chill out?” He asks rhetorically in hopes that the tributes will treat him like an official mentor. And thankfully they do quieten down enough for him to continue. “Murray, go ahead and introduce yourself.”

The boy from Four scoffs and rolls his eyes at the newest mentor, point blank refusing to answer until the older mentor from his district instructs him too. “My mentor,” he says whilst making air quotes with his fingers, “already told you but I’m Murray Morgan and I’m sixteen. I’ve been brought up in the fisheries alongside him, which makes me great at setting traps. I’m half decent with a knife too.”

Half decent?

They’ve seemingly found the weak link in their alliance, which is good for Satin because it means she won’t be the first they target when it comes to dissolution – they always try to pick off the strongest and the weakest first. And she can tell that Silino and Bastian are agreeing for the first time; matching smirks painted across their features.

“Ow.” Murray complains when he’s clearly kicked under the table. But then he spots the looks on the rest of the tributes' faces and realises his mistake. But too late, and everything he says to beef up his credentials goes unnoticed. “By that I mean I’m good at slicing fish, I’m sure I could do that with humans too.”

“Sure you could.”

A tense silence falls over the group, with even the mentors unsure how best to diffuse the situation. They seem not to want to insult any of the members by taking sides – even the District Four mentors don’t want to jeopardise the alliance. Eventually, Calamari is the one to break through the awkwardness. “Do we get to know your names as well or have you not deemed us useful enough yet?”

Satin has to admit that the girl has guts because not many people would have the bravery to speak to the volunteers from One and Two like that. She reminds her of Paris back home, and she can’t help but believe they’d be friends if she wasn’t going to have to kill her. Though, that similarity gives her an idea of the angle she can play to keep her onside; and what her weakness might be. The mentors snort, which makes some of the tributes laugh, also gaining the girl some respect amongst her peers.

“Fine, I’m Victoria…” The girl from Two says which creates a chain reaction of re-introductions that Satin zones out from. She’s already heard these the day prior, she doesn’t need to hear them all again this quickly. Bastian follows his district partner and then Silino once again introduces both himself and Satin in one breath. It’s starting to grate a little that he won’t let her speak, but she keeps her smile soft.

“Does she not speak?” Calamari questions with disdain.

“She does.” Gloss answers, ironically for his sister, which only further helps her case.

“Then why isn’t she?”

“She’s shy.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Silicon.”

“It’s Silino.” He corrects.

Satin knows exactly who she’s going to have target her district partner now, because Calamari seems to hate men thinking they can control everything. But to be able to do that, she has to seem at least halfway competent to the girl from Four – needing her to trust her somewhat – and so she speaks up. “I don’t mind him talking for me in these meetings. He has more smarter ideas than I do.”

Gloss’ face almost betrays his sister’s voice, screwing up at the incorrect grammar and the softer tone that she’s been using in meetings – it’s so unlike Satin to get her grammar wrong. The same girl who penned their sibling code at eight years old.

“Much.” The girl from Four says.

Bingo, Satin thinks upon the realisation that the girl has fallen into the trap of correcting her. A trap that perfectly sets up the act to follow. That’s she only to be seen for her beauty and not her brains. She turns her head to face the girl beside her, and her smile is saccharine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s much smarter, not more smarter.”

Technically both can be true, but the blonde plasters fake bewilderment on her face, tilting it to one side and staring at the girl for a few seconds, making sure that there’s as little going on behind her eyes as possible as she focuses on different aspects of Calamari’s appearance until the seventeen year old sighs and says, “You know what? Nevermind.”

“Okay!” She chirps, and at the end of the table, it takes all of Cashmere’s might not to laugh at her sister.

“Well then.” Regina says, and she looks more disappointed than anything, with a deeply furrowed brow. “Let’s continue. You’ll have plenty of time to work things out during your training. We have five days until the bloodbath, so it’s imperative that we actually start thinking logistically about this alliance.”

The thought of whether it’s her mentor’s age and experience that has her leading this alliance meeting flits across Satin’s mind for a moment; she always assumed that the mentors from Two would be in charge. As she listens to Regina continue speaking about how the mentors have already decided that any sponsorship money will be shared between the six of them, – which she knows is the only reason she’s been deemed useful by the mentors – Finnick leans closer to her ear.

“Imperative means really important.” He tells her with the cheeky grin he’s become known for in the past year.

“I kn–” Satin starts, before immediately cutting off her own whisper as she realises that she’s about to blow her cover to a fifteen year old boy who could easily rat her out to gain favour with his own tributes. The momentary panic in her eyes is fortunately missed by the rest of the alliance; caught only by Panem’s newest victor right before it is replaced by an empty glaze. “Thank you.”

He only grins. “Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What secret?”

He only grins, wiggling one eyebrow conspiratorially, and Satin has no choice other than returning the smile and hoping he doesn’t say anything. 

Chapter Text

The noise of the alarm clock shatters the quiet of the room with a sound that is far too shrill for the seventh hour of the morning. Breakfast is to be delivered to their dining area at seven forty-five this morning, and Satin made sure to set her alarm twenty minutes early, despite how late the alliance meeting finished after discussing nothing for an extended period of time; just enough time to physically prepare her body before the first day of training begins. Her eyes are still weighed down by the effects of sleep as she reaches out blindly for the switch on the alarm clock, fingers fumbling to silence the noise.

The cool artificial air kisses her skin as she sits upright, pushing back the cream comforter and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. No matter the day, she has a morning routine consisting of the stretches given to her by her ballet mistress, and she's going to have to try and fit these into the arena somehow – which is likely only achievable either by roping the group into joining her or taking the early morning sleep shift by herself. The polished floor is chilled beneath her feet, sending a shiver up her spine as she rolls her shoulders back to rid the muscles of their sleep-induced stiffness. Her fingers lace together as she pushes her palms toward the ceiling, allowing her spine to bend with a satisfying crack; and her side rolls from side to side. The slow stretch along her neck is grounding: a reminder that she's alive and awake.

From there, Satin moves instinctively through the scenes of stretches she's been completing since she was six to help her ballet performance. Side stretches, slow spinal twists to unwind her muscles, rolling out joints and preparing her body. Then there's the ballet specific stretches – the position of her feet, pliés, tendus, arabesques – before balancing lightly over her lifted leg and switching sides.

There's a knock on the door, yet she knows it won't be Amaryllis coming to wake her for breakfast as it's still too early. Which only leaves the options of her stylist, though it also seems too early for that, her district partner, which is just as unlikely since he seems like the type of person who enjoys sleeping in when he can, or her siblings.

"Come in!" She calls out just loudly enough to be heard, adjusting the way the material of her sleep shorts rest in case it's someone she doesn't want to see.

The opening of the door reveals her brother, who pushes his way inside with a whispered "good morning," before he sits on the edge of the plush, cream bedding. He taps the space next to him on invitation. "Sit, Satin."

She has a feeling that he's speaking to her as a mentor instead of as her brother and so she obeys. She knows he won't take his frustration out on her when she's in the arena but she also knows it wouldn't be smart to piss him off. And ignoring him is one sure fire way to piss Gloss Nicholo off.

Gloss had hesitated outside before he had knocked. He'd been up for hours last night, laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling of his room in the tribute centre as his thoughts ran in endless loops. Satin's words or lack thereof, and her shared looks with Cashmere, had stuck with him – the fragments of a plan and hints of something they aren't telling him. The not knowing gnaws at him, and Cashmere had refused to tell him anything. He needs answers.

He looks at his baby sister, sitting beside him on the bed looking nervous and innocent, and sighs, running through his hair. "I need to know what's going on with you."

"What do you mean?"

His voice, although steady, is laced with worry. "I could barely sleep last night, Tina, and I know it's only going to get worse from now on. You, Mere and whatever this plan of yours is, had been eating at me since I noticed it. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

For a moment, Satin is quiet, her lips parting and closing again, unsure of how or where to start. She nervously fiddles with strands of her hair falling around her.

Gloss' tone softens as he looks back at the apprehension on his sister's face, and he grabs her hand. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything if you don't want to; I trust Mere enough to be able to get you whatever you need in the arena. But if you want my help, then you've got it."

"You promise you won't tell anyone?" She asks cautiously. "Because our plan relies on everyone taking me at face value, including Silino. It's going to get him killed but I need him to trust me." 

"Of course I won't." Gloss tells her confidently. "I know I'm officially his mentor, but you're my baby sister, that makes you my priority."

"I'm no one else's priority though."

"You're Cashmere's too."

Satin huffs. "She doesn't count."

"I'll make sure I tell her that."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Only if you want to." Gloss says with a nod and a smile. "Like I said, it doesn't have to be every inch of the plan, but I promise I can help."

"Okay," she murmurs quietly, trying to decide where to start. And Gloss doesn't rush her, he waits silently until she's formulated her thoughts. She swallows nervously. "Cashmere helped me devise a plan after the first meeting, and we think it will work but you're going to need to stop with the confused glances all the time."

"What's the plan?"

"You're not going to like it." She tells him, knowing her brother well enough to tell that he isn't going to be happy with her ideas. "But with the strength of the alliance, it's the only way."

"It can't be the only way."

"It is, and it's really risky, Gloss. But we both know that I won't be able to beat Bastian or Silino if it comes down to hand to hand combat; nor can I beat Victoria at close range. I'm going to have to be smart about everything but act like I'm just doing what I'm told."

"Is that why you're cosying up to Silino?"

Satin nods. "Please don't tell him."

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Satin." He promises, gently encouraging her to keep talking.

He listens intently as his sister relays the details of her plan, keeping all reactions and judgement to a minimum so as not to scare her from speaking. She's purposefully keeping her voice at a hush, in case her district partner is nearby, not wanting to ruin the plan before it has even begun. But Gloss is used to the volume she often takes up and so he barely has to strain, letting her talk at her own pace. This isn't the plan he personally would have picked for her, but he admits that it's believable, and that the Capitol will eat it up once they work it out. He can't help the way it makes him nervous though.

"I know it's going to stress you out, and I'm sorry."

He squeezes her hand tightly. "The idea of you in the arena alone is already stressing me out, anything else is just extra. Don't worry about us, though, okay? You need to focus on making your act as believable as possible."

Satin smiles. "Do you think it could work?"

"It will work." Gloss assures her. "Mere and I are going to do everything we can to get you out of there. You know that, right?"

"I know." Satin repeats, thinking back to her sister's words during their conversation about the plan – and how they were almost a perfect mirror of her brother's just now. The thought that they're going to do their best is only a small comfort, however, because there's only so much they can help with come the eleventh of July. "Love you."

"Love you, too." Her brother reaffirms, leaning over to give her a hug. Then, he takes notice of the time on the alarm clock and winces; seven forty-eight. Amaryllis is due to hound them any minute now. He releases his sister from the hug and instantly calms the distress on her expression that has followed his wince, with a laugh. "Relax, Ti, nothing's hurt. We just need to get to breakfast."

As they leave Satin's room, the aroma of the spread of breakfast foods clings to the air through the hallway and they can hear the distant clatter of cutlery from the dining table, where it's obvious that Amaryllis is as punctual as ever. The escort is already sitting at the long wooden table once they arrive, with the older mentors at the end closest to her, and Cashmere at the other near Silino. It's surprising that the table isn't groaning under the weight of the elaborate spread of high-protein breakfast dishes; golden-crisped bacon rashers, various forms of eggs complete with cheeses and herbs, grilled sausages, avocados, oats and muesli and several decorative bowls piled high with fresh fruits – blackberries, grapefruits, thick slices of melon and pineapple; all of which are considered far too extravagant for the people of the districts, even the very place responsible for producing the luxury goods. Satin can't help but wonder how the other tributes are reacting.

Regina, casts them both a knowing look as they enter, her expression conveying her disdain for their lateness; matched only by Amaryllis. Though the escort only seems mildly exasperated despite her distaste for anyone who messes with her schedule. In her anger, the older mentor spears a piece of sausage with her fork in a manner reminiscent of arena violence before gesturing to the empty seats. "You seem to be making a habit of your tardiness, Satin."

"It's my fault." Gloss says dryly before Satin can get a word out. He collapses into his chair and immediately reaches for the nearest serving of eggs. "I wanted to talk to her."

Satin slides into the chair between her siblings, thankful that they're sandwiching her because she doesn't want to be anywhere near Regina at the moment, not with the anger radiating from her. She can tell that the older woman doesn't particularly like her, and is probably praying for her downfall, but she doesn't wish to make it any worse by arguing about the fact they're still within breakfast hours given that they're only five minutes late. She carefully fills her plate, choosing the fruit and the thick, flavoured yoghurt. It won't take her long to eat.

For all that Regina likes to complain about their tardiness and Amaryllis likes to harp to whoever will listen about the importance of sticking to a rigid schedule, they haven't missed much in the conversation at all. The mentors are still finishing up their early conversation as everyone eats their own share of the food, barely even making a dent in the stacks laid out along the table.

It's only when everyone is finished that Ledger gives them their first instructions regarding training by repeating what they heard in the alliance meeting the night prior. That they need to remain paired off at all times throughout the entire day, sitting together at lunch to intimidate the other districts with their display of trust and closeness – that is entirely faked considering they're all gearing up to kill one another. That they have to hit the compulsory stations; finding and purifying water, creating fire, searching for shelter and first aid.

"We have another meeting tonight, so try not to get sick of your allies." Regina demands, dismissing them to their bedrooms to get changed for the first day of training.

Folded on the top of the vanity, Satin finds the outfit she's going to be wearing for the next three days. She deduces that she has another time to wash her face in the bathroom, discovering that the machines not only have hairdryers and perfumed sprays but deodorants, picking a rhubarb and raspberry scent. It only takes her a few minutes to change into the athleisure they've provided for her. The base of the outfit is a crisp, bright white that she knows is going to reflect the harsh lights she predicts will be shining in the training suite. A long-sleeved compression top made of sweat-wicking fabric, perfectly matching the sports bra underneath, sculpts her silhouette and has bold black colour blocking along the arms and sides to emphasise form; something she's familiar with from ballet. The leggings are equally as fitted, extending from a high-rise waistband to her ankles, featuring black panels to contour to her legs; though as she pulls them on, Satin notices that her pair sit a few inches above her ankle joint which she attributes to her height. She laces up the lightweight, minimalist white trainers and starts to tackle her hair; pulling it into a high ponytail, securing it with two hair ties and resigning herself to the fact that she's going to have to redo it at least twice throughout the day.

The District One mentors wave their tributes off just before nine o'clock and they meet their allies in the lift as it travels down, taking them from the first floor of the Tribute Centre to the ground floor where the training room is housed. They're all in matching outfits, as to be expected, but when the pair from Four shuffle into the wall to create a gap between themselves and the Twos, Satin and Silino are forced into the space. It's then that she notices the back of their tops have their district numbers pressed onto small squares. And it's also the moment when she realises that the clothes are entirely too tight for her to be comfortable in the presence of three teenage boys who don't see her as anything more than an object. She can only hope that no one tries to touch her.

The lift doors open out to show a vast open space with several stations lined up for them, racks of weapons, fitness equipment such as weight racks and treadmills, training mats and a large obstacle course commonly known in the Academy as the gauntlet placed nearest the far wall. A balcony level runs above the perimeter of the room, yet there aren't any Gamemakers in sight yet. The large digital clock on the wall shows that they've arrived just on time, and the lift shoots back up to the floors to collect and deposit tributes in an orderly fashion.

Whilst the group move into their positions surrounding the head trainer in a circle, Satin takes a precursory glance at the survival stations, noting that they seem to have ample examples from each different climate. She's hopeful that she'll have no need for the survival stations, given that the volunteer districts often have no issues in receiving sponsors that will suffice for the duration of the Games, but the importance of them has been drilled into her. Careful observation of them can give hints to the nature or conditions of the arena, such as the instructors helping with the presence of fake snow or desert sand. She'll have to take a closer look once training has actually begun.

Once everyone is in the desired formation, the head trainer immediately silences the room by introducing himself and giving the tributes a rundown of how the next three days are going to work. "By the end of this year's games, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be alive; who that is, depends on how well you pay attention over the next couple of days, particularly to what I'm about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes; trust me when I say that you'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My top piece of advice is to not ignore survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a weapon, but most of you will die from natural causes – ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife." The man pauses, waiting for everyone to nod in agreement, as the statistics of their deaths makes the other districts suddenly all look extremely uncomfortable, particularly the tributes from the outer districts. "You may continue."

Once they've all been dismissed, the outer district tributes frantically scatter to various stations and the alliance turns to one another. They don't have any formal leader yet, having been told that they're going to be discussing that in tonight's meeting, and so they have to decide amongst themselves what or where to go.

"How shall we split up?" Murray asks, trying to figure out a suggestion that makes him appear less nervous. It's like they don't particularly wish to split themselves, and that he's hoping someone will suggest splitting by district.

"I want to start at the water station with Calamari." Satin tells him, linking her arm through the girl from Four's and beginning to head over to the area of the room where the survival stations are located without waiting for a response.

The other's let out huffs of laughter, and Victoria looks at them in confusion. "No, hold up. This is a group effort."

"What?" Satin asks, making her voice a higher pitch than normal. "I thought we were splitting up so that it wasn't obvious."

The tributes from Four sigh, and Satin immediately knows that they're falling for her dumb blonde act. They each look between each other, waiting for someone to object or to say something, but they're surprised when Silino approaches, gently unhooking Satin's arm from Calamari and leading her a few steps away so that he can talk to her privately. "What are you doing? Everyone just heard the plan, we were supposed to be pairing off in districts so that we can evaluate everyone properly."

"I thought they meant to mix it up so we can learn to trust each other? That's why I picked her, because I don't trust her yet!"

"I guess that makes sense. I'll take Bastian then, just to see if he says anything about you." He tells her, gesturing to the boy standing with the others.

"Why would he say anything about me?" She fakes questions, tilting her head to the side for a few seconds before she walks away, re-linking her arm with Calamari and pulling her in the direction of the water station. She can't imagine that they're going to enjoy each other's company. 

As the girls walk off, Silino returns to the remaining three of his allies, noticing that Murray is several steps away from the pair from Two. "What was that about?" Bastian asks.

He drops his voice to a whisper. "She's getting to know our allies. I mean, you never really know if you can trust a Four; they aren't always involved, you can't predict if they'll be spiteful about it. She would know, her siblings have been through this."

Both of the tributes from Two look over at Murray and then at each other, eyeing the boy up and non-verbally communicating, as if they're weighing up the options of trusting them and whether or not it will come back to bite them later on. Victoria makes the deciding call. "I'll go with Murray."

Bastian snorts at how uneasy Murray looks at the offer, looking like he finds the entire situation amusing as his district partner leads the sixteen year old elsewhere. "Come on then, we can't let the idiots warm up the weapons."

Satin peers over her shoulder for a few moments, noticing that Silino has paired off with Bastian, a scenario that works perfectly for her plan, because she needs her district partner to have as much animosity for the boy from Two as physically possible, and sending them off alone will only increase the chances. They reach the survival stations, choosing the water station first, and the pair from District Nine who were heading in the same direction change their course.

The trainer heading up the session looks surprised that two girls from the inner districts have chosen his station as their first port of call, but he jumps right into his lesson. "Water is your top priority in any survival situation," he begins, keeping his voice steady despite his surprise. "You can only last about three days without it, and dehydration can set in incredibly fast, affecting your ability to think clearly and then impacting your chances of finding any water."

Her act is the furthest thing from her mind as Satin pays attention to everything the instructor is saying. Water is likely one of the only things that Cashmere and Gloss won't be able to provide her with unless absolutely necessary, because ninety-nine percent of the time there's some obvious water source in the arena and it would be a waste of sponsor resources to provide the alliance with something they can easily obtain themselves. She needs to know how to find water if she finds herself unlucky enough to be thrown into an arena with no source.

"The key to finding water is knowing where to look." The man says, picking up a few twigs from his station and rolling them between his fingers. "Animals are great indicators of water, so watch their movements as closely as possible."

"What movements should we be looking for?" Calamari asks, showing that she is just as invested in her survival. But Satin is surprised that she doesn't know any of this, or that they don't teach the basics of this process in District Four schools, because she knows that following woodland animals can often lead you to safe water sources.

"There are many. For example, birds often fly lower near water sources and insects will tend to gather around moisture they can find, such as trees or patches of green plants in an otherwise dry landscape. This is because some animals have evolved to have heightened olfactory senses."

Intelligent language, Satin detects, leaning closer to Calamari without missing a beat and whispering, "what does o'factory mean?"

"Olfactory is your sense of smell."

The honest answer she received tells Satin that the girl from Four trusts her. Either that or she thinks that she's too stupid to be a true threat in the arena; both of which she can work with. At least she's not lying to her face. But she has to maintain the front and poses a question to the instructor. "But water doesn't smell of anything?"

The man almost appears to pity her as he responds. "Yes, water is odourless to us humans, but many animals have stronger senses of smell that means they can detect moisture in the air that occurs near water sources." She nods rapidly to show she's listening before the instructor continues, "These water sources can include rivers, streams, canals, ponds or rainwater that has collected in low areas. But you need to be careful around stagnant water because it can be full of bacteria and parasites, making you ill and more susceptible to other infections. Fast-moving water from streams or rivers is your best bet."

The instruction to avoid stagnant water can be taken as a subtle hint that the arena is going to contain at least one source of running water, just as Satin expected.

"What if there's no running water nearby?" The darker haired girl asks the instructor, tilting her head in thought.

"Excellent question. I'm not sure if you're going to be needing that knowledge but you can collect water in a multitude of ways nonetheless." He picks up a cup, a few rocks and a plastic sheet from the table at his station, setting up a very simple system that Satin pays as much attention as possible whilst looking confused. "Firstly, you can use a solar still, where you dig a hole in the ground and place a cup in the centre, covering it with clear plastic to allow for condensation to form as the sun heats the ground. This collects water vapour in the cup. It's slow but it works in incredibly dry areas."

"Can't we just get a bottle?"

"No. We can't." Calamari hisses, squinting her eyes at her ally before asking the instructor. "And what if we have water but we don't know if it's safe?"

"There's unsafe water?"

The girl from Four rolls her eyes, watching her blonde ally shift her weight and stare blankly at the trainer manning the station. The man returns his items to the table, dusting off his hands from the rocks, seemingly unbothered by her question. He's probably heard stupider. He gestures to the items at his station. "That's where purification comes in, my dear. You can kill most pathogens if you have fire and a pan by boiling water. Without a fire, a piece of cloth to strain the debris. Or you can make a crude filter by layering charcoal, sand and small pebbles. And if all else fails, there are purification tablets and iodine if you've got it; five drops per litre of water that you've collected."

Satin absorbs the information, committing as much of it to memory as possible, taking extra note of the number of iodine drops needed per litre while the station instructor hands them a small bottle of murky cloudy water and a bottle of iodine. He tells them it's their turn to try what they've just learnt, watching them as they spend a few moments filtering their water as they were shown, practicing with the tools they can find – if they're not already present in the cornucopia.

Two drops of iodine and one shake of the bottle later, Satin holds her bottle in the air with a fake display of pride, watching the last few orange hues of the liquid iodine swirl through the water; that is now clean. "It's so pretty."

"Very."

"Look!" She trills, holding the bottle directly in front of Calamari's eye line so that the girl from Four can see her progress, letting her think that she's keeping a close eye on her. "Can I drink it?"

No one can miss how harshly Calamari rolls her eyes, but Satin refuses to acknowledge it, despite how annoyed it makes her. God this girl hates me, she thinks, though the wide smile and blank stare doesn't falter. The girl from Four sighs deeply and visibly musters all of her patience before turning to face the blonde. Her voice is incredibly sarcastic, "Is it clean?"

No, dumbass, I'm going to drink filthy, bacteria-ridden water in the middle of the training centre. Satin has to resist the urge to roll her own eyes as the thought crosses her mind, and at how her ally has seriously minimal faith in her ability to think independently. The water is perfectly clear now, and she knows it's perfectly safe to drink. "It looks clean!"

Confusion covers the dirty-blonde's expression, the girl from Four not quite understanding how someone who appears to have such few brain cells is able to perfectly purify the water that she can't quite do on her first try. And Satin can tell that the girl is trying to work out if her success is down to pure luck or if she's just really good at water purification; because god forbid it be anything else. "Yeah..." Her voice trails off as she stares intently at the bottle. "It does look very clean."

Satin lifts the water bottle to her lips, confident that she's done a great job in cleansing it from any of the bacteria that the instructor mentioned in his lesson, but the man stops her when the bottle is only centimetres away. He tells her that the water is only for demonstration purposes with them needing the bottles for all of the other tributes that have to visit the station; and then he lets her in on something that she's not sure he was supposed to. He tells that she should try to wait at least thirty minutes before ingesting anything with a high concentration of iodine, something that she makes sure to make a note of despite knowing that she'll be unable to tell the time once in the arena. She smiles at him and nods. "Oh okay, I'll wait for the arena."

Her ally snorts, concentrating on the other techniques at the water collection station for a short while in silence, before they move on to the edible plants section. The woman controlling this station is just as stunned as the previous instructor had been at the sight of the two girls sitting just out of earshot of the pair from District Five who have also made the choice to complete this station first. She has a long list of edible plants complete with detailed diagrams of their appearance on the backboard, split into columns of safe and unsafe which Satin tries her best to memorise. "Plants can be one of your most reliable sources if you know what you're looking for, but eat the wrong one and you can end up dead."

That's wonderfully cheery, Satin thinks to herself. She knows that the arena isn't going to be a walk in the park, but she didn't quite realise how many different types of plants that she's going to need to be able to identify. She notices that even Calamari is unable to hide the discomfort on her face at the woman's words as the instructor starts to talk the small group through the different common safe plants. She talks them through dandelion, chickweed, clover, wood sorrel – with heart shaped leaves that Satin has to pretend to be in awe of – and even stinging nettles; giving them a fast rundown on their properties and nutritional benefits.

One of the Fives asks if there's a way to determine the safety of a plant if they're unable to identify it, to which the instructor praises as a great question before explaining the universal edibility test they should use as an absolute last resort. It's incredibly risky and as she listens to the explanation, she finds herself thankful that the alliance is unlikely to be short of food, what with securing the cornucopia and the sponsor gifts her siblings are certain to secure, because she's unsure that half of her allies would have the patience to wait for this method to work, or the brain capacity to remember it. And she sure can't relay it without giving up her act.

She continues talking about the benefits of stinging nettles, holding up an example leaf in her gloved hands, which is a benefit the tributes might not have. They're apparently high in protein, iron and vitamin A, but there's the issue of their most notorious feature.

"So we have to ignore the 'stinging' part? What if it stings my tongue?" Satin interrupts slightly with a raise of her eyebrow and a confused furrow.

She can hear the Fives giggling to each other despite the glare that Calamari is shooting them for disrespecting someone she's been told to stick around. Satin wants to curse them out, but instead she doesn't give them a second look, focusing on the instructor to prevent the fury she shares with Cashmere from escaping her. They won't be laughing when they're dead and I'm going home to my friends and family, she thinks before quickly internally scolding herself at how harsh her thoughts are.

"Pretty much. If you have gloves available then I would wear those, or you can use a spare cloth to harvest it." The instructor chuckles as she folds the stinging nettle in half and rubs it between her gloved fingers. The comment about gloves helps the tributes to infer that the arena might have a little chill to it and they might be able to retrieve some kind of warm covering for their fingers. "Crushing the nettles like this neutralises the sting, meaning it won't sting your tongue."

She pops it into her mouth and chews. All four of the tributes stare at her. "Try it."

"You're just making us eat weird stuff." The boy from Five comments.

The instructor levels the young teenage boy with a harsh look. "You want to survive, don't you?"

Satin giggles lightly, actually amused by the boy's reaction, he seems offended. Everyone looks at her as if she's non-human and she has to bite back the comments threatening to spill from her tongue. Playing dumb is killing her and it's only the first day of training. The woman leading the session ignores her and starts to talk about the different poisonous plants that they might encounter and how to steer clear of them; listing off the various smells, colours and appearances that they should avoid. Almond scents can mean cyanide; white and yellow berries are far riskier than red or blue coloured fruits; and milky sap can be toxic. "If it looks like parsley but you're not sure – leave it alone. Hemlock looks similar and one bite of that will kill you."

"No mystery parsley."

Calamari sighs loudly as they continue to learn about different plants that have been seen in the arena previously and which have been the deadliest offenders in past years; all of them trying to learn at least a few key safe plants before they change to another station.

"You know," The girl from Four says quietly, looking over at her ally as the Fives busy themselves with the recognition tasks. "I think this is the most I've heard you speak."

"Oh! I'm sorry, should I be quiet?"

"No?" Calamari questions, looking on in confusion as she flicks her gaze between the blonde to her right and the plant identification booklets that are scattered around the station, keeping the folder on the page about the different kinds of berries and giving Satin a clue about the types of things she's worried about consuming in the arena. That if her plan goes wrong, Calamari won't be easy to poison. "Why would you have to be quiet? Because of that overbearing district partner of yours?"

"What does that mean?" Satin asks quickly, hoping that the girl thinks she's dumb enough to need even more explanation.

"Overbearing? It means that he's trying to control you with force? Is that what's happening?"

"I think so," Satin shrugs, flicking her own booklet a random page and absorbing as much of the information as she possibly can just by staring at it. Her eyes make no movements, which she finds increasingly difficult the more she keeps up the stare, and she notices the appearance of the plant. She's opened it to foxgloves, a plant that she already knows are poisonous because of her exposure to the woodland areas she frequents with Marvel to tend to the wild population of raccoons, but she surmises that it can't hurt to read up on them anyway. The information sheet states that foxgloves contain cardiac glycosides which stop the heart's cells from pumping sodium out, and that it can cause nausea, headaches, visual and perceptual disturbances and heart problems. An easy method of poison if she can find some in the arena and crush them up into her allies' water in small enough doses to confuse and disorientate them. But as she's thinking over different possibilities, she notices that Calamari's gaze is intense. "I think he likes to control me, but it's easier than fighting, isn't it? If he speaks for me then he won't hate me."

"How is it easier?"

Because it makes you hate him, Satin thinks, and the more you hate him, the more likely you are to strike when I tell you too. Her thoughts are strong but she pushes away the hints of concentration from her face and looks up at her ally as though she hasn't had a thought in years. "He has smart ideas, and I'm weak– he said all girls are– so I don't think fighting him is very smart."

"All girls are weak..." She repeats in a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

Satin can practically see the seething rage bubbling in Calamari, but she doesn't react. Instead, she smiles at her ally and her voice is as light as birdsong as she continues. "Yeah, that's what Silino said and he's so smart! But I think I can kill him eventually if I can learn how."

There's a silence between them for a few beats and the girl from Four seems to think over what Satin has just uttered; surprised that the same girl who was put off by the mention of death in last night's alliance meeting is suddenly interested in eliminating her district partner. The seventeen year old completely abandons her study of the plants to study her blonde ally, with the sound of the weapons clashing the only backdrop to her thoughts; and Satin can only hope that she takes the bait. "I could help you?"

There we go. One down, four to go.

"We can make a plan of our own. Forget the rest of them. I'll take our Silino and you can get rid of Murray for me; don't think I couldn't tell that he's the weakest link."

"Like an eye for an eye?"

"Sort of? Think of it more as having each other's backs..." Calamari trails off slightly in her consideration, keeping her voice at a low volume so that no one overhears them and edging closer to Satin. "We'll need a code word or something so we know when to act, and if we wait a week then it'll be much less suspicious."

"I can use my pretty water!" Satin chirps, receiving a hush from her ally who places her finger over her lips to signal for her to quieten down.

But the girl's eyes light up. "Yes. Yes, we can use your pretty water. How about you tell me that you're going to get us some water and I'll strike up close, leaving you to attack Murray. But you'll need to be obvious about it, Satin. You can't just say 'oh where's my bottle?' and expect me to understand your signal. If we're not on the same page it won't work."

Satin realises that she's forgetting about the minor issue of the Two's being present when they enact the plan, but she'll fine tune the details during their next conversation. Besides, it doesn't really matter if they're around considering I'm turning them all against each other anyway, she thinks, but she takes note of the wording that Calamari has suggested because she's going to have to present that to the other members of the alliance in order for them all to strike at the same time. She nods. "Okay.... I'm going to get some water..."

"Just like that. We have a plan."

"Yay! I won't tell anyone, promise."

The girl from Four's eyes widen. "You can't tell anyone. I mean it. It won't work if you tell everyone. It has to stay between us."

Time to dumb herself down again. "Not even Gloss?"

"Especially not Gloss, he's Silino's mentor."

"But he's my brother and I tell him everything!"

"Well you can't tell him this. He's contractually obliged to help Silino out, not you." Calamari begs, unaware that she's being played like a damn fiddle. Gloss is already involved in Satin's plan and would probably take some offence at the thought that he's going to prioritise a boy he has no attachment to over his own sister. The girl seems satisfied when Satin nods rapidly as if understanding and agreeing with what she's telling her. "How about you tell your sister instead?"

"Okay!" She chirps, forcing light back into her eyes. "I'll tell Mere! She'll be so proud of me for helping you with an idea!"

"I'm sure she will be."

The dismissive tone of the seventeen year old from Four tells Satin that they're back to their previous dynamic of Calamari being fed up with absolutely everything she says, and they return to the stations. The shelter station is likely a waste of time for anyone from a district with a prowess for volunteering, but given that it's compulsory for all tributes to attend so that the Games aren't boring for the Capitol citizens, they make sure to listen. It's either that or they'll have to revisit it later. He shows them how to build a variety of shelters from basically any material they might encounter, how to insulate caves and how to avoid sand storms. There's nothing that suggests a specific climate.

The Gamemakers watching from the balcony level call for lunch break at twelve o'clock before the two girls have managed to attend the first aid station. The tributes are escorted by Avoxes down to the basement where long tables, similar to the ones in the Academy canteens, have been strategically placed. The queue for the food moves relatively quickly, with all of the hungry tributes piling their plates high; though the difference lies in what the children choose. The volunteers choose the most protein-packed diet they can whilst the outer tributes pick whatever will give them their fill, most of it high in fats and calories to prepare them for the stints without food in the arena.

They meet at the centre table and continue to govern the area. To Satin's dismay, Bastian stakes his claim to the seat to her right, and the rest of the group starts to tell one another what they spent the morning doing. Most of it is weapons related, and it seems like most of them have preoccupied themselves with showing off rather than practicing their skills. Great to know that whilst Satin is trying to keep herself alive – and Calamari, to her credit – the boys think a testosterone fueled intimidation ritual of the outer district is the best use of their time. Even Victoria seems mildly annoyed that they haven't gleaned any useful information about the others, which comes as a surprise.

"Did you do anything at all useful?" The girl from Two asks. "Or did you just scare the outer district cannon fodder some more?"

"That's what we're here for." Bastian smirks. "And don't think I didn't notice you spending half your morning practicing with a club."

Victoria looks peeved at being called out by her district partner, and Satin thinks she might even be able to sense some animosity between them. That if she pushes enough of a wedge between them, their loyalty to one another might crack; though she'll try to prolong that as much as possible given that she isn't trying to directly pit them against one another; their mentors are probably doing enough of that for her. And one glance at Murray, who can't hide his discomfort, tells her that she's made the right choice during discussions with Cashmere about who to make the target for who.

"Sounds like a testosterone-fest to me." Calamari mutters, making Victoria smirk, though it looks unnervingly homicidal.

Satin has to refrain from giggling at the comment, because there's no way anyone with as few brains as she's making herself out to have would know what that means yet alone find it funny. She glances at Calamari, who she now knows that she has to keep a close eye on – on the off chance that she makes plans with any of the others – and tilts her head in faux confusion. "What's that?"

"The hormone that makes boys into boys." Victoria answers.

"What's a hormone?"

Some of the boys snort, though Bastian looks like he's enjoying her interest in the inner workings of his body. Calamari sighs, "It's a chemical in your body. Please tell me you know what a chemical is because that's about as dumbed down as I can make that definition."

Satin shakes her head with a light giggle, and she's surprised that Silino isn't questioning a couple of things about her by now; namely how in the hell she's related to Cashmere and Gloss, and how she could possibly have met the selection criteria for the volunteers from One without a single working brain cell.

"How about you ask your brother?"

"If big brother isn't too busy getting us sponsorships already." Bastian says, wiggling his eyebrows when he says the word 'busy' that rubs Satin the wrong way. Because what the hell does he mean he'll be too busy? Of course both Cashmere and Gloss are going to be busy, because they've already told her that having older siblings as victors is a gold mine for sponsorships – besides, Gloss knows what he's doing, he's been through this once before.

She smiles. "Okay!"

"Ask me what?" Gloss says, alerting the alliance to the presence of the mentors who are allowed down to the lunch area during training to reconvene with their tributes and give them pointers or instructions on what stations they want them to hit next. It's clear that the older District One mentors have decided to send Cashmere and Gloss down because their absence is quickly noted by Satin, and she wonders if it's anything to do with the fact that Regina can barely be bothered to speak to her on their floor, let alone during training.

"About testosterone."

The whole group of mentors contort their faces in surprise, wondering how exactly the group has got onto the topic of testosterone, but they seem to either brush past it or not wish for elaboration because Enobaria is quick to steer the conversation back to their activities. Victoria and Bastian take control of the explanations, telling their mentors which tributes have been on which stations that morning, as if they care about what any of the others are doing. The Fours have sent Finnick down without Mags, as if they're confident in his abilities despite his age, which is quite heartwarming in Satin's opinion, though she can tell that the others aren't thinking of the same opinion. And Gloss is helping him too, she can tell.

"Anything we can do to help?" Cashmere asks once they've finished their explanation.

Silino looks at his mentor and holds out his water bottle expectantly. "Will you fill this up for me? There's not much else you can help with right now."

Gloss snorts but snatches the water bottle from the boy's hands and heads in the direction of the water fountain, leaving the rest of the group alone with their mentors as they watch the rest of the tributes stuffing their faces with food. Cashmere looks at her sister and her place at the table. "Where's your bottle?"

Satin is fully aware that her older sister is referring to the canteens of water that each tribute is given to use during their stint in the training centre – each marked with their name and District number – but she must maintain her pretences. "I left it back at the water station? The man said I couldn't drink it because it had the orange liquid in it?"

"No, Satin, the District One bottle you're given."

"I don't have one of those." She fake panics, eyes wide as she stares at her sister and looks down the table to see the canteens that her allies have. "Was I supposed to bring one with me? Mere! You didn't tell me I needed to bring a bottle!"

It's when Calamari speaks up in defence of her that Satin knows she's really got her; that she's well and truly on her side. "We didn't pick ours up because we went straight to the survival stations. I'll remind her to get it when we head back in."

"It's fine, I'll handle it." Cashmere laughs, crossing paths with a confused Gloss as she heads upstairs to the fountain where the tributes were supposed to collect their bottles, leaving Satin to stare into space and pay as little attention as possible until she returns with a full water canteen for her and for Calamari, too; having used clues to pick up on the fact that Satin has obviously been trying to get into her good books that morning.

At the end of the hour lunch break, the mentors all bid their tributes goodbye with an instruction to keep an eye on the larger tributes; namely the large boy from Eight, the girl from Ten and both from Eleven, the only people outside of their group that they deem as any kind of threat. There's a small disagreement about whether they should split up in the same pairs as they did at their first orders – Murray specifically looks incredibly keen to switch partners – but eventually it's resolved by the boys who like to think they're in charge. Satin doesn't miss the way Calamari rolls her eyes at their display, shooting her a quick glance as if signalling that she understands her frustration.

"Satin, you and Victoria should go to weapons." Silino tells her, gesturing towards the various stations at the far end of the room. "We've had our turn, it's only fair you get a go. I'll go with Murray to the survival stations, and Bastian is going to spend the afternoon in the general fitness area with Calamari."

It's evident that the boy from One is going to be voted as the leader of their alliance in their next meeting, because that's something the mentors told them to think about over the first day of training – effectively giving everyone the opportunity to size up their competition and weigh their options of who they trust the most to lead them as close to victory as possible. Bastian, however, doesn't look very happy with the choice, though it's a near miracle that he doesn't verbally oppose the decision, which gives Satin a lot to think about. But she smiles at Silino after taking in his words. "Okay, try not to kill each other." She giggles lightly.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm saving that for the arena." The boy from Two jokes, though everyone can see through the façade. He's completely serious.

She doesn't quite know how to respond to that comment, how she's expected to react to such a brazen threat, so she just giggles and follows Victoria to the multitude of weapons available for practice.

The girls from Three and Twelve, and the boy from Ten scatter from around the blunt weapons area when they approach, which opens the floor to the two assigned trainers. Victoria picks up the largest blunt mace from the rack and immediately starts hacking away at the assistant.

Despite being a grown man with a club of his own, he can barely block her blows as he desperately tries to keep up with her. Everytime her blade makes contact with his, he has to muster all his strength to create the momentum allowing him to push her off of him. And as much as Satin hates to admit it, Victoria is simply put, terrifying and she's nervous at the thought of having to face her one-to-one at the end of the Games. She has to fall victim to the plan. But she doesn't allow herself to stare as the girl continues to strike again and again – because who knows how the Twos will react to the knowledge that she feels intimidated by her. She rolls her shoulders and shifts her stance as the second trainer holds out a baton.

She smiles sweetly at the middle aged Capitol man as he hands her the blunt weapon. "Take it easy on me?" She asks politely, knowing that she can't drop her act when Victoria could be listening, given that she's in earshot. "I haven't ever used a baton before."

The trainer nods as he studies the girl with keen eyes, and instructs her into the best stance via his words. The man she's fearing is grizzled, with a scar running down the length of his forearm that scares her – because who knows what kind of tribute gave him that scar.

"First rule." He says, voice even. "Is control."

Without warning, he lunges forward and swings his baton in a downward arc, giving Satin barely any time to react. Her arms raise just in time to block, sending the impact jolting up her arms – even with the firm hold she maintains. The trainer doesn't stop, twisting and attacking from the side, forcing her to duck in rough, quick movement. Oh my god, she thinks already nervous at the speed she's being challenged at – focusing more on dodging than retaliating.

"Tighten your grip." He orders, and Satin does so instantly. "If I hit you hard enough, you'll drop that thing."

"Please don't." She pleads, though she isn't too sure if she'd mind – it's impossible to tell what effect that might have on her allies or the Gamemakers.

They continue to swing – well the trainer does, Satin avoids, she's always been more confident with projectiles – for a while, and many of the tributes have stopped to watch. All she can hope is that they're noticing how lithe and agile she is whilst not engaging in offensive moves; perfectly dodging every attempt. Neither tribute backs down until the trainers pull back, citing that they're welcome to continue practicing on the dummies but they have to be able to help the others. Victoria grunts when her instructor pulls back, immediately heading for the solo area; whereas Satin only follows a few steps behind her. Her arms ache and her breath comes in ragged gasps as she tightens her ponytail. She can't wait to show that she's not completely incompetent when they move to projectiles, because right now, even her beauty and the promise of sponsorships isn't enough to keep her off the Twos hitlist if she looks weak enough to be a hindrance.

Victoria continues training, swinging her mace into dummies at speed, and Satin perches herself on a seat at the edge of the mats; watching her intently. She's fucking terrifying up close, and she's deadly, so every tiny detail that she can gather about her technique or any of her will help when it comes down to it. After watching for a while, she notices that the girl from Two is ever so slightly weaker on the left side of her body – which works perfectly for her, being left-handed – because she steps forward onto her left foot before initiating an attack.

When the girl from Two steps away from the dummies to evaluate her strikes, Satin slowly approaches her and tries not to scare her. "Will you teach me how to do that?"

Victoria glances at her strangely. "Did you never learn how to use short range weapons?"

"No," Satin smiles. "I tried a sword once but I wasn't very good at it so I just stuck to my knives."

"And the trainers didn't make you? What do they teach you?"

"Oh they teach us a lot of stuff, like how to smile properly and how to balance, and how to tie your hair up really fast but in a way that's also sexy!" The blonde says, standing on one leg for a few seconds to demonstrate how good the balance she's cultivated through ballet is before re-adjusting her ponytail. And she's lying straight to her face, because although the Academy in One does give them lessons on their posture and the practices to gain sponsors such as smiling, balance and composure during the interviews, they've also given her a deadly accuracy with throwing knives and spears at a medium range; and she's handy enough with a sword after sessions with Gloss for the past three years since his win. She might not be a perfect shot every time like her sister has been described, but she's perfectly capable in her own right.

"Nothing about weapons?"

The scepticism in Victoria's voice has Satin making the split second decision to admit to having some kind of knowledge, because like she thought earlier, pretending that she's completely dependent on the skills of the Twos is a quick way to get herself killed when she has her back turned; she needs to look like she'll at least put up a little bit of a fight. She shakes her head. "Of course they teach us about weapons too, but I only listened in projectiles, I've never needed hand-to-hand. It's okay though because I have you now!"

She's playing a dangerous, dangerous game with the female Two, but it seems to work because Victoria smiles smugly. It seems like the conclusion to stroke the girl's ego has paid off; she's obviously flattered by it all. She concedes. "Sure, I'll teach you a little bit, come on."

"Thank you!" The blonde chirps. "I knew you'd be the best person to come to but when I asked Calamari this morning she told me you'd say no. I don't think she trusts us very much."

"What do you mean she told you I'd say no?" Victoria asks, stepping right into the perfectly laid trap.

Another weapon in her arsenal.

"Oh, she told me that you wouldn't want to help me, because Two never want to help anyone. You're bloodthirsty– she said. I'm not sure what she means by that though?" Her head tilts in confusion as if she's trying to piece together the words the girl from Four said – except really she's committing them to memory because Calamari said nothing of the sort, the tributes from Two didn't come up once all morning.

"I know." Victoria scoffs, glaring at her ally from across the hall.

"What does she mean? Why would anyone be thirsty for blood? I was told that you can only say thirsty for drinks? I'm thirsty now actually." Satin says, making her pitch higher to prevent the giggles that are threatening her lips from spilling over at how dumb she's playing. She takes a sip of the water in the canteen she's now carrying after Cashmere had filled it up for her, and exhales dramatically in satisfaction after the cool liquid hits her throat.

The dramatics are entirely ignored by Victoria, but it's easy to decipher that the girl from Two is ignoring her ally's actions because she's unsure of how to speak to someone with very few brains. Her gaze returns to Satin. "What else did she tell you?"

"I can't say." Satin risks. "She said I shouldn't tell you anything because then you'll win!"

A remarkably simple play. But the girl scoffs again, and gives an answer that is just as simple, and remarkably predictable. "Of course I will, it's not like she'll be able to beat me. Satin, do you trust me?"

Satin nods enthusiastically, despite not trusting the girl from Two as far as she could throw her. But anything to make her side with her in the inevitable fallout, right? It's beginning to wear away at her and she wants nothing more than to hit every single target on the knife training equipment and prove her worth, but she can't. Only a few more weeks of pretending that everything these people tell me goes in one ear and straight out of the other, she reminds herself before answering Victoria. "Yes! Why wouldn't I? We're allies, and Cashmere said that I always have to trust my allies."

"Then will you tell me what she said?"

"Okay!" The blonde girl says cheerfully, letting the brunette believe that she's successfully manipulating her, which is evident by the smug smirk crawling across her features – completely unaware that Satin is controlling the line of questioning with her choice of wording. "Well she said that she thinks the Gamemakers want another winner from Four, and she wouldn't answer any of my questions."

"What questions, Satin?"

She has to make something up on the spot. "She knew all of the answers to the poison booklet! Do you think that means she wants to poison us? And she was jealous when I made my water pretty!"

"You made water... pretty?"

"Yes! With the orange drops."

"Right, iodine, of course you'd find that pretty."

Victoria orders Satin back over to the padded areas of solo practice, pressing a baton into her right hand and lifting her brows when she notices her switching it into her left; and Satin curses herself for giving away one of her easily hideable inherited traits. Not that it really bothers her if Victoria knows she's left handed, but it could be used to catch people by surprise. As the District Two girl talks her through the basics of hand-to-hand combat – and Satin engages her core like her sister taught her whilst fighting – rhythmic thwacks of metal sound against the padded dummies. She surges forward when she's told to and snaps her wrists forward in quick, controlled strikes and upward jabs meant to mimic a disarming blow as Victoria snaps orders to tighten her form and fluidify her movements. The practice won't hurt her efforts.

Technique after technique is taught and Satin tries to commit as much of the information to memory as she can, as well as Victoria's tells; continuing until they're both stepping back with sweat beading at their hairlines. Once she's caught her breath, she looks at Victoria and holds the baton up to draw her attention to it. "Do you think I could kill her with this?"

"Probably not." Victoria snorts, before the wheels in her brain turn in a highly amusing visual display that has Satin biting back her laughter – because she's oh so obvious. "But I can."

No shit, Satin thinks but she pretends to be nervous, placing the batons back on the rack and trying to gently direct her session partner to the knife station. "Maybe we should kill from a distance?" She pretends like the idea hasn't been carefully constructed. "She doesn't like us, so what if she doesn't want to sit next to us? I can take Murray from metres away as long as you can take her!"

"You really think you can take him?"

"From a distance I can, swear!" Satin pleads, hoping that the annoyance she feels about being underestimated again isn't shining through.

Victoria nudges her and gestures to the station that they've finally reached. "Prove to me you can take him and we'll make a deal."

In response, Satin nods at the trainer, a short slightly stocky woman with bright red hair, who types some commands into a control pad. The knife station comes alive, with various lights sparkling around to showcase where the targets will be – which Satin takes a quick note of as the trainer hands her a selection of throwing knives. After a quick assessment of their weight, the activity begins with stationary targets, which the girl quickly identifies and hits. She isn't surprised to feel the eyes of a dozen tributes on her as she shows her skills. After the first round is completed, the trainer inputs more commands as an assistant returns the projectiles to the tribute.

When the trainer hits a button, the dummies start to move in zig-zag motion across the floor of the station. Shit, Satin thinks as she racks her brain for all of the techniques she'd spent time improving with her siblings. The knife quickly leaves her hand and the screens show it's a critical hit when it lodges inside the chest cavity of the dummy. Again and again, she throws with precision as her training takes over. It's almost scary to Satin how fast her vision tunnels under her focus; how everything in her peripheral vision blurs apart from the incoming targets and her view of her hand. She isn't sure if that will be too helpful in the arena because she knows she's going to need all her senses. Each flick of her wrist takes out another simulated adversary according to the screens. She purposefully lets a few get a little too close for comfort so that her entire defenceless act doesn't fall apart, but all practice is good practice – she knows that much from ballet. Ten opponents fall in the span of eight minutes if the screens are correct. 

"Excellent throws, Satin." The trainer's voice breaks the teenager out of her stupor, almost surprised at how well she's executed the throws. "Would you like to go again?"

As if she wants to test if performance was a fluke. Satin wants to roll her eyes at the lack of belief in her ability to win or even to kill. "In a minute." She smiles sweetly at the trainer as the assistant fetches the knives.

She looks back at her ally beside her, who is staring at her with an impressed expression, like this is the first time she's viewed Satin as an actual opponent, and not just the pretty girl who seems to dislike the Fours as much as she does. The other tributes are avoiding gaping but it's extremely satisfying to see the look on her face; Victoria's not quite scared of her but she's at least a little more likely to agree to her deal. She's going to be dead in a couple of weeks time, Satin's going to make sure of it.

The girl from Two raises an eyebrow at her. "Alright, you've proved yourself."

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That evening, after a dinner that's high in protein and fibre, and so large that Satin has to pick at it just so that she can finish it; so as not to get screamed at by the older mentors for not meeting her macro goals, the tributes are told that they have another alliance meeting on the second floor. They've already been allowed time to shower off the sweat from the first day of training and Satin has made sure she makes her presentable once again despite wanting nothing more than to turn up bare faced, listen as little as possible for the meeting's duration and curl up in bed to get as much sleep as possible. She can already tell that she's going to be tired in the morning, but she supposes that she should get used to it considering she's likely only going to be getting a few hours at a time from next week. And she's barely had time to speak alone with her siblings, which means she'll have to catch them tomorrow and fill them in.

The second floor hasn't improved at all in the twenty-four hours since they were last there though Satin isn't really sure what she expects – maybe the Twos like feeling part of a giant ritualistic sacrifice. Though the colourful mugs on the kitchen surfaces are a welcome addition that tells her at least Brutus and Enobaria are human. She can't wait to get to know them properly once she wins, because both her siblings speak highly of them; Regina doesn't even greet the other mentors as she breezes straight past into the dining room.

"Hello to you too." Enobaria mutters under her breath, and Satin has to stop herself from giggling at how much she visibly hates District One's older female mentor. She wonders whether spending so much time with one another to secure sponsorships builds resentment or if Regina has just always been difficult to like.

The other mentors quickly join the tributes around the table, though Satin is quickly angered to find that the seat she's been left with is between Bastian and Murrary, and she's further away than she would like from either of her siblings. And out of earshot of Finnick. She really needs to keep an eye on him in the next few days, or she supposes she'll have to get Cashmere to make sure he doesn't spill the details of whatever he thinks he's worked out, considering she'll be in the arena.

After a quick retelling of how they spent their afternoon and what they think of the training facilities, – to which everyone has the common sense to sing the Capitol's praises, knowing that they're probably listening to at least some of their conversations – Mags passes around small pads of paper and pens; given that her experience allows her to help take charge. "Yesterday Regina told you that the money we collect will be pooled together, which I hope has helped you begin to build a relationship with your allies, but tonight we need to decide on who is going to lead your alliance going forward – including in training. I'd like you to use what you've learnt about the people in this room to write down who you think can lead the best, and hand me the paper."

"Think carefully." Brutus adds, to which Ledger nods, clearly having wanted to give the same input.

Bastian snorts. "Obviously it should be me."

Obviously, it shouldn't, Satin thinks, immediately categorically ruling him out. The only reason she would vote for him is if she's absolutely lost her mind beyond how she's frying it to act brainless in front of her allies. She can tell that some of the others are thinking similarly.

Regina shakes her head before explaining how the tributes should vote, assuming that they aren't smart enough to deduce this for themselves. "You want to vote for the person who is going to keep you alive the longest, not the person you trust the most – trust is trivial in the arena. If you really think that's you then put yourself forward. The mentors will each be casting votes also."

"Even Finnick?" Mags asks to make sure that her newest mentor in training gets a vote.

They all look between each other, having not expected that question, one that they don't quite know what the appropriate response is. But before anyone can give an answer, Finnick pipes up. "Well if District One gets four votes then I deserve a vote."

Cashmere smiles at him. "Finnick, we were never going to take your vote away from you. You've earned your place as a mentor."

"And good on you for speaking up for yourself." Brutus adds, before waving his pen dramatically to signal for everyone to vote.

Everyone falls silent as they think about who the best leadership candidate is. Satin looks down at her paper and gives it as much thought as possible in such a short amount of time. She immediately writes Bastian and Murray off. Bastian is certifiably bastshit crazy, and Murray couldn't lead a blind man off a cliff in the darkness. Victoria is more than competent but she doesn't trust that she wouldn't confer all her decisions with Bastian, and then make terrible choices that only benefit the Twos. Then there's Calamari, who, although quick-witted enough to be of use and likely decent enough at spears, isn't a volunteer and so choosing her to lead might make the rest of the alliance look weak to the sponsors. With all of those options considered, it only leaves herself and Silino. She's more intelligent, better with technical skill and faster, but he has the physical strength that the others and the sponsors will value. And she can't put herself down, because if she has to be smart then it will ruin her plan, and she doesn't believe that Bastian would listen to a single thing she says other than if she declared herself wildly in love with him. Silino would at least take her word into consideration when making whole group decisions, even if he pretends not to for the sake of the others. Besides, she's well aware that no one else is going to vote for her, and so choosing herself would effectively be wasting a vote. And she can't let the leadership position fall to Bastian, it would be disastrous.

She writes Silino's name on her slip of paper, in the fanciest cursive writing that she can achieve, and hands it to Mags. It's obvious which vote is hers but she isn't sure that she cares, or that everyone seems to be waiting for her to pass along her vote.

Once Mags has collected each of the choices, she tallies them up on her own piece of paper with a series of columns and breaks the silence with the decision. "Silino, it seems that you've been elected to lead."

Bastian sneers. "Congratulations." He says, though his voice is dripping with sarcasm. He leans forward to roll his eyes as a signal with his district partner before he mouths something at her.

Though, he's shut down by Enobaria incredibly quickly. "No Bastian, you didn't miss out because District One has provided more votes, you missed out because you don't have the right qualities to be a leader."

He looks incredibly affronted. "You're my mentor!"

"Correction: I'm Victoria's mentor. You are Brutus' problem."

The speed of Enobaria's wit has Satin biting her tongue to stop herself from laughing and offending Bastian – Cashmere was right when she said that Enobaria really hates him, and that she's no longer trying to hide it. The thought bodes well with her, because if a mentor hates one of tributes that she's responsible for then it means less care on their behalf when he meets his end – she can't be feeling guilty about how the mentors are going to react.

"If it wasn't because of District One then why don't we share the votes?" He argues.

Calamari snorts. "Get over it, Bastian. You're just not good enough."

The boy's eyes narrow at Calamari, and Satin wonders if they're going to be at each other's throats for the entirety of the Games; whether they're going to kill each other in their frustration before she can orchestrate anything. He looks like he wants to say something, make another comment about her abilities and how he can't wait to watch life leave her eyes, but he refrains after a sharp look from Brutus.

"That would defeat the point of a vote." Mags says calmly, unbothered by the argument erupting before her eyes. "Silino has been chosen to lead, so he'll be in charge of your decisions in training and in the arena. Any objections must be voiced, but please come to your mentors as the first port of call."

Bastian looks at Brutus immediately, blocking Satin's view of the mentor end of the table completely with his back and shoulders. "Then I have an objection. I don't think the system was fair."

"It was fair." Gloss rebuttals, and the next words that leave his mouth are a blatant lie but he manages to act well enough that Bastian believes it. "It wasn't because of the number of us. I voted for you, I always vote for a Two, you lot have good skills."

Satin cringes at the words, surprised that anyone believes him at all; though she supposes it's because they haven't grown up watching Gloss try to lie to his mum about breaking something in their kitchen. She places her hand on Bastian's shoulder with a light touch to move him backward in his chair so that she can see her siblings – and has to resist shuddering at the way the male tribute flexes his muscles under her hand. He makes her sick.

She makes brief eye contact with her sister, begging her to play along, before cocking her head at Gloss. "Are we sharing votes? I voted–"

"No we aren't."

"But you did?" Her forced confusion continues.

"We are not sharing, Satin. Be quiet." Cashmere orders with a bite to her tone that suggests underlying resentment to the others, which oddly enough pleases Satin. Her sister is playing along perfectly at each moment she's presented with. And although it's Cashmere who responded, she can see the sighs as they leave Calamari and Victoria opposite; and Murray looks like he wants to tear his hair out despite not having said a word throughout their meeting.

Bastian, however, smiles widely and drapes his arm over the back of Satin's chair, fingertips grazing her upper arm. "No, go on baby, tell everyone how you voted for me."

To Satin's surprise, it's Regina who jumps to her defence. "She has no obligation to share; we are not breaking anonymity. Let's move on. Ledger, Ven, what would you like the tributes to do in tomorrow's training session?"

Thank God, the tribute thinks to herself, letting out a small breath of relief as the topic of conversation returns to what the tributes should be doing in training for the next fifty. She barely even pays attention, at least thankful that her act allows her to get away with it, because there's nothing the mentors can really instruct them to do apart from make their way around the remaining stations.

She's all smiles and disinterested nods until they enter the lift a few minutes after it returns from the trip to the fourth floor. It turns into laughter when Gloss visibly shudders as if shaking off his earlier comments in disgust and openly mocks himself, "I always vote for a Two my arse, fucking moronic, self-absorbed douchebag. As if I'd vote for that walking sack of shit to lead."

Cashmere doesn't even look surprised, and thankfully the elder of the two District One mentors had stayed on the second floor to finalise some more of the terms with Brutus and Enobaria – likely about how to effective get rid of the Fours before they cause any more issues to their own tributes – because they would never have allowed Gloss to speak so freely about their competition, always so fearful of being watched. But neither of the Nicholos truly care about that part of their job right now, they hate both Bastian with a burning passion; yet for different reasons. Reasons they can't share in front of their male tribute. The same male tribute who is barking a laugh at Gloss' brash words and asking who he really voted for.

"You." Gloss answers in reference to him. "Obviously, I voted for you."

Silino looks puzzled. "You didn't vote for your sister?"

"No." The oldest of the siblings shakes his head, despite each of them being able to tell that he wanted to be able to publicly back his sister in the alliance meeting if it wouldn't put her at risk. Silino's disposable in his eyes, but of course he can't tell him that outright. "I voted for you because you have the best chance in leading everyone to the final five where one of you can claim victory. Satin understands that."

"Do you?"

"What? Oh, yeah! I get it!" She hums lightly, noticing Cashmere stifling giggles in the corner of the lift as it stops on their floor and they file out. "You're better than me, I know that."

"I am, you're right."

And for the first time, Gloss' expression is unreadable, because what the hell did he just say? An almost undetectable shake of Satin's head and a nudge in the direction of the bedrooms has him silently agreeing as much as it pains him and leading the male tribute down the hallway.

And Satin knows that it isn't true, that her siblings do believe in her ability to win, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt either. She pushes away Cashmere's outstretched hand and makes a beeline to her bedroom, wanting nothing more than to get some sleep before the second of training, hoping that her morning stretches will cure the inevitable aches she's going to feel when the alarm sounds. She'll speak to Cashmere tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after stretching and eating the breakfast provided, the alliance meet in the lift on the way down to the basement level. By the time they arrive – five minutes early – the training floor is still empty apart from the trainers and the girl from Ten, who still looks disinterested. But Satin is easily able to look past her mask, from one actress to another, and realise that she's more scared than she's letting on, because otherwise she wouldn't be attempting to cram in as much knowledge as physically possible.

Before long, the second day has begun and all of the tributes file in and choose the stations they wish to occupy.

The six members of the alliance wait, keeping a close eye on the others so that they can report back tonight on who they perceive as the biggest threat to an alliance member victory; making a mental note of who is repeating what station.

"Where to, leader?" Bastian asks bitterly, clearly holding back a cruel remark, obviously not wanting to be standing idly.

"I think we should split up like we did yesterday, especially after Mags gave us instructions to get to know each other better." He says, trying to remember who was paired off with who yesterday. He looks at Satin, who is glancing at Murray to prompt her district partner into pairing them up. Thankfully he understands the signal. "I'll go back with Bastian to the weapons. Murray, I want you to keep an eye on Satin at the fitness area, which leaves Calamari and Victoria on first aid. We'll swap at half past ten so don't get too comfortable; we have the gauntlet after lunch."

Everyone wants to object, Satin included, but no one dares to question their newly appointed leader, simply because they don't want to anger their mentors mere days before their expertise is needed. Having Victoria and Calamari on the same station so quickly after she's lied to their faces about the other; she's going to have to hope they don't discuss anything important in the ninety minutes they have together. It eases her mind when they roll their eyes and reluctantly head towards a station, leaving her to follow Murray over to the fitness area.

The fitness station is spacious, consisting of weight machines, barbell racks and kettlebells as well as mats for stretching and endurance equipment such as treadmills, stairmasters and ellipticals. She doesn't need supervision like Silino suggested, and especially not from the weakest member of their alliance but she smiles at Murray and hops onto the treadmill. She's strong at endurance and this machine is probably the easiest way for her to maintain the conversation that she needs to have.

After pressing the start, on the control panel, the rhythmic thud of feet against the belt fills the surroundings as she brings it to a steady and controlled pace. Satin scrunches her nose up at the faint scent of rubber that permeates from the high-tech equipment but she supposes that's better than the mixture of sweat, blood and body odour that she's going to be smelling in a week's time.

The sleek, specialised treadmill whirs, adjusting terrain settings at the lick of a button; from smooth asphalt to rocky, dirt paths and from sand that sinks beneath her feet – forcing her to lift her feet much faster than normal – to a slippery belt that simulates icy conditions and then to a brutal incline mode of stone. It's so demanding but Satin is thankful that the technology allows her to practice ground she may have to cover and makes a point of thinking to herself that she should practice sprints before they have to switch partners. And the technology they have in the Capitol is astonishing, although she can't help but think of all the things they could help with if they were to share only a fraction of this with the districts.

She's still yet to say anything to the boy from Four beside her, and he also hasn't engaged with anything other than the treadmill but she's got a plan; she just needs him to believe she's using all her brain cells on a mental debate with herself. As they continue to run over the various, ever-changing terrain simulations, pushing past their comfortable limits for coming up to an hour. She keeps glancing at Murray. Both her eyes flick to him and her head turns, only averting her gaze when he catches her looking.

The sixteen year old boy, lean with a wiry type of muscle that reminds her of her best friend – she's having to work hard to separate the two boys internally so that she doesn't imagine Marvel when Murray's in the arena – pushes forward with determination despite his shaky legs and strained breath looks at Satin like he wants to voice something; which she can only hope he does because she's running out of time to lay his trap. She looks at him again, painting a picture of anxiety, feeling a little grossed out by how his damp reddish hair clings to the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he tries to keep with the speed of Satin's treadmill. He's clearly trying to impress her or not look weak, which he proves when he finally addresses her in a pant, "You look like you want to say something, Satin, go on."

She hums, as if she's thinking over her decision, before slowing her belt ever so slightly until it's at a speed that she can comfortably speak. Her face contorts before she says, "You didn't hear this from me, but it's been eating at me all night!"

"What has?" Murray looks confused.

"You promise you won't make a deal of it?" Satin asks him, only responding when he nods as confirmation. She's happy that he hasn't slowed down by the more exhaustion he harbours, the less energy he can give his brain functions when she details her plan. "Victoria thinks that every tribute from Four is always bound to be weak."

The boy nearly falls over as he comprehends her words, before he sets his own treadmill to a slow-paced walk. However, he neglects to change the incline, leaving it fairly steep, which means he can't completely recover as he speaks to her. "She thinks we're weak?"

"That's what she told me yesterday, but I didn't want to tell you in the middle of the meeting. If she thinks you're weak then I probably am too."

"You're not from Four?"

Duh, Sherlock, Satin thinks to herself, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at how seriously dense this boy is, usually the Fours are more intelligent than the Twos. But she giggles, "I know that, silly, I was born in One! But I'm tall and I can't lift much so she probably thinks I'm weak too."

"You're not that weak. At least I don't think so." Murray tells her, and it's evident that he's thinking about how he's viewed as the weak link – an assumption Satin made just an hour earlier.

"You think?"

"Yeah, I know that Victoria sees me as the weak link because I wasn't prepared enough heading into the first alliance meeting and said some stupid things when I wasn't thinking, but I think she's a cocky bitch that could use taking down a peg or two." He scoffs.

Well that was much easier than I thought, Satin smiles, but she turns to Murray, still moving on the treadmill. But she still needs him to promise that he won't act until she says to, and that might be the challenging part. And she needs to get closer to make her plans believable to the others. The light giggle that leaves her mouth surprises her, because it's light and airy and so incredibly fake. And it's loud, too. Loud enough for several of the other tributes to glance in her direction, including her alliance, and she does her best to display her discomfort through her body language that isn't detectable to the boy on the treadmill who is only paying attention to her face. "What peg?"

Murray appears annoyed that she isn't getting his idiom but he covers his disdain fairly well apart from a roll of his eyes. "It's a figure of speech. It means we need to make her feel less important. She doesn't think she needs us? Then we'll have to prove just how little we really need her."

Satin sighs, pretending to ponder his words but instead thinking how the boy from Four is speaking with the stereotypical male arrogance that she's seen many times in the boys in the Academy back  home. Of course we need the Twos, for a little while at the very least, because taking them out too early could result in mortal wounds on the rest of the alliance. And she can't help but presume that Murray's confidence comes from his mentor's performance last year. Besides, she never mentioned Victoria's apparent view on her, so for Murray to lump her in with him, confirms to the blonde tribute that he does think she's weak and will be worthless in the arena. Little does he know that she's already proven herself to Victoria. "You're right– we don't need her, but how are we going to prove it?"

"By getting rid of her." Murray says nonchalantly, smiling at her as if he hasn't just suggested removing the girl from Two from their alliance. Satin is thankful that no one else is within earshot because the boy makes it even more serious. "Both of them. Bastian's just as arrogant and glib as Victoria."

"I can help you."

Murray snorts. "How are you going to help?"

"I'm good with my knives from a distance!" She reaffirms, trying to sound as ditsy as possible.

He agrees far too quickly to her terms, and Satin wonders for a moment if he's pulling her into a trap of his own – maybe he and Calamari have already spoken about her deal and now he knows not to trust a word that she says. But he also seems like he's been thinking about it for a long while as he pants up the inclined treadmill, using all of his possible brainpower trying to multiple things at once, and so he buys in. He allows her to promise ridding the alliance of Bastian at the same time he'll take out Victoria, and it all works the same way as her deals with the other girls – she's to tell the group that she's going to fetch water for them, and then he'll strike.

And with only a few words of verbal confirmation and a promise of secrecy, the pair return to their endurance work, switching efficiently between terrains as they finish up the last ten minutes before they need to swap partners performing sprint drills. These will be more than helpful when making the mad dash to the cornucopia, especially when none of the stations are yet to suggest the terrain they're going to be facing. The specialised equipment has a setting whereby drills can be timed, matching rest breaks and changing topography in a cyclic motion. Thirty seconds on, thirty seconds rest, for ten minutes using all ten of the different belt patterns available to them. Each one forces them to adjust their footfalls, ignore the beads of sweat rolling down the backs of their necks from the intensity, to forcibly mould their breathing into even bursts and ignore the burning of their muscles from keeping the pace.

The first few intervals are manageable and the second half is pushing it, but by ninth and tenth sprints, Satin's lungs are burning and her thighs are screaming for relief – because although she's fast, she's never enjoyed anaerobic activity considering that most of her exercise comes from ballet and the runs that her sister drags her on. Though she can't help but feel good about herself when she realises that her treadmill is set to a higher speed than Murray's. When the belt finally stops for the last time, it's all she can do to not collapse into a heap whilst the boy from Four braces himself against the rails of the machine with his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That's going to kill me."

She giggles at the boy's comments. It's going to take a lot more than a few sprints to kill her but the notion that he's so exhausted by five minutes of running is reassuring, because maybe it will be that easy to kill him. There's only two more people to convince and she doesn't think either of those will be that difficult; she's saved the easy ones for last. But the ditzy act is still on. "You're still alive?"

Murray scoffs out a "yes" before there's movement behind them and they can both instantly tell that it's Bastian by the heavy thumping of his footsteps – he is going to be of no use in anything stealthy. The boy from Two grabs his smaller ally by the arm and pushes him in the direction of the other stations, pointing at Silino over at the far end, "Move, buddy, it's my turn with her."

The boy flicks sweat from his reddish hair but doesn't put up a fight, subtly winking at Satin as a sign to gain Bastian's trust before heading to the other side of the room where Silino is waiting by the compulsory survival stations. The boys both appear that they're competing with one another over something past the expected competition that the Games brings out in tributes, but Satin can't quite work out what exactly they're beefing over; though she can tell that Bastian is internally seething, having noticed the wink. The angle she can play with him is obvious – she's known since they were first introduced after their arrival that he only views her as a piece of eye candy he can string along until her 'death' – and it's time she puts all of her acting skills to use. It's time to pretend she has any interest in Bastian other than seeing his head on a spike.

"What was that wink about?" Bastian grunts, guiding Satin to the weights section nearby and scaring a few of the smaller tributes who are eyeing up the strength trainers. He's peeved, slamming his hands as he loads different barbells with various weights, completely ignoring the trainers' recommendations. "Is he bothering you baby?"

He makes her sick. The expectant tone he carries when speaking to her makes Satin incredibly uneasy, she has no idea what he's going to try now that he's got her by herself. Hopefully the trainers will intervene. She smiles at him shyly, "A little."

"He flirting with you?" He asks as he lays back on a bench and wraps his hands tightly around the barbell above him. He barely even breaks a sweat as he warms up his bench press movement, managing to talk through his effort to order the trainers to double the weight on the bar.

His upper body strength is terrifying, he could probably bench press most of the tributes using one arm, and God help anyone who tries to best him hand to hand in the arena — they're not going to stand a chance. Though, Satin is confident that no one is going to chance that, not with how each of the tributes is staring at him in response to the over the top volume of his grunts as he continues his training. The grunting is such an ick.

It's then that Satin realises she hasn't answered his question. She moves to stand beside his bench, feeling a little queasy as she rakes her eyes over his body in such an obvious manner that it's hard for him to miss; evidenced by the smirk spreading across his face and the extra flex of his muscles. "A little, yeah. I told him I don't like him like that but he wasn't listening. It's okay, I know he's just trying because I'm pretty."

"I'll sort him out for you, baby girl." The boy offers in what is obviously a boast. He sounds a little like Maverick when he uses that pet name, and she realises that maybe it isn't the affectionate call that she's previously thought because the way it rolls off his tongue creepily is unnerving.

Gross, she thinks, but she can't say that aloud and so she giggles instead. Repressing the gag that threatens at her throat, she sits on the end of the bench next to him and runs one hand down his arm; squeezing lightly when he grasps her hand in place. "But you'll get in trouble if you do it now!" She pretends to be worried for him.

He laughs and Satin can't quite decipher whether it's at her faked interest in his wellbeing or at her in a general sense because he thinks she's so stupid – to believe he'd be caught or  that it would make any difference. But she can't let him start a fight in the training centre or in any of the meetings, he needs to start on him in the arena. And only when she says so. "Then I'll wait for the arena. He'll be the first one I get."

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "You can't do that!"

The mask slips slightly but thankfully he doesn't notice. "Why? Then he'll be out of your hair."

She needs to think of something, and quickly, otherwise her entire plan falls apart and she won't have another to fall back on in such a short space of time. She needs all five of her allies alive well into the Games, because when they discuss the allocation of their jobs tonight, she needs the reassurance that everyone else is given important enough tasks for everyone to put off the already brewing internal conflicts for at least a week. She schools her facial expression and cocks her head at him coyly, slowly tracing the inner line of his bicep with two of her fingers. "Because then I won't be able to see it."

His smirk only grows. "Of course, you want to watch me win the fight over you. What do I get in return?"

A violent death at the hands of my district partner? She internally jokes, but she'd be down right stupid to say anything remotely similar – that would only start another fight that she would be unlikely to be able to placate – and so she twirls a long strand from her ponytail around her finger in a move that she's recently learnt will get a teenage boy's attention long enough for him to sidetrack him. "I'll have to think about it but it'll be worth it."

His returning grin is downright predatory as he returns to his workout, gently removing the female tribute from the bench and designating her to watch once again. It's painful for her to be watching without doing any exercise of her own, but it's the price he has to pay for pretending to need men to do her bidding. There's more grunting which is, once again, wildly off putting as he wraps his hands around the heaviest pair of dumbbells he can access, and of course, there's the complaint that they're not heavy enough to test him. It's the kind of movement that comes from deep within his muscle memory, born from countless hours of repetition; and if she didn't hate him so damn much then Satin might respect the effort he's taken to get such a physique. It's the same as her ballet, though she isn't going to have an opportunity to show off her talent, and thank God, because Bastian isn't going to appreciate that aspect of her physicality.

She wishes that he'd hurry up and move them onto something else because standing around is getting tedious. That or he would talk to her about their plan and wouldn't only stare her up and down.

She blushes under the intensity of his stare, looking down at her feet and wishing that the ground would swallow her whole; she feels incredibly self-conscious. "Why are you staring at me?" She giggles, though she can easily tell why.

"Because you're smokin'" he grins, and his cheeks puff with exertion at the exact same time his chest does when he sets the dumbbells back down. How stereotypically arrogant male of him, and it makes her want to request baggier clothing for the last day of their training despite knowing it will be denied.

She lets another fake, high-pitched laugh, in hopes that it either shuts him up or prompts him to talk. Thankfully, she gets her wish because he pats the bench again to gesture for her to join – and she has to refrain from rolling her eyes at how entitled and monotonous this boy is, let alone predictable. Why would he bother kicking me off the bench in the first place, Satin thinks, we aren't going to get anything done if he keeps making me sit everytime he wants to talk. She's going to have to spell it out for him. "But we need to work out!" She urges, in an attempt to show him that she's serious about actually doing something today; this is absolutely not going to fly in the arena, and she's suddenly never been more thankful that Silino is their leader and not him.

"Come talk to me about how we rid ourselves of the District Four scum first baby girl, then I promise I'll spot you, yeah?" He chuckles, and she can see the way it rumbles through his chest underneath the sweat-darkened fabric of his compression shirt.

District Four scum is an incredibly harsh way of describing the pair because as much as Satin needs them dead, they aren't too bad. Opinionated and headstrong and she'd probably be friends with Calamari if their circumstances were different. She smiles at him. "You promise, I want to be a little stronger!"

"Promise." He winks.

"Okay, then what do you think we should do?" Playing into his overly grandiose ego is the easiest way to get him on board with her plan, and she predicts that her biggest obstacle will be getting him to agree not to involve Victoria also.

"I'll skewer him in an instant and then I can get Victoria to deal with her if you're not up for it."

It feels like a test, like he's assessing if she's really cut out for the Games or if they're going to be carrying her to the final eight only to kill her then. Little does he know that she plans on stringing them along so that she can dramatically wipe out half of the remaining tribute pool in minutes, taking them down from eight to three. A much more manageable number for her. Her head shakes before she can comprehend the movement. "No, I can do it! I want to prove to her that I'm good enough!"

Not that it'll matter when they're all dead, she thinks, and she can hazard a guess that he's thinking along the same lines.

But he huffs out a breath of air and nods. "Alright, I'll let you prove yourself to her, our secret. But you can't back out sweetheart or else it'll be her that kills you once she realises that you haven't kept to your word. I can only protect you for so long, you know?"

Interesting. The notion that he's protecting her sparks her interest for a moment before she realises that he's likely trying to use her supposed lack of intelligence against her because there's no way anyone would believe that one tribute is protecting another at the expense of their life. The only exception would possibly be if either her or Cashmere were in the arena at the same time as Gloss. But that's an impossibility. They're victors and she's going to be a victor too in two weeks time. District One would never allow it anyway.

"I won't. I'll pretend that I'm going to get us some water. That way they won't see it coming and we can go ahead just the four of us like we want!"

"Can't you just tell big brother that we're not interested? Surely he can get us out of an alliance."

"I don't think it works like that." She smiles, cocking her head to one side to imitate thinking about his words. Obviously Gloss isn't going to do that, he'd know that she's only trying to please someone else if she asked. Though it does cross her mind as to why the boy only ever mentions her brother and not Cashmere. "He's not in charge really, Ledger's still teaching him and they only really do stuff for people they like."

The boy snorts. "I don't think big brother likes me very much. But he'll have to get used to it because you and I are going to be best friends by the end of the Games."

Of course he doesn't like you, Satin thinks, although she very much doubts that they're going to be best friends. He's probably imagining his sword in her heart at this very moment, incorrectly assuming that she's going to be an easy opponent to beat considering he hasn't seen any of her weaponry abilities or her general fitness. Her eyes flit across the room to where Silino is watching their interaction very closely, and she considers how bad it must look, the two of them sitting inches apart on the bench. She needs to pretend to be masking her discomfort and quickly. She looks down but mutters shyly, "It's okay, Bastian. I like you."

Clearly the boy from Two takes it the wrong way because he leans closer to her as if he's about to kiss her. Satin has to rapidly turn her face away, causing his lips to land on her cheekbone. She can practically feel her district partner's eyes burning holes through their ally's skull as she waits for him to retreat before pushing herself to her feet and asking him once again to spot her. She feels gross from the contact and wants nothing more than to work out alone but it would then poke holes into her carefully crafted plan. It feels like she can't do anything she truly wants to do until she's back home.

Finally he allows her to move to the weight stations, where she stands in front of the squat rack and orders him to pile the plates onto the barbell. She stands firm, feet shoulder width apart as she rests the bar against her upper back and waits for the boy to stand behind her before she lowers into a deep squat. She already knows that he's staring at her; at the way her thighs sit parallel to the floor, knees are locked and her back is straight until she reaches full depth. His hands ghost over her lower back as she pushes up with a controlled drive through her heels. Satin wants nothing more than to be able to throw the barbell – which he's loaded incredibly light – into his face. Who does he think he is touching me when I clearly don't want him to? She thinks.

She pushes through another nine repetitions with ease, and just when she debates asking him to load more weight onto the bar, he's moving it back onto the rack with a loud clatter. And then he's incorrectly assuming that she wants to move on, so she has no choice but to follow him as he goes from area to area. Deadlifts – which once again are far too light – leg presses and curls, and smith machines before he leads them to the climbing resistance cables. Finally, something they don't have in the Academy that might actually be of use to her.

The high-tech climbing simulators are located at the far end of the training room' sleek panels with digital screens and smooth black handles attached to a system of intricate tension cables that mimic the force of real climbing. This is an area that Satin has no practice in, and she's keen to learn how to adjust to the climb of a rock face in case it's important for her survival. She is absolutely not dying by falling from a cliff. As soon as Satin's fingers curl around the smooth grips, the machine instantly adjusts, offering enough resistance to mimic the feeling of her own weight pulling against her as she pulls them downwards to simulate an upward motion. The burn settles in quickly as her back and shoulder muscles stretch and she watches Bastian doing the same with ease – much stronger and more powerful with sharper pulls of a higher force. She can only hope that she doesn't have to do much climbing for her life because she can already tell that this is going to cause a light ache tomorrow morning and they haven't even worked the gauntlet yet.

After they've been subconsciously racing each other on the machines for a good while, the trainer approaches them and instructs them how to successfully belay each other as well as other climbing related terminology; of which Bastian doesn't listen to a word whereas Satin pays as much attention as she possibly can get away with. It's almost as if they're finally giving her the first hint about the ecosystem she's likely to face. Rocks. Great.

Relief washes over Satin when the Gamemakers ring the bell to signify lunchtime, though she's not as pleased when she realises that their mentors aren't coming down to join them today – probably busy securing sponsors for the group – which means that she has to put with them for another hour without retrieve. Bastian, of course, sits next to her and obsesses over everything she eats which leads her to spend the second half of the break in the bathroom, redoing her hair and splashing water onto her face to liven up her skin for something to do.

The rest of the afternoon is spent practicing the gauntlet – the obstacle course that consists of ascending platforms that rise to a landing and has trainers swinging padded clubs as they pass. The man running the station tells them that the aim is to finish in the fastest time possible, to show both physical strength and stamina to the ever-observant Gamemakers. There are several routes to be taken over the course, of which Satin observes the rest of her allies closely and tries to replicate their moves and because she doesn't want to get overly reliant on one singular path, she uses various methods to cross. She hates how much attention it brings, but she refuses to fall, showing the Gamemakers her superior balance by taking one of the three-inch wide beams across an obstacle to reduce her time – which surprises her allies. Though she isn't quite sure why exactly it surprises them, she's already told them that she's best with endurance and her balance; Silino also personally knows that she takes ballet.

Thankfully, the afternoon passes with easily digestible conversation until they're dismissed back to their respective floors for dinner. However, when the tributes from One arrive on the first floor, only Amaryllis is there to greet them, citing that their mentors are still working hard schmoozing with sponsors and will be meeting them on the second floor in an hour's time for yet another alliance discussion. She's already sick to death of these meetings and finds herself morbidly wishing that they were all dead already. And Amaryllis is rushing Satin through her dinner which is enough to put her off completely, and she has to force the food down otherwise Cashmere will curse her out for eternity.

Fretting about her schedule as usual, Amaryllis ushers the tributes into the lift and rockets them back to the second floor for another meeting. Satin feels like she's spent more time on the second floor than her own by this point, and she hopes this meeting is fast because she doesn't want to spend any more time with Bastian than necessary.

The sound of her sister's laughter fills her ears as the lift doors slide open, and she's visible on instant, joking with Enobaria and Finnick over the table as the escorts pull out chairs for their tributes. Thankfully, Satin manages to grab a seat a few chairs away from the Twos, finding herself sandwiched between FInnick and Silino again.

"Our only order of business tonight is to allocate duties for you all." Regina says once everyone has rehashed the day's activities. She places a hand written list of duties in the middle of the long dining table for everyone to look at.

Decisions – Silino

Collecting and purifying water

Sorting food

Hunting food

Sharpening weapons

Making fires

Arena navigation

Assessing the environment

Counting deaths

Building shelter

Satin knows that she needs to be given the counting task if she wants to drag out the alliance as much as possible, because she can't have them knowing how many tributes are left. And collecting and purifying water aligns perfectly with her plan; I'm just going to fetch us some water.

"Don't all rush at once " Brutus jokes when they all stare intently at the list, making the other mentors laugh and the tributes look between each other with slight nerves from not wanting to seem unwilling.

"Take your time deciding." Cashmere counters kindly, though no one seems to pick up on the sarcasm in her voice except for Satin. It's cleverly hidden in her tone.

"Can you get me the water?" She whispers to Silino, making herself more meek and shy. "The job." She clarifies when he searches for glasses that aren't on the table.

"Silino. Satin. Anything you want to share?" Regina asks through gritted teeth. She's seething at them, glaring daggers into their skulls as punishment for disrupting her speech.

"Satin would like the water purifying duty." He tells her in plain English with a gesture towards the list. "She was freakishly good at purification during training."

Calamari is the person who backs up the sentiment, remembering how Satin swirled the orangey hue of the iodine droplets into the display bottles to make the water clean enough to drink within seconds. "I think it would make sense. I visited the water station with her and she easily understood how to use the iodine. She's the best at it, she made the water pretty, didn't you Satin?"

"I did." She beams.

"Then I don't see why not." Ledger laughs, assigning Satin to the water duties.

To no one's surprise, Victoria and Bastian both volunteer themselves for the weapons duties, citing that they've got the most experience in sharpening and making sure weapons are suitable for their intended purpose. And the rest of the evening is taken up with open discussions on who to give what task and some arguments over the undesirable jobs like starting the fires, assessing the environment and building shelter – they don't plan on having much need for those jobs with their sponsor gifts and the cornucopia. Each district is given one each. Calamari and Murray are given the job of sorting the food fairly, whilst the Twos are told that if they're short of anything then they're the ones who have to hunt for more. Silino is given arena navigation in addition to his decision making, which is probably for the best, because that way he gets to make the calls on where they travel to next. That only leaves counting, and all of the mentors are weighing up who is the best for that job. Satin manages to grab her sister's attention, subtly mouthing that she needs the duty in order to trick them all.

"Satin can do it." Cashmere offers. "She only has water purification so far."

"Are you sure she can count?" The older male mentor from Four laughs. But he looks around and quickly cuts off his own sounds when he notices that no one else is laughing. In fact, Cashmere and Gloss look vexed at how easily he takes to putting down a girl he's known for three days.

"Yes. She can count." Gloss pushes through gritted teeth.

"Does she want the duty?" Mags asks before repeating the question, this time addressing it to Satin.

"I'll do it. I have a really good memory, promise." She smiles politely, her voice inflecting to try and cover the nervousness she feels regarding what she'll do if she doesn't get allocated this job.

"Alright then, sorted." Brutus scrawls Satin's name next to counting deaths, and she breathes a sigh of relief. This way she doesn't have to come up with a whole new plan. She knows that the mentors can't send their tributes any information about the arena on their sponsor notes, so they won't be able to communicate that she's lying through her teeth.

When they're finally excused from the meeting and sent back to their own floors, she's practically cornered by both of her siblings in her room. Her bedroom in the tribute centre is lit only by candlelight as the Avoxes have clearly burnt the vanilla candles for the tributes whilst they've been gone. And one look out of the window shows that it's started raining and Capitol citizens race in the streets to escape the downpour under alcoves – and all three of the siblings can only hope that it's not an omen or a sign.

The older siblings have been waiting for her to talk. She can feel it in the way their eyes watch her as she sits on the stool at the edge of her bed – not wanting to sit on the comforter in her training clothes. Their eyes dart between her face and her hands, with which she's fiddling with her fingernails and brushing over them lightly. All she wants is to shower, it has been hours since she's returned from training and she wants nothing more than to wash away the layers of sweat and revel in the warmth of the shower stream. But she knows that they're going to be expecting answers as to why she so desperately wanted the role of counter and what she's planning for her private session; District One tributes are always advised separately in regards to their performances.

They take a seat either side of her like they used to growing up, and Gloss rests his arms on his knees. He exhales and breaks the silence. "Alright, we know you've been plotting in those meetings. Do you want to explain or are we going to have to guess the meaning?"

"Shouldn't you be with Silino?" Satin snaps in retaliation, refusing to look at him after yesterday's revelation of his thoughts. "You know, you're better tribute?"

"That's not fair." Gloss protests, with sadness tinging in his voice as though he's only just realised that his agreement hurt his sister's feelings. "I never said that."

"You didn't deny it either." She hums, still only looking at Cashmere. She knows that she's being unreasonably petty, but he's hurt her and she doesn't want to lie to him days before the arena in case she doesn't make it out. She's going to make him apologise in her own way, the only way that little sisters can – by making him feel bad. She doesn't want to die mad at him.

However, Gloss is just as stubborn as she is, and it's going to take a lot more than that to make him give in. He scoffs. "You told me to make Silino think that I was backing him as part of your plan. I'm doing what you asked me to do."

"I told you to make him think that, not me!" Again, she's being unreasonable, but at least she's self aware enough to have noticed. She doesn't get much further though.

"Stop!" Cashmere intervenes, holding her hands out towards her siblings, not wanting them to fight. She's never usually the mediator in family disagreements but clearly the pressure of the Games is starting to chip away at Satin more than they expected it to. "Gloss, clearly you hurt her feelings so apologise. But Satin, he's playing by your plan by the sounds of it. You need to give him some grace. Now that's done, because you're both going to listen to me or so help me, Satin, we just want to know what's going on in your head. Because if we're going to help you then we need to know what lies you're going to be spinning."

Satin uncrosses her arms in response to the harsh look she's getting from her sister and mumbles, "Fine. Gloss, I'm sorry I took it out on you but I don't want to let you down."

He leans forward and grabs her hand, effectively pulling her attention to him. "There's no possible way you could let us down. We're going to get you out of there, no matter what it takes; but that's why we need to know everything you can tell us."

"I've told everyone different reasons why I need them to help me kill someone else but they don't know it's a circle. The only person left to ask is Silino but I thought it makes more sense to do it up here." She explains quietly, feeling grounded by her brother's hand covering hers. "And I needed to secure the counting job so that I can drag out the alliance as long as possible."

"Is that a good idea?" Gloss asks her, wanting her to be careful. The longer the alliance is together, the weaker the bonds become and the more likely they are to snap.

"If they don't know how many people are left then they can't strike. Mentors always make sure to remind their tributes not to strike too early, you taught me that."

Cashmere reaches out too, and all three of the siblings sit for a moment connected by their hands. "Look, we know you. You never do anything without thinking it through a hundred times first. But we're going to help you."

"I know you are." The younger sister lifts her head, eyes flickering between them. Her voice cracks slightly as she thinks about it. "I don't know how though, considering you won't be in there with me. It's just me against twenty-three others who want me dead."

Gloss' jaw tenses, refusing to allow himself to falter at the thought of the two dozen other tributes who want to kill his baby sister. "We're going to get you whatever sponsors we can. You're ready. The plan will work."

"We've been watching the others, tracking their strengths and weaknesses just like you have. The Twos are highly skilled but arrogant, if you've been telling them that the others think they're useless then they'll favour you. The Fours aren't confident enough to voice their grievances but they're going to be popular with the sponsors off the back of Finnick's win. The boy from Eight is peeved and likely to cause a scene – a few deaths – but he's impulsive and won't stop to think about his actions. He's one of the merchant's kids and he probably thinks he's too important to be here. He's going to be able to put up a fight but from what I've heard from his mentors, growing up with the mayor means that he's never wanted for anything in his life – he won't know how to be hungry."

"Neither do I." Satin frets as she reminds them. "We come from money and I have two victor siblings."

"Two victor siblings who have easy access to the most lucrative sponsors. The Eights don't have that chance, fortunately."

"I suppose I have that to my advantage." She says in response, though she can't help but feel a little bad for the poor luck befalling the mayor's son – his name can't have been in the bowl much more than hers was. And she's only got fifteen slips at sixteen years old. Though, she theorises that it's going to come down to the two of them if her plans is successful and so she doesn't wish to learn his name. That will only make it harder to kill him.

"The sponsors already love you." Cashmere adds for reassurance, squeezing her sister's hand. "Now, tell us how you're planning to make the Gamemakers love you too so you can go for a shower – the sweat is bad for your skin."

Satin giggles to herself. Leave it to Cashmere to care about the condition of her skin mere days before she's thrown into the arena with no access to any products whatsoever. "The private scoring sessions are confidential, right?"

Gloss clarifies with a nod. "Yes, they aren't allowed to tell anyone unless it directly endangers them. And they certainly can't bring it up during the interviews. Why?"

"Because I want to show them that I'm smarter than I'm portraying by letting them see my knife throwing kills and then revealing most of my plan."

Cashmere and Gloss glance at each other, communicating non verbally for a long while as if weighing up the pros and cons of their younger sister's plan. Eventually they come to a mutual decision, and Gloss tells her. "Show them how well you can throw first and then use your last few minutes to turn the dial. Completely switch. Leave no trace of dumb Satin behind. But keep some details back, just in case."

"You think they'll spill?"

"Legally, no." Cashmere answers. "But that's never stopped them before. I'll try to make sure that I volunteer myself and Gloss for all of the meetings with Gamemakers prior to the arena so that they don't accidentally spill to Regina. We can't have Silino finding out before it comes to a head."

"I'm going to get him on my side tomorrow after the private sessions, you know, when it's just the two of us upstairs. I know exactly what I'm telling him." Satin smiles.

"What score are you aiming for?"

"An eight. High enough that they'll keep me alive but too low enough that they won't target me first."

Chapter Text

The final morning of training begins with an early morning meeting where the older mentors drone on about the different weaknesses they've noticed in each of the other districts. Each tribute is distinct but also similar enough that Satin finds herself able to zone out slightly. They're only speaking about the boy from Eight, who Cashmere has warned her about already, and the girl from Ten, who is still acting smart and bored throughout training.

Though Silino pokes her in the arm to draw her attention back to the meeting, hissing at her to pay attention when Ledger starts recounting the words of the mentors from District Eight the day prior. It's much the same as Cashmere said but as Satin listens, it's evident that he's much more callous. "Over the sponsor lunch, his mentors said he's gotten himself into some serious trouble back home that has likely caused him to be reaped. He's unstable with limited physical weaknesses – large, looks strong and appears like he could hold his own in close range combat – and far too excited about spilling as much blood as possible. It's possible that the Gamemakers might take him out with muttations or trained natural disasters if he becomes too much for them to deal with, which means that you might not even have to take him out yourselves. But if he balks at the first hurdle then they won't risk it for the sake of not looking too suspicious. Use his instability for your own gain."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Murray asks boldly.

And everyone is surprised when it's Ven, the older of the male mentors from Four, who answers. "He's going to be trailing you six, no doubt, so set a trap for him. Whether that's the weakest of you lot or another tribute, he'll be chomping at the bit for the opportunity to take at least one of you out."

His words are cold, surprising the group yet again. The Fours aren't usually as cold-hearted when it comes to the Games, and such an idea from Ven, who has yet to really contribute to their meetings is astounding – it would be a much better fit for the likes of Regina or Brutus. And Satin doesn't want to mention the information he's just accidentally spilled about the possibility that the Capitol doesn't fairly draw the Reapings – the thought had never even crossed her mind, what with the recurrence of volunteers back home meaning that she's never needed to worry about how many slips of paper she has in the bowl. And the idea that the Gamemakers can opt to eliminate a tribute at any time for any minor indiscretion is terrifying – she wishes that the man had never said anything. It's not a comforting thought.

"Why do you think he'll be trailing us?" Victoria asks.

Ven chuckles at the question. "The six of you are the only true competition he has. Of course, there are others who may be an issue to remove from the equation but none of them are going to be able to get to him. I predict that he's going to watch you and that he's going to wait until you all split up."

Bastian's predatory grin returns. "He won't be able to take us all. We can just find him."

"He's not going to go down without a fight, Two." Silino counters, already fed up with the other boy's energy. It's clear that the boys can't wait to fight it out in the arena, and Satin knows that she's picked the right people for her jobs. "If he catches us by surprise then he's going to take out at least one of us."

Then I'll just have to keep an eye out for him so that I can subtly steer us away, she thinks.

"Let the adults talk, Silino." Ven scoffs rudely. "But you're right, he will weaken the Alliance dramatically when you finally have to face him."

This mentor needs humbling, and fast, and hopefully she can be the one to do it by rendering him tributeless. The brief eye contact Satin has with Calamari has to be broken quickly when Victoria says something about making the boy from Eight her bitch and Bastian starts to bicker with her about how it's his right to kill him. Calamari looks like she's going to burst into laughter at their argument, and Satin has to stare blankly ahead so as to avoid the same fate. It reminds her of the actions she'd have to take to stop herself laughing when her parents would be yelling at her, Gloss or Cashmere when they were younger.

Enobaria sighs loudly. Satin gets the feeling that both of District Two's tributes this year test the mentor's patience as much as they do hers, because she seems to be in a constant state of annoyance – though, that might just be her resting face considering she hasn't gotten to know her yet. The sigh seems to signal the tributes to cease their bickering and listen to Brutus as he works alongside Regina to inform the alliance about keeping an eye on the girl from Ten. She's yet to show any skills at any of the stations apart from the ease in which she fiddled with a boning knife yesterday – perfectly aligned with the livestock industry in her home district. Although, Satin doesn't think that anyone else picked up on that and she sure as shit isn't going to be the one to point it out. The only advice they're given is to watch her carefully in the first part of their day and to see if she gives any emotion other than boredom; and to keep an eye on District Eleven also considering that they look well fed.

"Please practice the skills that you will be showcasing during your individual sessions. Our most lucrative sponsors will only be willing to offer support to the alliance if the average is above 8.5. Trust me when I say that you're not going to want to lose out on these sponsors, they may just make or break your chances."

Even as someone who categorically hates her maths lessons at school, Satin can easily work out that no one can score below an 8, and that they're likely to be relying on Bastian and Victoria to get tens or higher. Eight multiplied by six is forty-eight, so they're going to need to reach at least fifty one. But Satin's not too worried about it, everyone around her is more than capable of a high score, even Murray with his excellence in traps.

They're then excused back to their own floors, ordered to change into their training uniforms again – of which Satin makes herself look more presentable with a quick wash, using the various buttons on the bathroom's control pad to mattify her skin and keep her hair looking as sleek as possible – before they're back in the lift as soon as they possibly can be. Their allies are already waiting for them.

Their workouts are tapering as they prepare to enter the arena, consisting of mainly low-intensity steady state cardio and lots and lots of stretching. The alliance spreads out across the mats for the first hour of training to ease themselves into their first stretches as if completely accustomed to this routine of stretching first, loosening their muscles and preparing themselves for intense activity – ridiculous because they surely won't have that opportunity in the arena. One by one, they drop into stretches; some push their limbs into lunges, pressing their hands into their bent knees to push their hip flexors open, whilst the others roll their necks from side to side and twist their backs.

The boys are grunting as they try to follow their mentors' instructions, hating every minute of  it as their hands hover inches above the ground in their struggle to fold forward. Calamari and Victoria are only a little bit, their muscles clearly stiff as they reach for their toes. Then there's Satin with her dancer's grace, ignoring the muttered curses under the breath of the others as she presses her palms flat to the floor in the pike fold before shifting seamlessly into a straddle stretch. It's second nature by now, muscle memory ingrained over the course of fourteen years.

"That's so unfair." Murray groans, watching as Satin effortlessly folds further forward until her stomach is brushing against the floor, and comparing it to his hunched shoulders and the way he struggles to move his own body past a ninety-degree angle.

"Years of ballet." She teases, as though it's the simplest explanation in the world. It's dumb enough to fit her act but she hopes it's a hint to the Gamemakers watching them like hawks that she isn't entirely unathletic or useless. The tiny morsel of information about her life is piquing the interest of some of her allies already, though Bastian is eyeing her like a piece of meat.

Even as they all transition into deeper dynamic stretches she maintains an elegance that everyone seems to take note of, making the movements look easy. But it's clear that the others are growing restless, itching to move along, and so Silino appeases them. He finishes their stretches and lays out the plan for the morning. "We've all got to visit our last mandatory station this morning, so I say we visit first aid first. Or we'll forget. Then we'll split off completely for the last hour, allowing everyone to practice their chosen weapon. Any objections?"

It looks as if the Twos want to say something – probably about the uselessness of first aid – but thankfully they don't start an argument, leaving everyone to follow their leader over to the station. Satin can't help but wonder what would happen if they didn't complete their compulsory exercises. Would they send the station to us? Would they care or would they just let us head into the arena without the knowledge, blaming us for not making good use of the resources available to us in training? Would they kill us?

Bastian all but pushes a few of the smaller tributes out of the way to be at the front of the instructor's view – in a display of his dominance and anger which probably stems from his disinterest in this mandatory station. Satin manages to catch their eye as she passes, smiling at one of the girls in apology and inviting them to sit in their semi circle anyway. She knows that she can't let them live if she wants to return home but she also can't help but think 'what's the harm?' in letting them listen to a talk about wrapping their wounds – they might not even be granted the opportunity to use it.

She can't help but curse herself for allowing herself to be so soft-hearted – she never did get the gene allowing her to push away her feelings for others.

The floor is cold and unforgiving in the morning, and the thin athleisure wear does little to stop the chill as Satin crosses her legs beneath to listen to the instructor. It smells strangely like antiseptic at his station, and sweat which has surprisingly not been cleaned yet. Disgusting.

The woman running the station, sharp-eyed with silver hair cropped close to her face, stands in the centre of the semi-circle of tributes – a formation of tributes that has only grown since Satin's small gesture. Clearly someone had seen it. At least this way we won't have to talk much given the presence of the others prevents any strategy talk. But this woman has the posture of someone who has seen countless bodies be torn apart and re-stitched, and who never cared much for the latter part of that equation. She's slightly terrifying for a first aid instructor.

"First aid is simple." She says flatly as if it's the most obvious statement in the world; like she's completely forgetting that the majority of the tributes have little to expertise in this area. "You have to keep yourself or an ally alive long enough to be useful or you must be prepared to greet death with open arms."

Cheery, Satin thinks, watching the instructor pace in front of them and take in their reactions as he words echo through their area of the training hall, sinking deep into the brains. And one look at her allies shows that the words have quickly affected them, too. Murray looks almost queasy at the thought of his first aid skills saving his life, whilst Calamari and Silino bore their eyes into the instructor's frame as if it will speed her up. It's Bastian that surprised her, however, fingers curled tightly against his knuckles in a manner that suggests he doesn't want to look like he cares at all. She notes it internally before glancing fleetingly at Victoria, whose pale hands are resting on her knees as she sits deathly still. No fidgeting as she watches and waits.

The instructor crouches beside a dummy laying on the floor with eerily lifelike synthetic skin, complete with deep gashes along the torso. "Besides exposure, the biggest killer in the arena is blood loss, and I would argue that this is even more lethal. If you're injured, you will have seconds to stem the bleeding before shock sets in and it turns grave. Pressure and elevation are key. If you hesitate for even a moment, you will die."

The woman's words are harsh; and her actions even more so as she plunges her fingers into one of the dummies' wounds to hastily pack it with gauze. Several of the tributes flinch. This isn't the first time that Satin has thought about the finality of arena injuries but it is the deepest, and she can't even show it on her face, having to pay more attention to remaining blank and emotionless. She's had basic first aid training at school, she made sure to attend all of the after school sessions ever since Gloss' stint in the Games – she wasn't lying when she told her siblings that she always knew she'd be next on the morning of the Reaping.

She knows the best way to stem bleeding, how to clean wounds with minimal supplies or just a small volume of antiseptic, cover basic burns, remove insect stingers and the best way to deal with sprains – although most of this advice comes from years of ballet and involves quantities of ice that are going to be hard to come by unless she is dropped into a frozen tundra.

The next hour is filled with various demonstrations of and attempts at sealing wounds with different balms, tying bandages and sterile pads with tight enough pressure, fashioning tourniquets out of common arena materials, learning how to recognise and treat signs of shock and how to reset dislocated shoulders. They're all different scenarios that have happened in the arena before, and all the information Satin can take in will likely be more than helpful; so she pays as much attention as physically possible. She barely looks away from the demonstrations.

"Some of you will not have the luxury of treating wounds." The instructor says coldly, wiping her hands clean of the thick synthetic blood that has seeped between her fingers with her movements. "You will be the ones bleeding out. If you're lucky, you or one of your allies will remember this lesson. It is important."

The group exchanges glances, and for a second they aren't competing tributes – they're a collection of nervous teenagers who want to stay alive. But no one speaks as the woman finishes her lesson and dismisses them onto other stations, answering questions as they move along – the alliance splitting apart as they travel to their favoured weapons for their final hour of training.

Satin heads straight for the knife throwing station, wanting to spend time practicing for her private session, knowing that she needs to perform to the best of her ability to secure the sponsors, and she didn't get the chance yesterday, what with all her plotting. As she approaches, a few of the other tributes look like they want to scatter out of fear but she quietly reassures them that they can stay. Knives might be the easiest weapon for some of the younger tributes to grasp, and what's the harm, again, of letting them practice for the last hour?

The lights seem harsher today, more clinical, and Satin has to squint slightly to avoid the reflection from the blades' edges as she looks at the rows of targets against the far wall. There are too many tributes at the station for the trainer to justify starting to move the targets for Satin's benefit, leaving her staring at the humanoid dummies and imagining her knives perceiving through the faded red circles that have been painted over their hearts. Noticing some of her shadows observing her every move, she flexes her fingers and rolls her wrists before picking up the first knife. It has to be well balanced. It has to hit; or else she's going to look pathetic. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the nearest target. Then her arm draws back as she rolls onto the balls of her feet and lets the blade fly. It spins through the air and embeds in the stomach of the dummy.

Not good enough, Satin thinks, demanding perfection despite the knowledge that such a wound would likely be fatal. She throws again. And again. And Again. Minutes blur into an hour with small adjustments of grip, stance, power and rhythm. She starts to time herself, unable to feel relief until; she's practised under pressure. Training in the Tribute Centre is much different to training at home with Cashmere – and the arena will be entirely foreign.

Some of the tributes around her are managing some hits on the closer targets, and she's paying as much attention as possible as they are all called for their final training lunch. The alliance meet up at the centre table again, spending the hour consuming as much protein and electrolyte filled water as they can, and speaking through the different skills that they're going to showcase to the Gamemakers. Morons, Satin laughs to herself, wondering why they're sharing exactly what they're going to be doing, although she supposes they're not worried about everyone knowing how proficient they are in their chosen weapon because they all think that they're going to be the victor and that no one else stands a chance.

It's strange to Satin that after three days hovering around all of the tributes, the Gamemakers still need a private display from each tribute, but she also can't deny that this works in her favour simply because they're sworn to secrecy. And with the length of time that the outer districts have to wait, she would've thought that they'd have made their waiting room more comfortable – it's like a holding pen for animals. Silino is called almost immediately after the rest of the tributes have been herded inside, leaving her in a group in the corner with allies, talking idly in hushed whispers.

"District One, Satin Nicholo." The Head Gamemaker says over the tannoy. "Please report for your individual session."

She pushes herself to her feet, turning back to her allies with a soft, entirely fake smile. "Good luck." She tells them, and pushes the heavy metallic door open, keeping her shoulders back, her chin high as she strides inside.

A long curved table stands on a raised platform where the Gamemakers lounge in their opulent clothing, snacking and sipping from half-full glasses of wine. It's a positive that they're still entirely engaged, and Satin can only hope that she can hold their interest longer than her dumb act.

They're all looking down at her expectantly. She smiles as blankly as possible, holding her hands clasped in front of her. A sign of submission. "Satin, from District One."

The Head Gamemaker in the centre nods. "Miss Nicholo, you have ten minutes to present your chosen skill. You may proceed."

To their surprise, she doesn't move. Instead she remains standing with her hands clasped, gently rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet for a whole minute, and stares at them, waiting for them to speak to her again. She's fully aware that she's wasting precious moments of her session but she has to be fully believable in front of the Gamemakers – at least until they see the switch in her behaviour.

"Miss Nicholo?" The Head Gamemaker draws her attention with a question after what feels like the long minute of her life.

"Yeah?" She cocks her head, keeping the blank expression on her features despite the laugh that is threatening to bubble.

"You may begin." The woman laughs as the others snicker into their wine. And if Satin wasn't so certain that she's going to wipe the grins off their smug faces once they realise she's acting, she'd feel embarrassed by their judgement. "You've already used up one of your minutes."

"Oh, okay!" She chirps through a giggle. Though the second her back is to the Gamemakers, she rolls her eyes at how gullible they are. And downright irritating they are too.

She heads to the middle of the gymnasium, where the weapons rack is housed, and appreciates the perfectly polished steel of a row of knives that gleams. It calls to her like a beacon, as if knowing she's practiced enough to hold her, as if it knows of her plan. She selects five from the rack, weighing them in her palm and testing the balance. They don't feel much different from the blades she's used before and that relieves her. The targets stand in the distance, marked with coloured rings on various places.

One deep breath is followed by one movement and the first knife flies without hesitation, though it's slightly off its mark. She's just happy that she made contact. She knows that she's never been as good of a shot as her sister has – a fact that the Gamemakers must now be acutely aware of, too. The second and third knives follow quickly, sinking deep in the dummy's sternum, on the outer edge of the ring, and in the jugular notch, severing an imaginary windpipe. Four and five find their marks in the stomach, and Satin is pleased with herself.

The room is eerily quiet. The Gamemakers watch attentively as Satin turns away from the targets and faces them fully again. Both parties wait for the other to speak, although Satin knows that the Head Gamemakers need to address her before she switches up her act. Please say something, she begs internally, unwilling to waste any more of her time when she still needs to show her plan – she's not completely certain if her throws will be enough to score highly.

Finally, the woman in charge puts her out of her misery, and asks, "Is there anything else you would like to show us, Miss Nicholo?"

Satin drops the strand of hair that she is twirling around her finger and lets out the last of her act – for the time being – through a peal of laughter. Her voice lowers an almost entire octave and she can immediately feel the relief. "Yes, actually. I just need two minutes of your time."

"You have four minutes remaining, Miss Nicholo, please proceed." The Head Gamemaker informs her with a hint of intrigue spreading across her features, to Satin's delight. She was expecting much less care. The woman in charge, at least, will be paying attention.

"I know you've all been watching, and I assume you know that I'm in an alliance with the tributes from Districts Two and Four." It catches their interest, a few of them lowering their wine. Satin paces several steps either side, letting the silence build, and letting them wonder, but she doesn't wait for an answer. A slow, deliberate smile grows. "It won't last."

The words are a blade of their own that slices through the room's tension.

"Please elaborate, Satin." The first use of her name.

Their eyes follow Satin to the weapons rack again, watching as she runs her fingers over the smooth handles of the remaining weapons slowly. "Give it ten days, maybe twelve, until they're all part of a secondary bloodbath at the hands of yours truly. They trust me completely. A little too much. So much that they've told me everything; their feats, their wishes, their strengths, and their weaknesses."

"And how are we to believe you?" A rather interested Gamemaker asks.

"I've been feeding them lies since the moment I stepped off the train. They think I'm an unintelligent, docile girl with nothing but my beauty, and not one of them has bothered to look close enough to notice that I'm playing them for fools. They tell me secrets , give me stupid advice, and tell me their own tactics, simply because they think I'm too stupid to remember any of it." She plucks another knife from the rack and spins it lazily between her fingers as she looks up at the Gamemakers before exchanging it with a spear. "But I remember each and every detail, and I've used it to spin the perfect web of deception. To turn them against each other."

"You have two minutes remaining. Would you like to enlighten us to the rest of the details or are you going to let us go in blind?"

"I suppose I can tell you, because then if it's revealed before the Games, my siblings will know exactly who to blame." She hums, knowing that she's playing with fire by so brazenly taunting the Gamemakers. She needs to move on, and quickly. "I've taken everything each of my allies has told me and used it to strike a deal with another. To ruin them from the inside out." Her higher-pitched, dumb voice returns as she explains each lie in just enough detail for them to understand but still holding back slightly to ensure they're surprised once the tributes are in the arena. To prove her proficiency. "Silino, my district partner, is going to kill Bastian for me because he's been flirting with me since our first meeting, and I'm so weak that I'll need protecting in the arena – by a big, strong man. And Bastian? He's convinced that Murray from Four has been badmouthing him, and that he's been trying it on with me. But I only like him, because a girl from One is always going to be attracted to a boy from Two, isn't she?"

Ridiculous, she thinks to herself as she notes the expressions of the Gamemakers. They don't seem to be bothered by her earlier comments, now just taking notes and hanging off her every word.

"Murray is going to help me deal with Victoria because she said that the tributes from Four are weak this year, and that none of us really want them in the alliance. Of course, I told him that isn't true, because I want him there, much more than I do her." I don't. I want them both dead. "And don't tell anyone but Calamari told me that she doesn't trust the Twos as far as she can throw them and that they deserve another winner, – apparently District One isn't the only district who can win consecutively – which obviously means Victoria wants her gone as soon as possible. Which only leaves Silino, who is going to die at Calamari's hands, or trident I suppose, for being too overbearing. Because girls are weak, he and Murray have been saying it for days. Calamari and I are going to have to work together to kill them!"

"And where will you be, Miss Nicholo? How can you be so sure this will work?" The Head Gamemaker asks for clarification.

Satin doesn't flinch at the slight skepticism. She doesn't blame her either, it's a high-risk plan, and it almost sounds unbelievable when spelt out like this. "I have the responsibility of counting both the days that have passed and the number of deaths; they're going to be none the wiser when I tell them the fourteenth cannon was actually the twelfth, and the fifteenth cannon? Also the twelfth. Our mentors have advised us not to split until completely necessary, but until we comprise the final eight, they won't fight me. I'm going to bring in more sponsors in one day than they will the entire Games, and I've watched enough recaps to know that the anthem plays about an hour after the environment dims, which gives me the perfect reason to be on first watch. You see, I like to go to bed early and so the earlier my watch, the better. But once I'm certain we've reached the final eight, I'm going to grab everyone's canteens and head in the direction of the water source whilst I whistle to myself. They'll strike. They're all stupid enough to believe that I'll take out their target's partner from long range seconds after. But I'll be long gone, sitting and waiting for the hovercraft to come and collect the bodies."

She smiles to herself. "Get your cannons ready when you hear me announce I'm going to get some water. You'll have your entertainment. And if any of them survive? I'll kill them myself." She throws the spear, which many of the Gamemakers have likely forgotten she's holding, towards a target on the other side of the room.

It embeds itself in the heart of the dummy.

If the Gamemakers are surprised, they do a damn good job at hiding it, because she can't read their faces. She's just shown her competence in a second weapon on a whim and they haven't so much as reacted. Maybe they expected it from her, considering that her brother won using spears, but she was praying to whatever higher power is listening that her previous practice would carry her accuracy through.

"Is that all, Miss Nicholo? You still have forty-five seconds remaining."

"Give me an eight and I'll know you've understood me. That's all." Satin giggles, replacing her true personality with the dumb act she's forcing herself to play, just one last time for the Gamemakers' benefit, just so they can see how believably stupid she is. A slow, sharp-edged smile pulls at the Head Gamemaker's lips as she writes down different notes regarding what the girl from One has just advised her of. And when the doors open on the other side of the gymnasium, to a long hallway, she isn't at all surprised to see Silino waiting for her.

Surprisingly, the lift ride is relatively quiet, seeming not to wish to discuss what skills they showcased in their sessions. And when they reach the first floor, their mentors are still nowhere to be seen, spending their afternoons downstairs with the sponsors over their lunchtime and they aren't going to be around for a while, given that District One always completes their private sessions the earliest. This is the perfect opportunity for Satin to approach her partner in regards to her plan — there aren't any mentors around to interfere. But she can't just outright ask him to be involved, she's going to have to be sneaky

Shit, I might have just lost my chance, she curses to herself when the boy excuses himself to his room in the tribute quarters for a nap following a short explanation that he could use every chance to sleep that he can after today's morning meeting. But after spending at least an hour practicing how she's going to approach the topic, she has a breakthrough. Going to see him in his room will play perfectly into the act.

Silino's room at the end of the hallway is laid out identically to Gloss', making Satin wonder whether the rooms are decorated with gender as their only thought. It's dimly lit, the blackout blinds pulled almost entirely down to keep the afternoon sun out, and the dehumidifier running acts as white noise and chills the air all at once. Satin hesitates for a moment in the doorway, her fingers nervously gripping the fabric of her long sleeves but she pressed forward anyway, closing the door behind her just in case.

Her district partner is lying on the bed, and Satin giggles lightly at the way he's curled up to prevent his feet from dangling completely off the edge with his height. One arm is tucked beneath his head and the other rests on his stomach, drawing attention to the slow, steady, rise and fall of his chest in the silent rhythm of his half-asleep state. His heavy-lidded, drowsy eyes flicker to her and she knows that she has to act now.

She moves towards the bed and sinks onto the mattress beside him without a word. But when he doesn't react negatively, she shifts so that she lays on her side, facing him and propping her head up on one hand.

Silino shifts slightly, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies her face, reading the expression – a combination of confusion and worry. His voice is gravelling from the beginning of sleep that he's just been roused from. "You alright?"

Her hesitation is faked this time, but the action of twisting the cuff of her sleeve around her fingers makes her so believable. And she can only hope that her voice sells her apprehension. "Not really..."

That wakes him up a little, in simply a few seconds. He rolls, mirroring her by laying on his side, their faces only inches apart, as his features soften and concern slices through his brows. "What's up? Is it your private session?"

Satin shakes her head rapidly despite the angle being unnatural and causing discomfort to her neck. "No, no, it's not my session, I think that went really well. I think they liked me? They didn't say so but I'm sure they did. They would have liked me, right?"

"I'm sure they loved you, Satin. How could they not love you?" The boy smiles, unknowingly reassuring his district partner that he's remarkably easy to manipulate if you know the right things to say. She feels terrible, he's only been kind to her, but she knows that complacency gets you killed; he would kill her if it comes down to it. He continues. "If it's not your session then what is it? Is someone causing issues? I'm sure what I can do right now but if it's a tribute then–"

"It's Bastian." Satin interrupts with a dramatic exhale, averting her eyes to the ceiling for a few moments before finding his gaze again. "He's been flirting with me throughout training, and I'm sure he always makes a point of sitting next to me in our meetings. I don't know how to deal with him. I thought that maybe you would have an idea?"

"I did see him kiss you yesterday. I couldn't really say anything then but you're right, there has to be something we can do about him. Maybe Ledger and Regina can help us? Or we can tell Cashmere? Gloss?"

No, no no, no, we absolutely cannot tell any of the mentors, Satin thinks to herself, urging her brain to think of something and quickly. She didn't anticipate the boy's dependence on his mentors after the strong leadership skills he's been showcasing over the past couple of days. Maybe he's pretending just as much as she is. A fake, gasping sob leaves her mouth in her panic and she sits bolt upright, shaking her head dramatically. "No, we can't– I don't want to tell them. They'll only worry and that won't be good for any of us. And I don't want to be rude to him, maybe he just thinks I'm brushing him off to play hard to get or something? But it would be dangerous to make him upset this close to the Games, wouldn't it? Oh my god what if he kills me? And in the bloodbath? I can't die in the bloodbath, Silino, I'll be a joke! No one will ever speak to Cashmere and Gloss again! I can't do that to them!"

God does she hate how pathetic she sounds. There is no way she's dying in the bloodbath. She damn right refuses to die that way. If she has to die – which she is hoping isn't the case – then she wants to go out doing something that shows the nation who she really is. She doesn't want everyone thinking she was thicker than two short planks – or whatever the District Seven expression is.

"You aren't going to die in the bloodbath," Silino reassures her, moving to sit up slowly and face his district partner, grabbing her hands in his. "I won't let him kill you."

And from the way he promises such a feat, Satin knows that she should be relieved, thankful eve. But she won't allow herself to be, because his promise that he won't let Bastian kill her means that either he's gearing up to take her out himself or he's banking on muttations doing the job. He clearly wants to look as heroic as possible and Satin is going to have to play this very carefully. Timing is everything. But right now, she needs to engage the boy in her plan. "But how can you be so sure he won't try? I'm not as big or as strong as you are!"

Silino shakes his head. "I'm going to be honest with you, Satin. I can't be sure. But you're not totally useless, and I'll protect you the best I can."

She chooses to ignore the part of his speech where he called her useless, it's in her best interests to let him believe in her abilities, or lack therefore. Instead, she focuses on boosting his ego. He's arrogant like most of the volunteers; she recognises that now. A giggle leaves her lips. "You'll protect me from him?"

He squeezes her hand. "Of course I will. But we're going to need a foolproof plan, because as much as I hate to admit it, we're going to need his help in whittling down the competition. It will have to be after the bloodbath."

Sounds good to me, Satin thinks to herself, sounds perfect even. He's walked right into her trap without realising. Now all that is left is to finalise the details without blowing the cover – and maintaining it for twelve days in a camera monitored deadly environment, of course, but she can worry about that later. "Okay. I can wait. Thank you."

"It's nothing, really. Don't worry about it. Though you'll need to keep him on side for as long as we can."

"You mean flirt back?"

The boy nods. "Yeah, if that's what it takes for him to trust us completely. At least until I can kill him. But what are we going to do about Victoria? She's going to be a problem."

"I can take her." Satin beams confidently.

He isn't convinced, deciding to question her with a raised eyebrow. "You can?"

"I know I can. She said that she prefers close weapons, didn't she? Well I saw her with a sword and she's really good but I'm just as good from a distance!"

"With your knives?"

"Or a spear."

Satin shrugs nonchalantly as though she hasn't just dropped the fact she has another weapon in her arsenal, biting back her laughter at her district partner's wide eyes and forcefully wrinkled forehead. Despite his silence, she can tell that he's storing the information away for later and that he's not going to mention that she probably should have kept that to herself. But she doesn't care if he knows, in fact, it makes her appear even dumber than expected. After a while of staring, Satin brings her face to her hand and mimics wiping at it. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No, no, nothing on your face. It's just– you know what? Nevermind. What were we saying?"

There it is. The proof that he's conspiring against her also. Or at the very least praying for her downfall.

"About Victoria?"

"That's it." He says as if a lightbulb has gone off in his brain. "Whilst I take out Bastian, you'll have to take out Victoria on my signal."

"My signal." It's an expectation, but Satin makes sure to phrase it as a suggestion, as bewilderment. Silino may as well have question marks tattooed on his eyeballs with the look he directs at her. "He doesn't like you very much, but he loves me. He'll trust me."

The boy thinks about it for a while before agreeing, almost far too easily. "Okay, on your signal, I'll get Bastian in the chest from metres away, leaving you with Victoria. Deal?"

She giggles, leaning closer towards him until her head rests on his shoulder. "Deal. I promise you'll know my signal, I'll make it really obvious. I just have to think of one first."

"Something you're good at."

"My 'odine' water? Calamari told me that I was really great at doing the water. I can tell you that I'm going to fetch us some more... bottles when you ask me where I'm going?"

It's, once again, phrased as a question but he understands and easily takes total control of the idea as expected. "Yeah, that'll work perfectly. Sounds like a plan. But remember what I said earlier? Give it a bit of time. I'd say at least a week before we get rid of them?"

Small, girly laughs flow from Satin's mouth. "I know, I know, I'll wait, then they'll never know. But what do we do about the Fours?"

"Screw those useless fuckers, they'll get themselves killed soon enough. We can't be carrying them to a win." Silino snorts, getting himself comfortable by laying on the bed again. He taps the bed and shrugs. "Do you want to join me for a nap?"

A shaky smile spreads across Satin's lips as she swallows nervously, refusing to meet the boy's eyes and she bites the inside of her cheek. This might just be a ploy to get her to trust him. But she views it more as a test. A test of her trust in him. People are only comfortable sleeping around those they trust. And if he's going to trust her, she's going to have to prove that she trusts him. She nods and repositions herself so that she's laying down, face angled towards him. With one arm bent underneath the pillow on the right side of the bed, which feels entirely foreign to her, and the other resting upon her thigh, Satin curls herself up slightly and closes her eyes. She can practically feel him watching her, but pretending to sleep is her only option until she's tired enough to enter the land of dreams; though all she can think about is how her friends would react if she were ever to tell them about this – which she won't, she already feels guilty enough when she wonders about all of the flirting she's having to do to survive, let alone what Maverick will think when he sees it, she doesn't want to risk leaking this information despite the fact that nothing is happening.

Eventually, she hears Silino's breath even out and she feels comfortable. Her latest decision is whether she leaves and risks him questioning her about it later, which in the worst scenario is in the arena in front of their allies and the entire nation, or whether she stays and tries to force herself to nap in the hopes that she wakes before they're called for dinner. And because she really doesn't want to deal with the potential fall out that might arise from option one, she chooses the second.

Gloss' voice is the first she hears two hours later, rousing her with gentle shakes and beckoning her to the dining room. "Wake up, Tina."

It's the most gentle wake up she's had in ages, and most likely the most gentle wake up that she's going to have for a while, too. She savours it as she comes to, still laying beside her district partner and clutching the pillow – she had never expected to actually fall asleep but she can't deny that the rest was nice and that, surprisingly, she trusts that the boy beside her didn't attempt anything nefarious.

As she sits up, she notices that Gloss isn't being quite as gentle with Silino, and she snorts in a way so unladylike that it would've given her ballet teacher an aneurysm. "Don't break him, G." She whispers to her brother. His nose wrinkles and he purses his lips, clearly wanting to ask his youngest sibling some questions about her current situation. "I need him, remember?"

"You need me, hmm?" Silino's groggy voice jokes as he comes back around to the land of the living. He's teasing but he quickly drops the act when he notices the man who has been left in charge of waking him. He pulls himself up straight and lifts his hands in faux surrender. "I'm kidding, it's all in good faith."

"He knows you're kidding," Satin reassures with a light giggle. "And he knows that I need you if I'm going to reach the top eight, you know, being big and strong. I've told him all about how you've been looking out for me... and other stuff, during training."

"What other stuff?"

"Never mind that, man. You can't expect her to tell you everything, right?" The younger of the two men winks.

Gloss' face contorts. Concern and confusion. But Satin knows that she can't have him questioning her in front of Silino and so she moves her head in a tiny, almost imperceptible if you weren't so familiar with her actions, motion. One that Gloss has only seen at the dinner table before. That he's never listened to before. Drop it. He supposes he'll have to start now. He remains silent.

Satin climbs carefully from the bed and reaches her hand out for Silino's, dragging him to a stand at the foot of the bed. "Don't fight, please. Come on, I heard one of the Avoxes mention pumpkin soup and I've been waiting years to try it. Is there pumpkin soup, Gloss?"

There is pumpkin soup when they arrive at the table. And lots of it, in a large, decorative gold bowl. In fact, the entire dining room is decked out in a mixture of polished gold and platinum, and fine porcelain. Steaming bowls of different varieties of soup drizzled with fresh cream and sprigs of bright green parsley. Trays hold an assortment of roasted vegetables, caramelised at the edges – beetroot, carrots, sprouts and potatoes – and thick cuts of roasted lamb, chicken and beef sitting atop of rosemary. Everything that anyone could want alongside crust loaves of bread dusted with flour that are still warm from whatever oven they came from. Satin immediately reaches for a slice of focaccia – it's been her favourite since Cashmere had some imported after her victory tour – and dips it in the oils nearby before anyone has the chance to speak.

The only conversation that occurs over dinner is regarding the private sessions, with the mentors being nosy as anything about the ins and outs of what they did and how they think they've scored. Satin keeps her explanation brief, refraining from disclosing anything other than her performance with knives, offering the last piece of focaccia to her sister as a deal that she'll tell her the true details later tonight. Though it's helpful to know that Silino worked a number on two dozen dummies in half his allotted time and then showcased his navigation skills and other things that he's learnt during training – nets and traps and shelter. Skills that effectively make Murray a moot point now that Silino has made sure to learn everything he's useful for. She notes it away, to keep Murray occupied in the arena. But she mainly keeps quiet, pretending to be enthused by the pumpkin soup – even though she hates the taste of pumpkin. At least her brother will recognise the cover in the tribute quarters.

She barely has any of the desserts on offer, choosing to pick at the chocolate covered fruits whilst Amaryllis, the prep teams and stylists swarm the first floor as the television is switched over to Games coverage for the announcement of the scores.

Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen moments later, accompanied by Claudius Templesmith as always. It doesn't go amiss that he's suited in a dark red colour that reflects purple under the harsh lighting of his studio. "As you know, tributes are rated on a scale of one through twelve after three days of careful evaluation and an individual assessment. The Gamemakers would like to acknowledge that these scores are not an absolute guarantee of a tribute's prowess but an estimation stemming from their professional judgement."

No one really knows why the commentators bother to explain the rules every year, as if there is a single person in Panem who can get away with not watching the Games, and small children usually ask their parents about it the moment they're able to. But they do, and all that the tributes on the first floor can do is wait for him to continue reeling off the terms and conditions of the betting process.

"Capitol citizens may use this knowledge for whatever oddsmaking purpose they see fit but the scores should not be used as assurance. Now, onto the numbers, which as always will proceed in descending order, starting with District One."

The host's voice rings through the speaker, drawing everyone's attention and resulting in the two tributes being herded to the couch. Their mentors sit on either side of them – though Satin notices that Regina is closer to Silino than to her – and then their respective prep teams are on the far edge. Though who knows why they need the prep teams to find out their scores. Satin can only assume that it's so they're aware if miracles are needed during the interviews.

Silino's headshot is the first to appear given that he was the first person called for his individual assessment. "Silino Gatlin, with a score of... nine." Claudius announces as the large number corresponding to his score rolls across the screen beside his photo.

To Satin's surprise, as she prays and begs that the Gamemakers give her the number that she asked them for, the rest of the suite keeps their reactions to Silino's score at bay. Obviously they don't want to miss hers, and she's thankful that she isn't going to have to shush them herself. Please. Please. Please. An eight is all I want.

Caesar is announcing her score with a wide grin. "Satin Nicholo... scores an eight."

The suite erupts into short cheers then as the mentors nod approvingly and the prep teams fuss over their tributes, squeezing their cheeks and tapping their shoulders – one of them brushes stray hairs away from Satin's face. Cashmere leans closer to her sister as she envelopes her in a hug, whispering a "Well played," into her ear which invokes a smile.

Bastian and Victoria score tens apiece which is what Satin expected because she remembers both pairs of the Twos in sixty-three and sixty-four scoring tens also. All of their dedicated hours of training really comes in clutch when it comes to their individual assessments, but it's common knowledge that their arrogance is what gets them killed and she plans to exploit that. Because after spending three days with them she would place bets on them bragging about their scores multiple times in the arena, as well as using them to threaten the alliance to do various tasks for them. Hunting probably. District Three is next, though their scores are as unremarkable as their Reaping was with both tributes scoring five.

It's their allies from Four who the mentors are really interested in because their scores are the only obstacles standing between the six of them and the truly lucrative sponsors that have been lined up. The first floor is bathed in silence as they await the results, and it seems that the two commentators have been tipped off about their sponsors because they're speaking slower than normal and dragging out their words. Everyone hangs on each word.

"District Four. Murray Morgan. Scores an eight."

An eight. An eight is good. Right in the ballpark where Satin both expected and needed him to be. Similar enough to her abilities for her to fly under the radar when compared to him, and similar enough so that the other members of the alliance are confident that she'd be able to eliminate him when it comes down to it. Now all that is left is for Calamari to score the same or higher.

"Calamari Hampton receives an eight also."

There's a few claps as if the Capitol citizens on their floor are adding up their scores in their heads. But no one asks, not until Regina barks out an order; it's aimed at Amaryllis despite its generality. "Someone get me a pen and paper."

The escort rushes into another room and the sound of draws being rapidly opened and slammed shut fills the awkward silence. They're all treading on eggshells around Regina at the moment, none of them wanting to risk her turning her misplaced wrath on them. Eventually, she is handed her pad of paper and pen, and she immediately gets to work scribbling down the scores of the six alliance members, calculating their total score and their average; whether they've signed their death or their victor's contract.

"Eight point eight." Regina announces after a few minutes. "The sponsors will be overjoyed with that. Three points above their requirements. Excellent."

The rest of the scores pass without anything particular to note. The sets from Five, Six, Seven, Eight and Nine all score in the lower range, from fours to sixes. Apart from the larger boy from Eight who matches that of Satin's score. Even his photograph looks peeved as it appears on screen, and everyone on the first floor can tell that their earlier words in the alliance meeting are going to ring true much earlier than expected. He's a problem that needs eliminating. And quickly. The girl from Ten is the next to be announced after her district partner's six, and she scores a high seven. High enough to cause some issues, though Satin wonders what exactly she could have done to be given that rating when she hasn't seen her do anything except look bored of the entire concept of the Games. The kids from Eleven receive similar scores but reversed in regards to their gender, which proves the theory that they're much better fed this year than they have been in previous years. Though Satin has no qualms with the fact that Bastian and Victoria will gun straight for the higher scoring tributes in the bloodbath. The twelves score low as usual, leaving Caesar and Claudius to recap the total programme in a matter of minutes as a graphic displaying all of the scores appears on the left hand side, quickly supported by a total tally for each district. It seems to please the older mentors that District One is only a small amount below Two, and above Four – apparently the middle is the perfect place. But Satin can tell her siblings are only pleased with her performance and they follow her into her bedroom when everyone is dismissed and the stylists are done taking their final measurements from the tributes.

Gloss closes the door behind them after checking for listeners – the tribute rooms don't have the luxury of soundproofing like the mentors'. He leans against the frame, and looks at his sisters. "Well done, Tina, you did perfectly. Did you tell them your plan or not?"

"Most of it." She smiles, thinking back to what she kept a secret from Gamemakers. "I told them to give me an eight if they understood my plan, and I got an eight so I guess that explains it. That or the threat worked?"

Cashmere gawks at her. "You threatened them? Why would you do that?"

"All I said was that if my plan gets released before the Games then you two will know who's responsible considering they're the only other people I've told. I didn't think it was that bad."

"You can't threaten the Gamemakers, Satin!"

"Well you could have told me that beforehand?"

"I didn't think you'd have the confidence to do that, Satin." Gloss rebuttals with a loud sigh.

"Why not?"

"Because you never usually have as much confidence as we do, Satin. Not when you aren't dancing. No offense." Cashmere tells her, to her dismay. She really thought that 'fake it til you make it' was a real thing.

"I have confidence!"

Cashmere's answer is entirely too honest. "No, you really don't. I told you that we need to work on it."

Satin scoffs. Sisters. She can always count on Cashmere to tell her the cold, hard truth. "I am working on it, bitch – anyway, there's nothing I can do about it now. I've already done it. I guess we'll just have to hope they don't retaliate by making my life harder."

"They won't. Not if they know what's good for them."

"Now who's threatening Gamemakers?" Satin teases her sister, poking her tongue out.

"Enough." Gloss interrupts their argument before it can even begin, though a laugh threatens to break into his stoic tone. "Look, like you said, we can't change what's already happened so there isn't much point talking about it any further. But we can talk about why you were sleeping in Silino's room earlier."

"You slept in his room?"

"In his bed." Gloss presses.

"His bed?" Cashmere shrieks, and ordinarily, Satin would be jumping to cover her mouth but knowing that he likely heard that makes her reconsider. It might result in him believing her act more now that he's aware she's telling Cashmere her personal details like she needs help thinking through her decisions.

"On his bed, not in it." Satin iterates. "Gloss, you aren't helping."

"Oh, I know." He teases. "Do you want to explain why?"

"Nothing happened, moron. I just needed him to trust me and it seemed like the best way to get on board with the plan, because no one sleeps around people they don't trust. I made sure I pretended I was asleep before him so that he thinks that I trust him. Besides, I'm not into him like that, I'm with Maverick."

"You're smart, I'll give you that."

Chapter Text

The following morning, Satin is allowed to sleep in, and when she makes her way to the dining room, everyone else is already there with their heads down and engrossed in conversation. She’s more hungry than she is curious, so she loads her plate before daring to attempt to work out what they’re talking about, eating quietly. It’s only a little better than the previous nights, but only because Satin is too focused on the food to care about the lingering tension between the mentors – clearly something has happened between them overnight. She’s having a bowl of yoghurt with fruits – strawberries, raspberries and blueberries – covered in honey and syrup, and only looks up when she can feel her mentors staring at her over the table.

“What’s the plan for today?” Silino asks loudly, breaking everyone’s stupor. Satin hadn’t even realised he was there.

“You’ll spend time with all of us for interview prep.” Ledger says, gesturing to all of the mentors and then to Amaryllis at the far end. He reminds them as if there’s any way they could have forgotten what’s in store for them today. Satin is dreading the interviews, because she knows that Caesar is almost certain to bring up her siblings, likely comparing her to them for the entire three minutes, and that she’s going to have to come up with some way to maintain her stupid act without breaking when she’s asked ridiculous questions. She’s drawing a blank.

“Amaryllis will focus on both of your presentations, whilst Ledger and I will be focusing on content with you, Silino. Cashmere and Gloss are going to be working with Satin.” Regina informs them, with an annoyed expression as she looks at the younger mentors which makes it blatantly obvious that the allocation of roles was their suggestion. Satin feels relieved that she doesn’t have to explain her plan to someone else who would likely divulge the secret at the first opportunity, but there’s a niggling thought about experience levels, despite how much she trusts her siblings. “I know that I am technically Satin’s mentor, but we thought it would be a good idea for me to handle your interview prep. If that’s alright?”

Another clue that Regina hates my guts, Satin thinks as they realises that the older woman who has been named as her official mentor has just brazenly announced her distaste for her at the breakfast table.

“That’s fine with me.” Silino says, setting his fork down and pushing his half-eaten eggs aside.

“Satin?”

Oh I’ve actually been asked this time, wonderful. But it’s not like she can really say ‘actually, I’d prefer it if you treated me like a valuable tribute not just an obstacle in the way of your preferred victor’s win’, can she? She doesn’t want her help anyway. Besides, although Regina has to be a decent enough mentor in order to successfully help both of her siblings to victory, she knows from Academy teachings that public speaking has never been her forte, and she needs someone who will help her act as though she doesn’t want the ground to swallow her whole. She just nods. “Okay.”

“What schedule would work best for you?” Regina says to the other mentors, completely ignoring her female tribute. Satin can tell that it’s aggravating Cashmere by the way her arms are tensing in the way they do when she has her fists clenched under the table, and the slight flare of her nostrils that blows hair from the perimeter of her face.

“I was thinking that I’d take Satin first.” Amaryllis says like she isn’t even there, and Satin almost chokes on a spoonful of blueberries. Thankfully, she manages to recover before embarrassing herself any further, because the noise that left her throat was bad enough, she couldn’t handle it if someone would have had to reach over and pound her on the back to start up her breathing again. She hadn’t thought that Amaryllis would want to spend her morning helping her first, not when going first means that there isn’t any time constraint and Silino is right there. Though maybe it’s because she thinks Satin needs more help.

“That’s okay with me,” she says in response, quietly, and she sees the escort nod excitedly. “Now?”

“Whenever you’re ready, dear.” Amaryllis says, allowing Satin to finish eating her breakfast, knowing that putting on a little weight during her time in the Capitol will only help her once she gets into the arena. She’ll need every calorie she can get because it doesn’t seem like they’ll be a consistent source of food in the arena aside from whatever they can get given by sponsors gifts or is provided to them in the Cornucopia. It’s another ten minutes or so before Satin shoves her bowl aside and tells her that she’s ready.

The escort whisks her away to the furthest area of the floor, a quiet room that Satin hadn't even noticed existed. The hidden hallway is long, lined with tall windows and polished to a near-mirrored shine, so much that Satin can see her reflection in it as she is led down to Amaryllis’ room. Inside she is handed a garishly ugly purple dress that has come straight from the escort’s own ridiculous closet, which is immediately put on – albeit reluctantly, and then she clasps the straps on the gaudy looking heels. She can only hope that this isn’t what she’s given for the actual interview – Persephone surely will have more style.

Satin isn’t new to heels. She’s had much practice with wearing them, at ballet, and school dances, and she was given them at the tribute parade so Amaryllis should know that teaching her these basics is trivial and unnecessary. She doesn’t need to be taught how to walk but the escort is headstrong that the lesson is crucial.

“You don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of Caesar!’ The woman in purple insists as she ushers Satin back into the hallway to start her practice.

The shoes are absolutely abysmal, despite the fact that they ache and make Satin easily reach six feet; she towers over her escort – even though she’s in heels of her own. God she hopes that tall is the beauty standard in the Capitol. She doesn’t wobble, trip or hesitate as the escort orders her to move up and down the hallway, barking at instructions and poses. It’s like she doesn’t care that the heels are an extension of Satin as natural as breath nor that each step is fluid and graceful; she isn’t satisfied.

“Okay, stop, my dear.” Amaryllis calls from the end of her hallway with a tilt to her overly plucked eyebrows. “You’re walking as though you’re already hunting in your alliance. I need you to be softer, flirtier. Float, darling, I thought you were supposed to understand your conventional beauty.”

Ouch, Satin has to hold back her wince as she turns around to face the word. “I’m not a cloud, I can’t float, and I don’t have wings. Oh, do I get to wear wings?”

Amaryllis almost sounds like she feels sorry for the young woman in front of her, her voice filled with pity. She smiles softly at her. “No, Persephone certainly isn’t in the business of making of crafting wings dear. You’re going to be in a gown very similar to that one. Now can we try again with a smile?”

Hopefully not, the blonde thinks to herself before she adjusts her posture just enough to satisfy the instruction of acting like a debutante, not an assassin, and begins to walk again. She uses all of her ballet know-how to soften her stride with the gentle confidence that Cashmere spent hours teaching her. She lets out light, ringing giggled past the dazzling smile which pleases the escort to no end. Halfway down the hall, Satin twirls just to prove a point. Her heels pivot with precise balance, the garish mound of purple fabric flaring below her shins in a whirl reminiscent of outside winds. It’s effortless and she could have done it blindfolded.

Amaryllis gasps in awe. “You’re fabulous at this darling! You hardly need coaching. Where has this come from, has Cashmere had her input?”

Satin smiles at her. “It’s the years of ballet, I think.”

She’s absolutely certain but she has to retain her act even in front of the escort since she doesn’t know if she can’t be trusted to keep the secret.

The escort melts into a puddle of admiration before she starts waxing poetic about how ballet is a beautiful artform that is highly respected in their richer Capitol society, and how she wishes that she would have kept up with her lessons as a child. She even asks Satin to demonstrate some of her favourite steps, and gushes over how graceful her lines are when she moves. It gives Satin an idea to pass by her siblings when she works with them – a way to secure herself more favour with the citizens.

She spends a while adjusting the girl’s posture – raising her chin a little, relaxing her shoulders more and adding a little sway to her hips – and the type of smile she should showcase. Then they walk some more as Amaryllis applauds, and she hopes that the rest of their suite can hear her giddy exclamations. Then she perfects her twirl, the correct speed, how to let her fingers skim the fabric to show off the dress when Caesar asks, how to glance over her shoulder as she does, which feels incredibly unnatural for Satin and how to toss her hair, and smile as if she doesn’t know she has audience. The best way to approach Caesar and to sit beside him in the most ladylike way that will appeal to the masses. Her eye contact, her hand gestures and her facial expression; all of which the escort is pleased with but continues to perfect until they’re called for lunch and she must switch to help her other tribute.

Lunch is rushed, and high in protein and carbohydrate, as the mentors try to fill their tributes up with as much food as they possibly can. Satin knows the basics of carb-loading from the Academy, and she’s not very happy about having to do it at all, but Cashmere keeps loading her plate with more grilled chicken slices and potato salad, knowing that she’ll eat it anyway so as to avoid confrontation. Next, they switch roles and her siblings take her into one of the mentor rooms they stay in, whilst Amaryllis leads Silino down to the far end. Ledger and Regina follow, which Satin is pleased about despite the initial wave of confusion, because that’s less chance of them overhearing her strategy.

She’s barely had time to breathe all morning and she hopes that on her birthday she’ll have a moment to herself before all the chaos of the interviews and the preparation.

“We’ll run questions.” Gloss says without preamble. “I’ll ask and you answer as though you’re talking to Caesar. Remember the act. We’re starting easy – How are you feeling about being here? On the stage.”

She wants nothing less than being prepped for the Games. If she had her say then she’d be spending her days rehearsing for the ballet performance and would enjoy her birthday with her friends and family over dinner. And that if she wins, she’ll be in the Capitol for the rest of her birthdays until someone else wins and she can pass along the responsibility to someone else. But she can’t say that. That will only anger the citizens of the Capitol. So she has to think of something to appease them. She has to match her own attitude to those that her siblings have portrayed. “I’m delighted to be here. I’ve been looking forward to this for such a long time, since Gloss came home victorious.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Cashmere shakes her head, flopping onto her bed. “You’re supposed to be the dumbest tribute he’s had the misfortune of meeting. Delighted is far too smart of a word for a blonde girl with two brain cells. Try again. And dumber.”

She tries again being stupider than the last attempt, which consists of playing dumb, twirling her hair around her fingers, giggling when she mentions her siblings, blinking in the direction of the audience and tilting her head with wide eyes. Every time she uses a word that Cashmere deems as too intelligent for what she calls the ‘dumb spirit that has possessed her little sister’, she has to start again, much to her dismay. Finally, when they're satisfied with her performance, they let her move along to the next question.

They take turns lobbing questions at her, starting with other easy, soft questions regarding the Capitol and her opinions on it, – to which Cashmere decides her safest bet is to briefly mention how nice the citizens look in their various styles of outfits, and how they’ve been nothing but kind to her – all about hobbies and her family and what she’s missing back home. They prepare her all about what Caesar is going to ask about her siblings, such as what pieces of advice they’ve given her and how she thinks they’re feeling, to which she has been instructed to deflect from as soon as possible. They want to at least get a chance to talk about herself before Caesar starts to ramble about her older siblings. Then once they’re happy with how she’s performed on those questions, they then throw her some harder questions. Such as the first thing she’ll do if she wins, if she’s ever thought about death, or if she would ever break an alliance.

Each answer requires a careful dance of honesty mixed with lies, painted with practiced charm and forced laughter. She rehearses pausing momentarily so it appears her answers look thought through instead of overdone and anticipated, including letting her gaze drop thoughtfully and allowing her voice to wave when she speaks of District One; showing her vulnerability, even if all she wants is to pretend she looks invincible. Allowing people to underestimate her is the hardest part. Playing dumb. Disguising the fire that simmers behind her eyes under fluttering flashes and bashful nods and girly giggles. Balancing flirty banter and wide-eyed humility underneath her stupid persona. And she learns confidence from Cashmere as much as she can – or at least how to pretend her nerves aren’t bothering her.

She’s terrified about sitting in front of the entire nation and not having any grace for mistakes. There’s no telling what Caesar might ask, and live tv holds no prisoners. Curse my introverted, shy nature, Satin thinks as she listens to Cashmere reiterate instructions of the best physical behaviours to show.

“Think flirtatious. Dreamy.” Cashmere says. “You know the Capitol loves a damsel story because it’s different. And the stupid act will help. One more run through.”

The final run through was even more difficult. Pretending that she doesn’t know what she knows or that she isn’t anticipating every question or every slight movement is stretching all of her acting skills to their limit, but she really does not want to have to start from the beginning another time so she refuses to break out of the character. Using all of the information Amaryllis gave her in the morning, combined with her siblings advice, has her giggling like a fool as she acts incompetent and coy, lowering her lashes and softly biting the inside of her cheek.

They go from the start to the beginning until the answers feel like a part of her, perfectly rehearsed, but when she finally falters under the pressure of the following day, both of her siblings know in seconds that finishing preparations is their best course of action, and they shuffle nearer.

Cashmere stares at her. “That was terrifyingly convincing. Perfect. Don’t change a thing.”

“I’m going to have to change it a little.” Satin frets, dropping the act. “There’s no guarantee that Caesar is going to ask those exact questions.”

“I’ll slip him a hundred before we go on, alright. Just make sure you stick to the plan for the first few minutes at least.”

“You can’t slip him money, Mere! You’ll be charged with bribery or worse–”

“Just breathe.” Gloss tells her. Unhelpfully if you were to ask Satin, but he continues anyway. “You won’t be able to answer any of his questions if you aren’t breathing.”

“No shit.” Cashmere laughs at the same time in which Satin mutters a “Duh,” under her breath.

“Shut it.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. He’s laughing though as he opens the door and moves them back to the dining room where dinner has just been called.

───────────── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ────────────

“Do we wake her up now or do we wait?” Gloss’ voice is the first thing Satin hears the next morning as she comes to. One glance at the alarm clock to her left after she slides the sleep mask from her eyes, shows that it’s past nine o’clock – which is later than she ordinarily would wake. Her body clock usually wakes her around eight.

“She needs breakfast, Gloss.” Cashmere argues with a laugh, and if Satin was to hazard a guess, she would say that her sister is raising her hand to knock on her door. “Why should we wait? And don’t say that we have to go by Amaryllis’ schedule, we can go against her this once.”

“But maybe she’ll want to sleep or–”

Satin huffs out a sigh and shuffles around in her bed. She has to admit that she’s going to miss the cloud-like mattress available to her in the Tribute Centre whilst she’s on her deathly camping trips. But her siblings are never going to enter if she doesn’t force them to – she wouldn’t put it past them to bicker well into the afternoon. “I’m awake now, morons!” She shouts through the door.

“I told you, you obnoxious bastard.” Satin overhears Cashmere insulting their brother as they push their way into the room. They both smile when they lay eyes on their younger sister, still within the white silk sheets of the Capitol bed, her hair slightly ruffled and messy from a night’s sleep.

Cashmere sits on the edge of bed beside her and pushes a stray section of hair from Satin’s slightly warmed cheek. She’s acting like their mother, but Satin isn’t going to deny that the actions bring her comfort. “Good morning, birthday girl.”

“You’re seventeen today.”

Satin blinks up at them. For a heartbeat, she says nothing, but then she smiles, small and soft and still plagued with sleep before she burrows deeper into her covers, tugging the sheet up to her nose. Pretending to be sleepier than she is, is one of the tiniest wins she can hold over her siblings on her birthday, used to being the baby of the family that tricks the rest of them into doing things for her. And seventeen is strange – it might be the only year she spends without celebrating properly but she knows that a tribute’s odds are higher at seventeen than they are at sixteen. She’s intrigued as to whether hers will increase despite the fact that she’s turned this new age less than an hour prior. “Let me sleep.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not happy to see us.” They tease, nudging her shoulder gently.

“Only a little.”

“You’re lying.” Gloss says, tapping one of his fingers against her forehead to wake her completely, which results in her eyes crinkling. “You want cake, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” she mumbles, voice muffled by her pillow. “If you haven’t got cake then leave me alone.”

“There’s no cake but there are pastries in the dining area. And the fruit’s fresh. The Capitol can be useful sometimes.” Cashmere tells her. “But if you don’t want us to bring you breakfast in bed to celebrate then that’s fine too. Come on, Gloss, let’s leave her in her to starve.”

“What? No!” Satin gasps, sitting up straight in the bed as she objects before pushing her bottom lip out to plead. “It’s my birthday, you can’t leave me. Please bring me breakfast.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Satin rolls her eyes at her brother’s teasing words but as both of her older siblings leave her room with deep bows and promises to return with food, she straightens her surroundings a little. Using her time wisely, she brushes through the small knots that have formed at the ends of her hair, stretches all of her limbs loosely, and organises her bedding — fluffing her pillows and straightening her covers.

She waits until they return, with a plate in each hand. Gloss’ plate includes a balanced selection of stacked fruits — such as ripe segments of pears, blood-orange, delicate curls of peach, and handfuls of fresh berries and chopped banana. Cashmere has picked out a variety of pastries, flaky delicacies that have evidently been purchased specifically for this occasion, all topped with sugar-dusted tulip petals — Satin’s favourite.

And as they sit and eat, careful not to make too much of a mess on the quilt, nattering away between them, Satin can’t help but wonder what the other inhabitants of the first floor think of the fact that they are hiding away, and aren’t socialising over what is their last breakfast as a complete unit.

“They’re probably thinking I'm stealing you both away, or that you’re not interested in anything other than helping me.” Satin addresses the thought following a lull in conversation, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Gloss waves his hand in the air carelessly, as if he’s wiping away all previous concerns before stealing a strawberry. “Oh, let them. It’s their fault for not treating you equally anyway — that was the first thing we were taught, you know? And they’ve already broken it. It’s a bit unfortunate that they’re going to bankrupt themselves by illegally betting on Silino.”

“They’re betting? I thought mentors weren’t allowed to bet?”

“Hence illegally, Satin.” The man laughs, stealing another strawberry, much to his sister’s annoyance. “But you’re right, we aren’t technically allowed to place bets, though it doesn’t stop anyone from betting under a pseudonym. Regina is going to have another thing coming when she loses half her money, yet Mere and I are seven times richer.”

“You’ve bet too?”

Cashmere nods. “Yes, on you. So don’t you go losing us money by dying.”

“Oh wow, I love that that’s your worry, Cash. Not, you know, your baby sister?”

“Don’t be stupid, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” The older sister shoves at the younger lightly — but just hard enough for her to fall off balance for a moment. “I just meant that yes, we’ve bet on you because we believe in you. Now, hurry up and finish your breakfast before Gloss eats it for you.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“Oh yes, he would.”

Gloss grabs another handful of fruit, squishing them on top of a flaky croissant before shovelling them into his mouth and speaking to them through a mouthful. “I absolutely would.”

“Get your own breakfast, you tramp.” Satin is laughing, prying the plate away from him so that he can’t steal anymore, which only succeeds in making him chuckle harder. She hardly even notices how the word throws him off for a moment or how both of her siblings exchange nervous glances, as if she knows more than she should.

Gloss snorts. “Tell me how you really feel, damn.” Though he’s joking, keeping his tone light as they continue to eat their breakfast – it's peaceful away from the main table, there’s less mania and invasive conversations.

Moments later, Cashmere decides on informing her sister on how the rest of their day will play out. “Your prep team will be arriving soon to prepare you for the interviews – forewarning, Tina, the stuff they’ll do to you is even more uncomfortable the second time around, the products absolutely reek. You’re going to be in there for hours, since Persephone doesn’t half-ass anything, so I’ll try and bring you some lunch when I can.”

“Hours?” Satin asks for clarification, swallowing nervously. “What do they need hours for when they did so much to me last week?”

“You know what they’re like.” Her sister warns sympathetically, with a melancholic smile. “I think her mentor is paying her a visit this afternoon, too – if my sources are right – which will take even longer. It means we won’t have much time for anything else. That’s why we wanted to come and sit with you this morning. And there’s no presents either.”

Satin nods as she takes in the information. She never expected to get any present this morning, because of the potential favouritism accusations that could befall her siblings – she would never want to put them in that position – but the idea that her presents are sitting in their respective houses yet might never be seen, upsets her somewhat. Not because she’d never receive them but because if she dies, then her siblings will have the constant reminder of how she wasn’t good enough to live up to their standards. She looks at Cashmere. “Did you buy me the tutu I asked for?”

“Yes, your majesty, I did.” Cashmere snorts, her smile reaching her eyes. “You can have it when we’re home. Your proper celebrations will begin with mum and dad and Marvel. Sorry– I mean Maverick.”

“Don’t start, Mere.”

“I’m kidding, totally kidding!” The older sister admits through her snickers, holding her hand up beside her face in fake surrender. And Satin truly knows that she’s only teasing her about her close friendship with Marvel, the boy that has been her best friend since birth – even if everyone keeps joking that they’ll end up married with children. She disagrees though, the only children they’ll ever have together are the raccoons they’re destined to adopt from the woods surrounding their family homes. But she needs to get home to prove her point.

There’s a strange tugging sensation on her heart as she looks at her siblings, realising that this is her last guaranteed day alive, and she has to spend it pretending to be easily entertained, too dumb to function, and oozing with sex appeal that strains her to manufacture. She wants nothing more than to hide under the covers all day, but as the room fills with the commotion and moving bodies of the prep team, she recognises that she can’t do that. It’s mandatory to present for the interviews. Besides, she needs the sponsors now more than ever given that the fight for her life begins tomorrow.

She’s ushered out of her bed and into the adjacent bathroom whilst her siblings are removed to their own rooms – their own teams, provided by the Capitol, awaiting them. She’s stripped out of her pyjamas once inside, given that the Capitol men have no shame nor care regarding nudity, before she is directed into the shower and the team presses buttons for her this time. She’s thankful that they’ve chosen scents she’s fond of; raspberry hair treatments that seem to take an era to marinate, and vanilla body washes and lotions. She leaves smelling sweet and fruity, and God does she wish that she could find a way to retain the pleasant smell for the duration of the Games.

Satin attempts to wrap a towel around her body after she steps out but it’s quickly pulled away from her and she’s placed in a portable armchair with multiple attachments including a blow dryer that will be used on her hair. Trays of products are wheeled into the room – complete with glass vials with gold plated tops, brushes and tools made of solid gold, and towels so plush that they look more ornate than functional, as the prep team flits around her like bees in a hive. She folds her arms across her chest self-consciously as one of her prep team tilts her chin from side to side and lifts her limbs to inspect her skin – to see what is left of the treatments that they administered before the tribute parade.

There’s quite a lot still clinging to the dry patches on the skin of her elbows and ankles – just like how the products usually do when she has to prepare for ballet shows – and Satin hopes that they’ll leave her skin alone. But of course, she isn’t so lucky, and the three Capitol citizens begin to slather the blonde tribute in a foul smelling gel to remove the colour from her skin. Satin has to resist the urge to gag as she’s left sitting in it for an hour whilst the team dry her hair with the overhead container. She can’t help but wonder if there’s a faster way to peel off the top layer of her skin, because – Cashmere wasn’t exaggerating – the stench is horrific.

There’s no way that Mere puts up with this smell every time she’s tanned in the Capitol, Satin thinks to herself, with even more newfound respect for her big sister.

Then finally, when her hair is dry and her scalp is incredibly relaxed, the prep team pulls her to a stand on a makeshift erected platform, which she is unsure about where it came from or how they made it fit in her tribute bedroom. She’s completely exposed in the middle of her room as they look her up and down, examining her body and the effects of the gel as they rip it from her body, bringing the starts of her new hair follicles out with it.

“Lovely undertones.” Maia says, as she starts to open a glowing, tinted bottle of tan that she is going to begin smoothing across her skin in the near future. Satin finds herself nervous that she’s going to end up with deep sapphire blue skin like the member of her prep team, and she apprehensively awaits her next words, which come only moments later. “Let’s lean into golden bronze, remember even more over the top than for the opening ceremony, we have all of Caesar’s studio lights to contend with, and it must fade naturally during the time in the arena.”

Flavius nods and Satin sucks in a breath when the man’s freezing cold fingertips make contact with her skin, sliding down her legs and starting to work in swift, practiced circular motions. The mousse he works around her body smells of malty biscuits mixed with faint hints of citrus fruits and sun-warmed molten amber as it settles deep into her skin, leaving a golden shimmer that catches along the lines of her muscles and shines from her shoulders. She feels polished as the three person team slathers her in the liquid, blowing her dry with blasts of freezing cold air, and reassurances that the colour will last for the whole three weeks. And Satin blanches slightly at the notion that she might be in the arena for twenty-one whole days. She wonders if that’s a hint – wonders if the prep team knows something that she doesn’t; if the Gamemakers have already decided upon a duration. If so, it gives her a deadline for which to kill her alliance; it fits well within her planned time frame.

Meanwhile, as she thinks over her plan, and how to act as brainless as possible, Hemera narrows her excessively bright ruby-red eyes down at Satin’s nails. She hunches her back over, pulling the girl’s hands up to hers and starting the task of painting them a baby pink to match the colour that has been applied to her toes – a shade that the Capitol woman gushes over due to the name reading ‘ballerina slipper’ which she correctly assumes Satin will enjoy. She’s received weirder compliments in the past ten minutes than she ever has before. I mean, what sort of praise is ‘wonderfully neat nail beds’.

Once her skin has been bronzed to perfection and her nails have been dried under curing UV light, they guide Satin back to the chair in the vanity so carefully that it’s as if she’s a delicate marble sculpture. Maia immediately starts brushing through the young girl’s blonde strands with a gold-handled brush and mumbles to herself about how she’s going to style it, and the whether it will hold the texture she wishes for. Satin knows it’s very unlikely to hold any curl – her hair rarely does much other than drop – unless the prep team has some kind of chemical to treat it. Flavius prepares the tools; heated rods, volumizing mousse and various glass bottles of serums and sprays that sparkle when they move them around.

Hemera’s ruby eyes inspect Satin’s face this time whilst the others begin their magic on her hair. The woman dabs cooling lotions and primers as she announces her plans and grabs brushes and products.

Foundation is worked into the skin in thin layers with careful dabs of sponges. Concealer erases the lingering dark purple circles beneath her eyes. Contour powder and blush are traced along her high cheekbones to chisel the structure and bring back some of her natural rosy warmth across her nose. Highlighter is splashed on her cheeks, the finely milled glitter shines in a perfect match to the rest of her skin. Finally, her lips are painted a soft petal-pink which gives Satin a clue as to the direction, they’re going to take her style, and her eyes are brushed with champagne metallic tones that will make her look bright and innocent under the harsh lights of Caesar Flickerman’s stage without being garish. Satin is thoroughly impressed when she glances in the mirror.

Her makeup has been applied with an expert hand, and clearly her hair has been crafted masterfully also. The golden-blonde strands have been styled into large, cascading waves, pinned half-up with tiny combs made of gold and and covered in rhinestones in a similar effect to her tribute parade outfit, and falling over one shoulder like a spill of silk. It’s covered in hairspray to seal the volume they’ve manufactured out of seemingly nowhere and flecks of glitter catch the light when she moves her face to get another angle.

“There,” Flavius breathes, stepping back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re divine, a perfect beauty just like your sister. Oh, you’re practically edible.”

Satin doesn’t know how to respond to that. In fact, the comment has made her incredibly uncomfortable once she remembers that the man has uttered such words whilst she’s stood less than three feet away, entirely exposed and made up to the nines. She catches sight of her reflection as she’s handed a pale slip whilst the prep team rush around preparing for the arrival of the stylists. Every inch of her looks like she’s never seen hardship, yet she’s nervous for her dress to be revealed given Persephone’s reputation for scandal.

The door flings open so fast that it nearly flies off its hinges as Persephone sweeps into the room with a theatrical flourish, her arms draped with the unmistakable shimmer of a garment bag that glints under the ceilings lights as if it holds the most decadent, divine item in all of Panem. Satin feels her stomach twist as she takes in the excitement on the stylist’s face.

“Oh no,” she mutters under her breath, barely audible over the rustling plastic sound. She’s thankful for the noise that the stylist is making because she doesn’t want to offend Persephone but her nerves are getting the better of her. If the outfit is anything like what she was dressed in for the tribute parade, most of the nation is going to see more than she wishes.

“Doll, you are not ready for this masterpiece.” The woman sings. Satin’s curiosity grows and the three members of her prep team gather round as they wait for Persephone to reveal the outfit. She unzips it and draws it back.

The dress glows. Or maybe it just appears to. It’s a radiant deep fuschia shade which is more reminiscent of a sculptural art piece than it is of an elegant dress for national television. Silk fabric wrap in angled strips to cross over the body with each line engineered to emphasise Satin’s silhouette and sheer mesh panels between the bands that will expose bare skin in a way that is much more provocative than she’s comfortable with. An enormous, dramatic bow steals the show from its position on the shoulder, spilling with long, trailing tails that will glide with every step. It leaves nowhere to hide.

Satin blinks at it. Her heart drops out from within her stomach. “That’s… that’s the dress?”

“Of course it is.” Persephone says, utterly delighted to showcase her latest creation and entirely ignoring the displeasure curling throughout Satin’s body; whether she can’t see it or is choosing to disregard it is yet to be decided. The stylist holds the dress closer to the seventeen year old. “Do you see this structure? The tailoring? It’s sharp, daring, iconic. You’ll have their hearts stopping, doll. It’ll be perfect since I designed it.”

This isn’t a joke, Satin thinks as she drags herself closer to the stylist and tries to imagine herself in the dress. All her mind does however, is conjure the different ways it will cling to her body and how much of her skin it will show. Her throat tightens and her voice raises an octave as she forces whispered words out. “Won’t I look naked?”

“No, no, no!” Persephone rushes forward, one hand already fluffing the large bow rapidly. “You’ll look practically erotic, doll, no one will be able to get enough of you. We’ve spent so long working on your image to secure you sponsors and you can’t shy away from it now. This dress declares you as the ideal victor. Sultry, seductive, and even more so when paired with your voice. You’ll be the undeniable choice.”

Still, Satin doesn’t move just yet, focusing on portraying her features to make it believable that she doesn’t understand some of the stylist’s word choices. The thought of stepping onto the stage in front of Caesar Flickerman wearing very little – only a half-see-through dress that looks as though it’s wrapped directly onto her skin – makes her pulse pound. The craftsmanship of the dress itself is stunning, Satin can’t deny that, but she doesn’t have the confidence that Persephone expects of her. She crosses her arms over her chest as a barrier as she shyly shakes her head. “I– uh– I don’t know if…”

Persephone, however, doesn’t soften, and it becomes clear how the woman has become so renowned for her craft. So ruthless. “You can and you will. This is the Capitol, sweetheart, not the slums, you’re going to dazzle in my design.

She swallows, and notices that the prep team are all averting their eyes. They’re terrified of her. And Satin’s wary glances aren’t helping the cause. She opens her mouth to say something, to apologise, and prevent the woman with the ponytail from swiping her head off before she enters the arena, but before any form of noise can leave her, the door slides open again.

An older woman steps into the room with a purposeful stride, the clicking sound of finality that comes from her heels diminishing as she treads over the carpet. The woman looks to be a decade or two past middle aged, Satin would estimate that she’s in her late sixties or early seventies, and she has blonde hair streaked with shades of grey and white, as well as the dark tattooed markings on her wrinkles that resemble tiger stripes. She pauses in the doorway, her arms crossed and her gaze sweeping over the garment in Persephone’s hands. Satin has no idea who this woman is, but her first words confirm that she’s the stylist’s senior counterpart that Cashmere informed her was giving her input this afternoon.

“Are you done playing dress up?”

The unimpressed bite in the woman’s tone, that would otherwise sound like crushed velvet, has everyone – including Persephone – sitting in a beat of silence.

“Dress up?” Persephone questions, and she carries more respect than she ever has previously held in her voice as she addresses the older woman. Satin finds herself wishing that she could be present for each meeting with Persephone in the future.

“Aren’t you going to show Miss Nicholo her actual outfit?”

Persephone’s growing confusion is evident as she blinks. If Satin had to guess then she would think the Capitol woman is intimidated by her mentor's presence. Her jaw drops slightly. “Oh… This is her outfit.”

The older stylist’s lips purse tightly. “This?” Her tone is offended. “Absolutely not. Go and fetch your other garments. I’m usually so impressed with your work, Persephone, but this? There is no way that this dress will flatter this young woman.”

“But I thought–” she begins, flustered as she runs her perfectly manicured nails through the sweeping ends of her ponytail. “This one has an edge! The asymmetry and the sheer panels are the perfect touch. The citizens love District One’s boldness ever since I took over.”

“You thought wrong.” The older woman interjects flatly, whilst her tattooed markings wrinkle when her features curl up in disgust. “Maybe this bold approach would have worked two or three years ago, but from what I’ve heard, we don’t need to show off that much of this girl. It’s the interviews for The Hunger Games, not the gentleman’s club, Persephone.”

Satin doesn’t even want to think about what these so-called ‘gentlemen's clubs’ entail, let alone having to attend one after she’s declared victor.

“But the lines – Cashmere was–”

“I’m not interested in anyone other than your current tribute at this moment.” The older mentor bites back. She looks the tribute up and down, analysing Satin’s every move, breath and motion. “They may be related but she’s no Cashmere.”

Well ouch, Satin thinks to herself, assuming that the words are meant to be insulting. She knows that she’s not up to the same standards as her older sister but hearing a senior stylist say it in such layman’s terms is like a slap to the face – because she is trying. But she doesn’t wish to be known as Cashmere’s weaker shadow for the rest of her life.

“I know – she’s far more docile and mellow – but we’ve been cultivating her image together and–”

“And it will fall flat. It’s not good enough. Don’t you think the audience will see right through your attempts to re-present Cashmere in another body. You’re a phenomenal stylist, Persephone, don’t allow yourself to fall into complacency. Satin needs an outfit that will set her apart from everyone – including her siblings. If you want to continue with this colour scheme then may I suggest the pastel pink gown I oversaw.”

Satin hums to herself. Maybe this woman does in fact like me if she’s suggesting a deviation from the bright pink. Lighter pinks have always been her preferred shades and that will do wonders for her on stage confidence. She can only hope that the cut isn’t as daring.

Persephone’s face lights up at the praise and she nods so fast before scurrying out of the room, muttering a “Thank you, Tigris,” under her breath as she does so.

Satin recognises the name, but she isn’t sure where from, and she stands amongst the prep team, watching them deflate as they breathe out sighs of relief as the tension dissipates.

The older woman, who Satin now knows is called Tigris – which perfectly matches the tattooed markings on her face and decolletage – meets her nervous gaze. “You have too much promise to be reduced to only your body, dear.” She throws the rejected garment away like a used rag, leaving it crumpled in a heap on the floor. “This new dress will compliment you properly – I swear it. Though, I am surprised to see you after my conversation with your sister.”

To that, Satin is bewildered, but she knows it will work perfectly in terms of her portrayal, and so she doesn’t fight it. Instead, she tilts her head and blanks her features. “What? My sister?”

“Hasn’t she told you?”

“Told me what?” Though the octave raise is fabricated the present confusion is entirely real.

“She truly hasn’t informed you of what will befall you? Oh my dear, I can only apologise profusely.” The older stylist holds Satin’s hands in hers, and rubs gentle circles along the thin skin in an attempt.

“The arena?” Satin questions. “She’s told me all about the different things I’m going to face. I’m ready, I promise. Mere promised I won’t die!”

Tigris drops both her hand and her facial expression, looking at her with what can only be described as pity. She speaks as though Satin can’t hear her. “You really are as dense as they made out. Oh for heaven’s sake, how are you related to Cashmere with all her intelligence?”

Bloody hell that was brutal, Satin smiles through the insult. “Mere got all the brains, thankfully.”

It’s evident that it takes a lot of Tigris’ strength not to burst into uncontrollable laughter but she taps her hand and says. “Thankfully? I can tell, dear.”

“Tell what?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. Use all your focus on presenting well during the interviews. Persephone will return with your dress in a moment, and you’re going to love it.”

Despite the older woman clearly thinking she’s the most stereotypical blonde she’s ever encountered, Satin doesn’t hear expectation in her tone of voice. She isn’t being ordered to like the new dress. Tigris simply sounds confident that it is going to be to the tribute's taste, and Satin finds herself believing her. She can tell that this dress is going to be much better.

As if she heard her name mentioned, Persephone re-enters with another garment bag. She mutters some words to the prep team that sound like gibberish in her highly inflected Capitol accent, and Maia produces an eye mask out of thin air, which they use to blindfold Satin for the reveal, as they tighten it around her face. However, all it does is make the seventeen year old nervous, what with how they grab and pull her around as they slide her into the dress and lace it impossibly tight. She swears that she feels Flavius pinch her ass again, which is so uncomfortable.

“Are you ready?” Persephone asks her. “This dress is absolutely glorious.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Satin replies, steeling her voice not to betray her nerves. She hopes that she isn’t going to look like a fool, because if this gown is as hideous as the last then she isn’t going to have time to change, and she may as well step off the podium early. All her trust is put into the superior stylist who she didn’t know an hour prior.

She feels the sensation of the loose blindfold being removed, and after a few seconds of adjustment, Satin’s awestruck when she spots herself in the mirror. The dress is just as the young stylist described – a dream spun from the blush pink shake she so adores; soft, silky and delicately regal.

The bodice sits snug against her chest, sculpted into a heart-shaped neckline that curves like petals until it forms a large, elegant bow in the centre, with tails flowing seamlessly below. The midriff is still slightly daring – but much less so than the previous fuschia garment – with a crescent of bare, tanned skin being revealed just beneath the bow. From there, the skirt blossoms in a waterfall of her namesake fabric, which Satin lifts in each hand to watch it sweep in shimmering arcs of dancing light. As she twirls joyously, the fabric whispers against her legs, giving lift to the train which fans out with each spin.

The newly placed full-length mirror gives her an image that doesn’t quite feel real, her perfectly styled hair brushing over the line of her collarbone, above the statement jewellery pieces – a necklace and earrings which look like a frosted web of crystal petals. The necklace accentuates her throat, shoulders and the slender column of her spine. And she feels graceful, not just tall. She admires herself in the mirror with each movement – admiring her height for the first time in her life.

The stylists are leaning against the door, their hands clasped as they watch their tribute exploring the dress. Even the prep team is awaiting her verdict.

And this time, it’s positive. “I love it.”

Persephone smiles at the whispered praise, and even Tigris looks happy; she seems impressed by the choice of the garment the second time round.

“Thank you,” Satin chirps in addition. She’s conscious that she needs to climb back into Persephone’s good books despite not saying anything untoward about the original choice. “Thank you for making me look so beautiful. Wow, I feel so pretty. A princess.”

The three members of the prep team envelop Satin in a hug, careful not to disturb her hair, and whisper naughty praises into her ears. It makes her giggle despite how ridiculous it is that three adults are whispering innuendos into the eardrums of a freshly turned seventeen year old — how downright creepy. She doesn’t want to think about it too hard. She narrowly misses Tigris’ response.

“You already were.”

Their remaining time together passes quickly as the prep team settles, putting the finishing touches to her look – golden body glitter on her high points, rings and gemstones that shine when the light hits, and then sprays a minty liquid onto her tongue for good measure.

Finally, when they slide strappy gold heels onto her feet, Satin is relieved to find that they aren’t excessively high. Although she is easily over six feet tall. But she doesn’t mind that today, because firstly, she feels confident in her appearance outside of ballet for maybe the third time in her life, and secondly, she knows that the aura she oozes with her elegance and long limbs might just aid her act. It might help her appear graceful and ethereal.

Persephone and Tigris dismiss the prep team before moving around Satin, circling her like a pack of vultures as they appraise for mishaps one final time.

“Are you nervous?” The younger stylist asks her. Her voice isn’t quite pointed or angry but it also isn’t gentle either, and Satin can’t quite trust her enough to explain her plan.

And so, despite the only thought in her brain being a screaming, resounding yes, a million times yes, Satin has to lie. She shakes her head. “No! I’m going to be okay. Mere will be there with me, and Caesar won’t ask me things I don’t understand, will he?”

The two stylists glance between each other in disbelief. Satin can tell by their expressions that they want to ask her if she’s ever seen the Games before, because mentors are never allowed on stage with their tributes. She has to hold back giggles. The older stylist talks next. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, my dear, but it sure doesn’t hurt to be confident in yourself. Just be yourself. I’ll grab your sister.”

I’m definitely not doing that, Satin thinks to herself, watching the stylists leave her bedroom, citing that they’ll be in a booth with those from the other districts and letting the girl know that she can always look to them if she can’t find her siblings or doesn’t know where she should be looking. Her sister enters moments later, closing the door behind her.

“Damn,” Cashmere whistles over dramatically in an attempt to make her little sister flush red with embarrassment, despite the two blondes being the only people in the room. But she looks a tad uneasy as she takes in the details of the outfit – especially the slight push of the corset that lifts her chest and the slithers of skin on show. “They’re going to love you. The dress is nice. Not what I expected, but nice nonetheless.”

Satin smiles nervously as she points to the dress crumpled in the corner. “You should’ve seen what they tried to put me in. This one is so much better.”

As quickly as Cashmere leans down to examine it, she throws it back into the corner in disgust. At the idea that they would dare dress her baby sister in something so revealing. “Oh absolutely not. Thank god for Tigris, right? I’m assuming she’s responsible for the upgrade.”

“Yes. She’s a miracle worker.” She giggles before she tenses up again, realising that the tributes are needed downstairs for the start of the interviews any moment, and she’s surprised that Amaryllis isn’t hounding them to leave already.

But she speaks too soon, for an abrupt knock on the door acts as their signal that it’s time to go. Cashmere sprays her with another round of body glitter and vanilla perfume, with hints of raspberry until they’re almost choking on the scent and the older sister motions to lead the way. However, when Satin’s hand wraps around the handle, Cashmere stops her. She moves her head to Satin’s ear and whispers, “I’ve slipped Caesar a few hundreds for you, and he’s extended his show by a few minutes just to give you that little bit extra. The plan is on, Tina. If you ask him to start over after a minute or so then he will. But make it worth it.”

Satin doesn’t want to think about the potential consequences that her sister might face for bribing Caesar Flickerman with a handful of hundred dollar bills, nor how the others might react. Instead, she’s focused on how exactly she can use her restart to her advantage and what her friends back home are going to think of her tactic.

“Trust me.” Cashmere implores when she notices the expression her younger sister holds. “You’ll know when to do it.”

They meet the other mentors, – including Gloss, who looks mildly displeased at her outfit – Silino, dressed in a light grey suit that tinges silver under the lights of their floor with light pink ascents, at the lift. It’s as if they’ve purposefully been made to complement each other; not quite a matching pair but a duo that work well together as well as stand out on their own, which is what they’re trying to push for the arena. Satin can’t help but wonder whether her district partner is pleased about being made to wear pink. Most men aren’t. The prep teams and stylists have joined them as they await the lift, showering the two tributes in compliments that have them both feeling uneasy. But Silino grabs his partner’s hand and squeezes in reassurance; and Satin has to look as though she’s pleased with the outcome. An expression that will have to change when she reaches the line of other tributes. Satin’s ill feelings towards the escort, who is clapping enthusiastically, have dramatically decreased since the Reaping – she isn’t all that bad, really, just a little misguided But Satin supposes that it’s her job to be this way. If it wasn’t her then it would only be someone else.

They all filter into the lift as a large group, and it takes seconds for them to reach the basement level and they’re then directed to the studio area where the interviews are to be conducted. The rest of the tributes are already waiting in line, and she has to twist her features carefully – flirtatious as she spots Bastian yet unhappy when she meets Calamari’s gaze. Everyone is dressed to the nines, each stylist having done a fantastic job at representing each individual, and it’s going to be strange to see them all wearing identical clothing in less than twenty four hours. A glare, a hug and several kisses on the cheek later, and the tributes are left alone amongst the others when their mentors leave them in their beeline to the audience.

Of course, they’re standing at the front of the twenty-four long queue. Similar to the opening ceremony’s parade, they’ll enter the stage in district order and Satin will be up first. The stagehands are flitting around desperately to prepare the stage, and even the audience are confused when the show’s opening tune blasts through the large auditorium’s speaker a few minutes earlier than scheduled – only the Nicholo sisters are aware of the reason, and Satin is thankful she doesn’t have to wait very long. Her nerves are starting to get the better of her.

The cheers of the crowd grow louder and louder as the host himself makes his entrance onstage. Like always, he’s wearing his deep blue suit that twinkles with lights and diamantes, but his hair is a deep crimson shade; his lips and eyebrows a perfect match. His features are the only annual change to his doctored ever-youthful face. It’s a well-known fact by now that Caesar dyes his hair to represent the tribute who he’s backing, and this crimson hue is one of the most blatant references to District Two that has been seen in a decade – at least as far back as Satin can remember. And when the screens zoom in closer on the man’s face, it’s evident that he’s done something to his eyelashes too, tinted the edges a brown that appears textured akin to rocks. And the blonde tribute can’t help but think it might be a hint towards the arena’s environment. If she’s right about this year’s arena from the clues she’s picked up, and Satin is almost certain she is, then windy, wintery, survival looks are going to be in fashion by the time the games are over and it makes if Caesar is trying to get out ahead of the curve.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone, to the sixty-sixth annual Hunger Games!” Caesar says, batting his dyed lashes at the crowd which begins to cheer again. The sound is overwhelmingly loud and Satin has the pressing urge to cover her ears, but she knows better than to do sudden, unexpected movements with so many eyes and cameras trained on her. Her hands fiddle nervously with the train of her dress as the host starts his opening monologue, warming up with a few jokes before clapping his hands and announcing that, as usual, his first interviewee is from District One.

A particularly garish couple in the front row holler loudly and Caesar draws attention to them, including a spotlight that they don’t shy away from. The host points at them. “Somebody likes District One? Why? Do they tickle your fancy? Do you have money on District One?”

“Yes!” The couple preen loudly. Satin isn’t sure which of the questions they’re answering. Or which is worse.

“And I’m sure that will work out in your favour. District One, always a safe bet, especially in the last few years I suppose.” Caesar’s smile is mega watt as he looks back at the wing where the tributes await his signal. The minute mention of the sibling victors that Satin aspires to follow has the crowd in some kind of ruckus that even the master of ceremonies struggles to calm for a few moments. The idea panics the youngest Nicholo but she doesn't have any time to think of it, because Caesar is continuing. “Now, back to District One. Our first contender is someone we’re all familiar with, just of course, older…”

Oh shit. Me. I’m District One. OH MY GOD I’M DISTRICT ONE!

Outskirts of Adoquin, District Two

The sun has long set since dipped behind the mountainous skyline in the principal city of District Two, leaving the environment built entirely of stone and concrete bathed in a violet twilight. The Capitol’s mandatory broadcast on interview night always begins as darkness falls across Panem, after the clang of workday shifts have quietened down and the annual spectacle can commence, can be watched by all; outfits can be judged and bets can be finalised before the bloodbath.

The Hadley household is no different to the rest of Panem tonight, with a noticeable crackle of anticipation. The framework of their house is practically, built of pale stone and dark metal frames around thick window panes designed to keep out the biting winter chill. Inside, it’s warm and comfortably lived-in with a faint scent of lingering spices from dessert. By the front door lies five pairs of adult boots – two with steel capped toes – and a tiny, toddler sized pair to match, beside an abandoned training vest.

“Interviews are starting!” A loud voice carries through the house like a siren. That loudness comes from Silas, the oldest of the four Hadley boys, who has claimed the best spot on the couch. “Come on, they’ve started early this year, you don’t want to miss it.”

“Are you having us on?” Their father, Atlas, bellows from the upstairs bathroom. “The grain distribution report wasn’t anywhere near finished when I left.”

“I ain’t lying dad. I told you, no one cares about grain apart from District Nine. Hurry up!” Silas shoots back at his father with a snort, hearing three sets of footsteps thundering down the staircase.

Tatiana, the boys’ mother, sweeps through the hallway from the kitchen with great urgency, balancing a bowl of roasted chickpeas on one hip and placing a bowl of fried sweet potato crisps onto the side table. “If one of you doesn’t grab the baby then you’ll be watching on mute.”

“I had him.” Mason, second oldest, says as he appears at the bottom of the stairs. “Then Cato took him because he can’t be without his shadow.”

Sixteen year old Cato Hadley comes into view from the stairwell, one arm supporting the squirming form of his eighteen month old baby brother, Roman. The toddler clutches a stuffed teddy like a lifeline whilst his other hand reaches for strands of Cato’s hair – to which the teenager desperately tries to reduce the tangles that the tiny fist is forming. “I didn’t take him. He chose me.”

“You always have him.”

“It’s not my fault he likes me better than the rest of you.”

“Which is ridiculous because I’ve done nothing but be nice to him.” Mason argues, flopping onto the couch beside his older brother and his parents. Only one space remains from Cato. The slightly sunken cushion that he hates; proving that Mason chose his spot carefully to wind him up. “You liked me when you were little.”

“You were also little, moron. And I liked you because you didn’t drop me like you drop him when he wiggles.”

Mason scoffs dismissively, waving a hand and pointing to the television. “That was one time–”

“Enough.” Tatiana interrupts, though her lip curls at the corners as she orders her sons to be quiet as the theme tune sounds into their living room. As Cato settles into the sofa with a grimace, Roman is immediately hypnotised by the multi coloured glowing lights.

There’s a lot of bickering between the brothers as they distribute snacks, try to work out why the programme has started a few minutes early and generally irritate one another despite their mother’s warning. “Is the–”

“Can we please not miss the start this year?” Cato says, thinking back to the previous year when his older brothers spent half the time talking over the first three tributes which caused them to miss the brain – or lack thereof – of the idiots who were killed off by the fourteen year old tag-along tribute they underestimated. If he’s going to win the Hunger Games in the next two years then he needs to practice getting a read on other people’s tactics.

Silas whistles, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. “Why? Want to make sure you see your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend… yet.”

“Dad!” Mason shouts as if his father isn’t sitting right next to him. “Cato thinks he has a chance with the pretty girl he hasn’t stopped talking about since the Reaping.”

“You don’t have to shout, Mase, I’m right here.”

“I have a chance!”

“No, you don’t.” Both older brothers speak at the same time, which makes baby Roman giggle and tug harder at the tufts of Cato’s hair lodged in his fist.

“Arseholes. I’m interested in the strategy.” Cato grumbles in his own defence, clinging tighter to the toddler in his lap. “She’s from One, she’s clearly trained because her siblings are both skilled victors and she scored high. I want to see how she handles the Capitol.”

“Oh, I bet you want to see how she handles it.”

“Mason! Watch it around your brother. I don’t want his first word to be rude because you can’t control your tongue.” His mother says, slapping the back of the eighteen year old’s head. “And leave your brother alone. He’s clearly got his first proper crush. Let him.”

Cato groans and buries his face into the messy curls on top of Roman’s head, making the toddler giggle again – no one cares that he should really be in bed by now. The sixteen year old doesn’t listen as Caesar rambles his way through his monologue to open his show, teasing a couple in the front row; only perking up at the mention of the first tribute.

“... starting our night off, straight from the shining heart of luxury itself, Satin Nicholo!”

“Oh, there she is!” Tatiana chirps, leaning forward and nudging her youngest teenager at the sight of the girl on stage. The young girl steps onto the stage like she belongs on it, her pale pink dress shimmering like diamond dust and contrasting to the golden tan of her skin; the lights reflecting off the frosted crystalline petals of her jewellery. There’s an aura about her, regal and graceful as she moves closer to Caesar, waving at the audience, blowing kisses and drinking in the attention as if she was born to do it.

Cato straightens in his seat, Mason and Silas poke each other, communicating non-verbally about ways to work their younger brother’s temper. Roman, intrigued by his brother’s intrigue, lets out a tiny gasp and tilts his head at the movement on screen, pointing with his teddy to the rosey sheen to her lips that catches the light as she smiles. Small babbles leave his lips.

“I know buddy, she knows how to make an entrance.” Atlas lets out a low whistle. “Very smooth.”

Tatiana instantly agrees. “Yes, she’s good. Media trained like all of the volunteers from One. And she knows her angles.”

“I told you.” Cato says, chin lifted and voice surprisingly steady. “She’s great. She’s going to get lots of sponsors. I mean– who wouldn’t want to sponsor her?”

“Now it’s about sponsors.” Silas teases, chuckling to himself along with Mason, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sponsors, sure, not how she looks like the Capitol have sculpted her themselves.”

“I bet they loved dressing her up.” Tatiana muses, looking down at her own outfit.

Mason snorts. “I bet Cato wants her to sculpt him.”

“I heard that.” Cato hisses.

The fall silent for a few moments as Satin, for a fleeting second, stumbles on her right heel and has to recompose herself with a giggle, trying not to seem completely out of her depth with her wide-eyed smile and clumsy dash to the host.

Caesar stands and helps the girl to her seat with a large flourish. “Wow! What a vision you are tonight, my dear. Look at you!”

No one can miss the way the man’s eyes rake up and down, Satin’s seated frame, and a small amount of rage is bubbling up inside Cato at the action despite him doing the exact same thing through the screen. But Satin giggles, high-pitched and breathy. “Oh! Thank you Caesar. I didn’t know if I was sitting in the right place.”

The man in blue laughs indulgently. “Sit any place you like. I’m sure none of these patrons would mind if you went and did your interview from their lap, would you?”

The entire family cringes – even baby Roman hides his face – at the chorus of ‘nos’ that erupt from the Capitol citizens, almost breaking their speakers with the volume; they can only imagine how loud it is in the auditorium.

“Should I?” The tribute asks, face twisted and starting to move until Caesar tells her not to.

“She’s laying it on thick.”

“She’s nervous, dad.” Cato defends. “She’s probably not used to all of this attention.”

“Of course she is, look at her.” Mason snorts. “No way a girl like that doesn’t get attention back home. I mean her and her sister are both smoking hot. You’ve got competition, bro, I know it.”

“Don’t be crude, Mason. I know she’s gorgeous but she didn’t choose her looks. She can’t control the men in her district.”

“I know she can’t. I’m just saying, attention can’t be a new thing for her.”

“Mase’s right.” Silas adds. “I mean, she is a volunteer, it’s not like she was dragged here screaming.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t be nervous. Now please shut up! I’m trying to listen.” Cato begs his family, wanting to hear the girl’s answers to Caesar’s questions.

“Are you ready for this, Satin? Are you going to treat us to displays as glorious as your siblings?”

“I’m so ready, Caesar. Cashmere has told me all about her arena. So I know what to expect, and Gloss made sure I was good with my knives.” Satin slaps her hand over her mouth and giggles, making the audience laugh with her, and most of Panem laugh at her. “Oopsies, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, was I?”

“No, my dear, but you aren’t all to blame, I’m not supposed to ask either.” The host reassures, grabbing her hand and thumbing small circles along the back. “But Satin, I have to ask. What was going through your mind when you volunteered to be here?”

“Oh gosh, I was just hoping I packed enough shoes for my time here. You see, these are mine, but they’re on loan from ‘Mere. And that I hope the arena has good light because I always look terrible in the darkness, and I don’t want some of my most important moments to happen in the dark. I want to look hot, unlike my siblings. Oh, please don’t tell them I said that.”

Caesar chuckles, pointing to the audience, where the camera is now focussed on the two Nicholo victors in the mentor section of the auditorium – though they don’t look angry, just used to it. “I think it’s a little too late for that, my dear.”

Satin gasps, and Panem watches eagerly as she pushes herself to her feet, steadies her balance on the tall heels and drops Caesar’s hand. “Caesar, can I start over? Thank you!”

The Hadley’s are just as confused as the audience are, watching as the girl heads back towards the wing she came from. The cameras catch Caesar’s grin, wide and bright, as if he’s unaffected.

Mason laughs. “Where’s she going? He didn’t call for the boy, did he?”

“No…”

Cato can’t deny that he’s bewildered at what had just transpired on his screen. Never in his ten years of watching the Games has he ever seen a tribute excuse themselves from the interview, let alone ask to start over. It’s different, memorable, and likely a hoot with the rich sponsors. He wonders what’s going to happen now.

Sure, she isn’t the smartest girl he’s ever seen, but she’s more than beautiful enough to make up for it, he thinks. The teasing from his brothers hasn’t changed anything, hasn’t made him like her any less. She doesn’t need brains. She’s still as beautiful as she was the day of the Reaping – symmetrical features, glowing skin and a smile that knocks the breath from within. Then, there’s her voice, a rhythmic, clear, angelic sound that calls to him as if it’s a siren’s song. He wishes she’s allowed another three minutes because he wants to hear more from her.

And despite what he can already predict will leave his brother’s mouths, he still deeply believes she can win – there’s no way Cashmere and Gloss would allow her to volunteer if she had no real chance. Surely not, Cato thinks, I would never let Roman near the trials if I wasn’t sure he could win.

When the camera refocuses on Caesar, his arms are spread open and he starts to rile up the audience again. He manages to change their expressions from muddled to entertained as he repeats his introduction in slightly different words – it’s as if the last few minutes haven’t happened. The clock on the wall shows that Caesar is now within his usual programmed schedule.

Are the interviews not live as we’ve been told? Cato questions himself, with the rest of the nation. Why is Caesar pretending that the programme has only just started. Did we just accidentally see a run through?

However, the prospective tribute’s thoughts and questions are answered moments later when the host looks towards the tribute wing and says, “Let’s have another warm round of applause as we welcome back Satin!”

“How in the hell has she managed that?” Mason almost screeches, yet no one reprimands his volume because they’re all feeling similar emotions.

Satin is just as composed for her second entrance as she was for her first, her dress flowing behind her elegantly and her perfectly curled hair swept over one shoulder. Her smile is just as bright.

Silas leans closer to his brother. “You feeling okay now she’s back? You’re breathing a little heavy?”

“Shut up, I’m fine.” Cato snaps, though his eyes don’t stray from the screen. Not even a centimetre.

The girl on screen takes her seat opposite the host, smiling with practiced ease, and she crosses her legs beneath the shimmering fabric of her dress. Cato can’t help but stare. Her legs look long and lithe. He can tell that she’s tall and he likes. She might even be taller than he is right now, considering he still has growing to do in his penultimate teenage years.

“Welcome back Satin, are you ready to blow us away with more answers?”

The girl giggles. “I’m not going to blow you, Caesar.”

The host’s eyebrows shoot up and his nervous laughter is drowned out by the ruckus of the crowd, though the blonde on stage looks more lost than anyone; as if she doesn’t quite understand the euphemism in what she’s just uttered. Mason, still lounging comfortably in the corner seat, snorts, slapping Cato on the arm. “Oh my god, she’s perfect for you, and maybe you can convince her to blow– ow mum!”

“Stop being crude.”

“Can we listen please?” Their father asks, just in time too, because the audience's laughter has finally calmed down.

“I would never assume such a thing.” The host chuckles, trying to redirect the conversation back to skills more relevant to the Hunger Games. “I just want to ask a few more questions, that’s all. I swear. How do you feel about that?”

“Oh,” Satin breathes, voice airy. “That’s okay, Caesar, it’s your job to ask me whatever you want; though I’m so nervous I could die.”

“No!” Caesar gasps theatrically. “Not you. You’re the third in your family to take the Capitol by storm, I don’t know what we’d do without you! I mean, with your training score, your beauty, and all the citizens that are no doubt lining up to get a glimpse of you… tell me, how does it feel?”

Satin tilts her head, and it appears like she doesn’t understand the question she’s been asked. “The Capitol? It’s… sparkly.”

“Wait. What?” Silas blinks.

“She means the Capitol.” Cato offers in defence. “I mean– the lights are bright, so that could be what she means by sparkly, and it’s supposed to be the city that never sleeps. It means–”

“It means nothing.” Mason interjects.

But as ever, Caesar Flickerman is unphased, chuckling good-naturedly and somehow understanding the answer he was given. Cato supposes it’s the years of practice. The host smiles and the audience appears to have enjoyed the answer that their city is sparkly, because they beam in agreement, and eagerly listen as Caesar asks his next question. “You know, a little sparkle can go a long way. We are very receptive to that. But other than the natural sparkle of the Capitol, let’s talk about your training. Your score— impressive! You’ve already mentioned Gloss helped you with your knives but what about Cashmere? How did she help you prepare? How did you prepare at all?”

Satin twirls a lock of her hair around one finger, fluttering her long lashes towards the direction, catching the camera on her way around. “I don’t really know. I just… threw things and got good?”

Cato watches as the girl on screen lets out more small giggles and shyly smiles at Caesar as though she doesn’t know what her score was or what it meant for her and her chances.

The host leans closer, eyes twinkling in anticipation. “Interesting. And what do you think your biggest strength will be in the arena? Other than, of course, your beauty.”

The girl on screen blinks again and again in the direction of the interviewer. “Uh… well I have really great hair, Caesar. It’s beautifully shiny and long. And I don’t sweat that much, either.”

The speakers fill with the eruption of Capitol-accented indulgent chuckles, but Cato is frozen watching how she decided to mention her hair instead of her skills with knives that was spoken about earlier. His face scrunches up, clearly she’s good enough to score an eight, so he can’t deny he’s clouded with confusion. He misses Caesar’s response in his daze, mesmerised by the camera angle that has zoomed in on the tribute’s face. Cato has to suck in a deliberate breath to remind himself to breathe at the sight of the newest woman of his affections, wetting her glossy bottom lip with her tongue and the deep blue of her eyes. They twinkle like the sapphires her home district is known for. He’s entranced until he notices his mother grabbing his attention. To which he nods in reply and tunes back into the questioning, hearing vague, air-headed answers about the colour pink, being afraid of mud – at least that’s what he thinks he heard – and how she will only hurt an animal if she “really has to.” There’s no mention of the twenty-three other humans, and that intrigues him.

The crimson-haired host is brought back into frame as he asks the blonde teenager opposite him another question. “Say, Satin, what’s the first thing you’ll do if you come home victorious?”

She smiles. Saccharine sweet. “I’m going to buy pink curtains for my house in Victor’s Village, and then a really big mirror that I’ll get Gloss to put up for me. Oh! Then I’m going to go to one of your costume parties because Cashmere has told me all about them. They sound so much fun. I can’t wait to take all of my new friends!”

Caesar doesn’t comment on the way she gestures towards the tribute wing when she says ‘friends.’ It’s obvious to anyone with a working brain cell that the man doesn’t want to have to be the one to break it to the young girl that her so-called ‘friends’ are a) all in competition with her for their lives, b) not to be trusted as a result of point a, and c) going to be dead in a matter of weeks anyway. The Capitol continues to giggle with the girl in pink, and after a few moments, Caesar drops his overly dramatic grimace and asks what the family watching in Two can only assume will be his last question. “And we will hold great pride in hosting you all, Miss Nicholo, but I do have to ask… As beautiful as you are, is there someone back home that we can expect to see in the Capitol? A special someone perhaps?”

The question is blunt and overly invasive as the nation has come to expect from the interviewer, but Mason snorts loudly. He turns to his younger brother, then to his mum and then back to the television as he points at it. “She’s about to break Cato’s heart. Here we go. It’s about time.”

“Leave me alone,” Cato mumbles, though he knows he is probably about to be disheartened when she tells the world about her partner. Because she’s far too pretty to not have a boyfriend.

On screen, Satin hides her face in her hands and melodic pearls of laughter escape her. When she finally reveals herself again, she tilts her head to one side and retorts with a query of her own. “Does a crush count?”

Maybe she isn’t with anyone. Maybe Mason was wrong, I’m not about to be disheartened.

“It sure does! Can I be cheeky?-- I’m going to be cheeky! Who is it? Come on, Satin!”

The blonde shakes her head shyly. “No,” she almost whines, elongating the vowels and seemingly resisting the urge to cover her face again. “I can’t. Everyone will know.”

Caesar taps his ear, and lowers his voice. “Whisper it to me.”

“Okay!” Satin chirps, standing from her chair and teetering over to Caesar before leaning down to whisper into his ear like he asks. The microphone must’ve been turned off with perfect timing because Cato can’t hear the girl’s answer, nor read her lips to catch the name of his biggest competition.

“How’s it feeling, Cato?” Silas teases. “Having your dreams crushed?”

“Oh fuck off, Silas, they’ve not been crushed. For all we know she could’ve whispered nothing into his ear.”

He’s immediately reprimanded by his mother for his language, making his brothers laugh. He’s so easy to anger, and now he’s in trouble. The buzzer to signal for Caesar to change tributes sounds as the girl leans back with a lean so bright that her teeth reflect the bright studio lights. It knocks Cato back a little. In awe.

“I’m sure he’ll find himself incredibly lucky should you return home.” The host says, concluding his first tribute interview of the sixty-sixth Games with a few thoughts. He brings himself to his feet, and then, to the family’s shock, he’s not finished, turning towards the audience and gesturing dramatically. “Now before I let Satin go, I have one last request. A little birdy told me that it’s someone’s birthday tonight. Seventeen today, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. It’s my birthday!”

Cato notices discomfort in the girl’s eyes. He wonders if she feels uncomfortable at the prospect of being sung to on live television.

“Then there’s only one thing to do!” Caesar’s grin is mischievous as he counts down from three, and then the auditorium bursts into an out of tune rendition of the happy birthday song. And Cato suspects his earlier thoughts are correct.

Though, he joins them out of instinct. “Happy birth–”

Mason and Silas burst into laughter at him yet again. Even baby Roman giggles tiredly. “Why are you singing, you fuckwit. She can’t hear you.”

“It was instinctive!’ He defends, trying to ignore the jibes and focus on the screen.

He’s weirdly convinced that she’s going to win, somehow. A reason that he can’t quite put his finger on. But he knows that no one believes it, and the stares he’s receiving are indicative to that. He wants to place a bet.

It’s Silas who brings up the idea first. “Surprised you aren’t upstairs counting your dimes to bet on her.”

“How old do you have to be to bet?”

“Cato.” Tatiana warns, understanding the unsaid thoughts of her third son before he can say anything further. “Don’t you dare. I understand you’ve taken a liking to the girl but her chances are slim. Do not waste your money on a bet you aren’t even old enough to legally make.”

“What if I take Mason with me?”

“No. If you dare, I will take the Games completely off the table.”

“You can’t.” Cato argues. “Brutus wouldn’t allow it, he told me I’m his best shot at a victor in years. And you can’t exactly stop me from volunteering at the Reaping.”

“We can pull you from the Academy.” Atlas adds, much to Cato’s dismay.

However, he’s disrupted from the conversation by the sound of the young woman’s light giggle as she’s dismissed from the stage after what is, without a doubt, longer than the allowed three minutes. But he doesn’t care; isn’t even interested in what voodoo her siblings had to perform to give her the extra time with Caesar. He just doesn’t want her to leave the stage. Ever.

“Ha! Cato’s hard!”

He snaps his head toward Mason. The liar. A scoff leaves him. “I am not! I have Roman on my lap, you freak, it’s literally impossible. I’m taking him upstairs, he’s tired. I don’t care about the rest of it.”

“Going to beat–”

“Shut up, Mason, I swear.”

His older brothers only burst again as he walks away, up the stairs with the baby in his arms – who is slowly falling asleep nuzzled into his chest and gripping the material of his shirt.

Tribute Centre, The Capitol

When the lift doors slide open on the first floor of the Tribute Centre with a soft ping, Satin immediately crosses the threshold and makes a beeline for her room. She maintains her facade as she travels through the floor, just in case any of the prep team are still lingering around or any overzealous fans had lied their way up after her session with Ceasar. She feels slightly nauseous from what she has had to say to the talk show host, over sexualising herself for the sake of sponsors; lying about her relationship status, which she knows will have upset Maverick; and presented herself as dumber than she would have liked. Her only trait in the Capitol's eyes is her lack of brains, the colour pink and her sibling victors. There's going to have to be some major repairs done to her reputation if she wins, and she's going to have to apologise to lots of people back home. A small amount of guilt creeps into her brain when it dawns on her that she's barely thought about her boyfriend in the time she spent in the Capitol. She can only hope he isn't too angry at her. She'll put it down to the busyness of her days and the stress of formulating her plan.

She pushes open the door to her room, still refusing to let go with her act until she's confident that she's alone. Her brain reasons that it's taken her at least three minutes to reach her room – what with purposefully getting lost backstage to keep up the performance and having to be redirected by stage hands. And Silino’s interview will be over by now and he'll be on his way up any second. He can't be privy to her intelligence. Ever.

She heads straight for the bathroom, seeing her reflection staring back at her in the overly polished mirror, still in the pale pink gown, her lashes heavy and lips unnaturally pink. And as much as she enjoys the colour scheme, she doesn’t feel completely like herself – instead, she’s the perfect embodiment of the Capitol’s District One darling that she’s been trained to impersonate. She wonders if this is how Cashmere felt two years ago. Totally out of control. Satin makes quick work of removing the layers of makeup, feeling joy at tugging off her false lashes, and scrubbing at her lips. Gentle exfoliation can’t hurt when I’m about to be unable to even wash my face for god knows how long, she thinks. Her hair is next, tied back into a loose ponytail which was a struggle due to all the product smeared to hold its shape. Finally, she shows out of her dress, feeling as though she dislocated her shoulder to undo the course of detailing at the back and throws on the comfiest clothing she can find in the drawers.

Over the sound of the tap, she has the noise of her room door opening, followed by pairs of footsteps. Hesitantly, she shuts off the water and ventures back into her room where to her relief, Cashmere and Gloss are both waiting for her.

Gloss is sitting on the edge of the cream stool at the vanity, a glass of untouched gin in one hand, almost as if it’s a prop he’s used throughout the interviews. He stares at the way the liquid flows with furrowed brows. He’s never looked so concerned in Satin’s entire life. Cashmere stands at the tall window that overlooks the Capitol’s exorbitant skyline. Her arms are crossed over her chest, looking down at the crowd queuing outside of the Tribute Centre on the off chance they’re able to meet one of the victors. Satin wonders if that is a usual duty for any of them, and she concludes that it must be because both her siblings are still in the formal outfit they’ve been designated by the stylists. Their faces soften in unison when they see her.

Gloss speaks softer than Satin has ever remembered; he’s almost melancholic. “Well, you survived Caesar Flickerman. Even if Cashmere had to bribe him. For fuck’s sake.”

“Barely.” Satin’s voice cracks. She can’t tell if this is because Gloss’ nerves are rubbing off on her or if she can sense that a fight is brewing between him and Cashmere, or if she’s more paranoid about how she was perceived than she thought. “Was it awful?”

“Ignore him, he’s just annoyed that he didn’t think of it first.” Cashmere says instantly, striding towards her sister whilst shooting a glare at her brother. She leads Satin to the bed and forces her to sit next to her. “You did perfectly, Tina. You stuck to the plan. Caesar was so engaged, we’re going to have no trouble finding you sponsors. They loved you.”

“Too much. They loved you far too much.” Gloss mutters angrily. He looks like he wants to murder all of his sister’s potential sponsors, even if it means he’d have to work even harder.

Satin can’t tell why he’s so angry. She doesn’t know why the Capitol loving her is a bad thing. How can they love me too much? She wonders. Surely this is only good for bringing in money that can be used to help me? Is he mad at me?

“Gloss. Shut up.” Cashmere bites back, just as angry – though her anger is directed at him. She gently takes her sister’s face in her hands, scanning her eyes to check her emotions. “You did it. The attention is no longer on you.”

“I’m so tired.” Satin blinks quickly. “I was smiling so hard, my jaw hurts.”

“Come here.” Gloss rises and wraps his youngest sister in a hug, pulling her into his chest.

Her arms move up slowly, as though it takes all of her effort. But then she holds him tightly. And then she feels Cashmere join behind her, causing a choked sound to escape her. She presses her face into her brother’s chest and the tears came flowing. Faster than she can stop. They’re silent at first, then her whole body shudders in sharp, jerking motions, wetting the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“We know,” Cashmere murmurs into her ear. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. It’s natural.”

They stand there for a long time, connected, whilst she breaks down. No Capitol cameras, no eagle-eyed sponsors watching her every move, and no expectations pressing down on her apart from the ones she places on herself. Just her. Just her family. She wishes she could speak to her parents, one last time, just in case. It takes in the tens of minutes for the tears to finally slow and when they do, she pulls back and wipes face, laughing to herself at the remnants of jet black mascara that has formed lines on her fingertips. “Sorry.” She hiccups. “Will they deduct the sheets from your earnings?”

Gloss dismisses the idea. “Nah, they’ll replace them, otherwise the outer district mentors would be deducted money every year with the amount theirs cry.”

“They’re scared, Gloss.” Satin pushes back, defending the younger children who are just as terrified as she is, probably even more so. She has to push back the sob threatening at her throat at the thought of their scared, little faces in what is likely their last night alive; at the idea she might have to be the one to kill them. “Don’t make fun of them.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” The man apologises, though he was just trying to lighten the mood. “They’ll replace the sheets. Don’t be stressed.”

“Come on,” Cashmere says, brushing stray hairs from her sister’s face, ones that have escaped from her ponytail in their embrace. “You need to get some sleep. There’s been enough excitement for one day.”

Satin nods, wanting nothing more than to sleep, but not wanting the Games to come around any quicker than necessary. She pads quietly over the thick carpet before crawling beneath the covers. Gloss treats her as if she were a small child, filling the role that their dad would do for her when she was a little girl who had just had a nightmare; she doesn’t protest as he adjusts the duvet around her. “Sleep.”

“Alright, dad. I’ll try.” She teases, though a tired smile plagues her features. “I’m sorry… you know, if I die. I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t let us down. We’re proud of you. And mum and dad will be too.” Cashmere says, smiling back at her. There’s a thread of sadness there that she tries her hardest to hide, but Satin is too scared to say anything about it, too scared to find out if her own sister doesn’t totally believe in her. She knows she doesn’t have to pretend with her siblings; she just doesn’t want to comment on how this is easily the worst birthday of her life, crying in silk sheets after pretending to be a bumbling idiot on national television.

Satin’s eyes are already fluttering closed, succumbing to the exhaustion that has settled in after the interview. Her breathing is slowing.

Cashmere and Gloss stand there for a long moment, and if anyone else would have walked in then they would’ve thought they were creepy and intrusive – borderline stalkerish. They watch their younger sister’s breathing settle into an even rhythm, her hands curled underneath her cheek like she’s a small child again, and her eye mask resting delicately. They know she’s going to miss that damned eye mask. “Tomorrow…” Cashmere whispers regretfully.

She looks peaceful, like the namesake of her favourite ballet, not the tribute who is fighting for her life tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

The flight to the arena meets them on the roof, and as Satin stands on the top of the Tribute Centre at the front of a long queue of twenty four tributes and their respective mentors, she can't quite decipher why they're all made to wait for the hovercraft together. In a couple of hours, they'll all be trying to kill each other yet they're standing together trying not to be caught eavesdropping on the people around them in fear it'll make them a target.

Although it's early in the morning, the July heat is searing and Satin finds herself wiping beads of sweat from her temples with her wrist. All of the tributes are standing in direct sunlight and the thought at the back of the girl's mind is that she's far too warm for her liking – she probably shouldn't have changed into the trousers and sweater left in her top drawer, but she hadn't wanted to be exposed in the flimsy cotton top and shorts that she slept in. She's just thankful her linens are white. And she can't help but think of how everyone else showing up to launch in their pyjamas has the positive effect of making her look better; even if she's unsure whether any of this is broadcast. She's surely never seen it before. Besides, it barely matters now since they're going to be given new clothing and she doubts their peacekeeper escorts will allow her time to run back inside and change.

This is her final chance to say goodbye to Cashmere and Gloss, and she's glad that Regina and Ledger had decided to spend the final morning with Silino because God knows if they tried to speak to her past the fleeting pleasantness then she likely would have thrown up her breakfast. And hopefully all over them, since they haven't made any attempt to try and aid her or to get to know her. She hates them, and the desire to prove them wrong only grows stronger.

As they wait for the hovercraft with low chatter around them, apart from Silino's booming laugh and Bastian's obnoxiously loud tune, both of which she hopes is annoying their allies, Satin is distracted from her wishful thinking by Cashmere, who places a hand on her upper arm and squeezes. Satin leans into her big sister, savouring every second because very soon, the vast majority of touches are going to be from people who are trying to kill her as painfully as possible, and she'll need this last loving interaction with her sister as a way to counterbalance all the angry actions she's about to experience.

She's shaking almost imperceptibly under Cashmere's hand, and it calms almost immediately as the elder of the sisters works to relax her with very few words. "Do you remember what we talked about? It's okay to be nervous."

"I know." Satin says, trying not to let her mild irritation seep through as she tries to explain that she hasn't got a memory of a goldfish. She's about to go into an arena, about to face down twenty-three other tributes who desperately want her dead. It might be the last time she ever talks to her siblings. She doesn't want it to be about sponsors. "Keep up the act as long as physically possible, flirt my ass off until I can't take it anymore, and keep two mental tallies of deaths and the days that have passed. All of which will get me sponsors. Don't let everyone else take all the good stuff but don't overload myself or I'll become the new target."

Thank God for Silino and Bastian being over the top, because she's been drowned out and no one is any wiser that she's plotting their demise.

To Satin's surprise, Cashmere's face doesn't contort into the smug expression it usually does when someone successfully quotes her own words back to her. Instead, she looks tense and pallid as if she wants to run to the side of the roof and vomit onto any of the Capitol's early risers. Satin isn't sure that'll go down well. It's the exact same expression that was on her face when she looked in the mirror this morning. She's picking at the hangnails dotted around her fingers, pulling at the skin nervously and drawing blood in various places. This makes Satin's stomach lurch again, feeling guilty at the stress she's causing her sister, and she has to press a hand into her ribs to stop the nauseous feeling. "Right. Get to the cornucopia quickly to avoid the scuffle and please don't get yourself killed in the first five minutes. Especially by that large boy from Eight or the intelligent one from Ten."

"Why? Scared I might embarrass you?"

"It's nothing to do with that." Cashmere hisses unimpressed with her sister's word choice. "I just don't want to lose you."

Satin feels bad then. She didn't mean to upset her and she doesn't want to fight. She apologises before forcing herself to smile despite the butterflies flying widely inside her gut. "I know, I'm sorry. I only wanted to lighten the mood a little. I don't plan on dying, even if I love winding you up."

Out of the corner of her eye, Satin notices the small sigh of exasperation that Gloss lets out as he takes a few steps closer to his sister. He looks less pallid, with colour still warming his tan skin. He looks more like himself. Satin's jaw relaxes even though she wasn't aware that she was even tensing it until now. "If winding us up is your plan then it's definitely working." He says as he gestures to Cashmere. "Though I'm not sure that's the best idea when we're in charge of sorting out sponsors. We could just leave you to die without our help?"

"You wouldn't dare."

Gloss affirms by bringing his sisters closer for one final hug before the arena. They don't oppose it. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Satin repeats, before looking at her sister. "I love you, Mere."

Cashmere leans her forehead on Satin's and smiles. "I love you, too." One quick glance around, when she's removed herself from the Nicholo hug, shows that none of the other mentors are quite as close as they are, which is to be expected, but they're also all staring directly at them; eyeing them up. She whispers to Satin. "Now might be a good time to turn the act on. We have an audience."

It's like a switch flips in Satin's brain, because when she pulls away from the group hug, she's giggling and pretending to fiddle with her lashes– pressing them up to try and superficially and momentarily elongate. And as much as she wishes that her last few moments with Cashmere and Gloss could be spent being her authentic self, she knows that her act is crucial to her survival; and so she forces down the lump in her throat – she refuses to cry – and pushes all emotion off her face. In her peripheral vision she notices the stares are diverted but she doesn't let up. There's no more letting up until all her allies are dead. She's exhausted already.

The hovercraft begins to descend onto the roof and the wind created by the turbines is a relief from the scorching temperature; Satin is suddenly thankful that she's at the front of the queue because she doubts the kids from Ten through Twelve are feeling any of the effects. When the hovercraft is grounded, a ramp drops and a group of Peacekeepers comes to the edges and begins to gesture towards the vehicle, clearing their throat. Satin knows that she has to move first and so before anyone can protest. She jumps forward and wraps her arms around her siblings. "Thank you. Tell mum and dad I love them. Please."

"Tell them yourself." She hears Gloss mutter and it helps her confidence. She's still not completely forgiving of his previous comments even though the journey to the arena will erase those worries – she isn't actually mad at him, really. It's motivation.

She squeezes them tightly and feels Cashmere takes a deep breath in before her lips brush her cheek lightly. "Do me a favour, Tina?"

"Hmm?"

"Win." Cashmere whispers confidently.

And with that, the Nicholos are broken apart by the group of the Peacekeepers and Satin is all but dragged by the arm onto the hovercraft, followed by her stylist.

Whilst Persephone is whisked away to another room on the aircraft where the other stylists will soon join her, Satin is directed towards and shoved into a large metal chair with the number one pressed into the backrest. Silino is next on board, and he claims the seat beside her. Then Victoria and Bastian, who are grinning from ear to ear as they split from their stylists, as though they're more excited about their chances than ever. It's wildly unnerving. Everyone else looks terrified apart from their allies from Four, the boy from Eight who still looks self assured and the girl from Ten who still appears remarkably unbothered by the prospect of death.

Light chatter begins between various groups on the hovercraft and with a quick glance to her left, Satin can just about make out who's talking; and she's easily able to identify the small alliances that have clearly been made during training. She wonders what else she might have missed whilst she was batting away Bastian's advances but she decides there's no point fretting over it. She's going to find out soon enough anyway. Eventually, peacekeepers silence the group and each tribute begins to stare out of the small windows opposite them, angling their eyes away from anyone else's, with some peering down at the tiny transparent squares beneath their feet. Everyone seems to be trying to work out where they're flying to, but considering none of them have ever travelled by hovercraft before, Satin is sure that no one has any idea of the whereabouts of their arena.

The only clue Satin gauges is that they're travelling over the mountain range that surrounds the Capitol on the southern border, which means they're heading in the direction of District Two and they're going away from her home; and the further they travel the less of an innate advantage she has over the terrain. She was really hoping for woodlands as they're the easiest to navigate when you don't have much experience yet she knows the chances of that are slim now. Eight is mostly industrial from what she's been told and Ten has more farmland than anything so the likelihood of the arenas being developed there is slim, which leads her to believe that they're either going to be near to District Two or they're going to be much further afield. There's only mountains in view before the windows darken.

They're flying for a while, for an hour or so if Satin had to estimate, when Satin begins to notice the aircraft's motion. There's an odd feeling in her stomach when she realises that the vehicle isn't quite flying straight; it's gently banking to one side and looping in on itself over and over. The repetitive motion feels as though they're flying in slow, wide spirals that has her body instinctively leaning to her right as she senses the arc of the turns. She gets the feeling that they're circling the same spot. That the hovercraft reached the location of the arena incredibly quickly and has been instructed to remain airborne for longer so as not to give any clues of the location.

And then it all clicks.

The small, trivial pieces of information that the training centre provided were indeed clues and anyone smart enough could have worked out they're going to be fighting to the death within the mountains. There's going to be rocky terrain, rife with natural disasters and predatory muttations, complete with bone chilling winds in the higher altitudes and plenty of opportunities to slip to one's death. She's going to have to be careful. However, it also means there'll likely be a great deal of available food and water sources which will make her life easier. Food sources means an accessibility to poison too.

She's thinking about how thankful she is that she not only visited but paid attention to the rock climbing station on the second day when a peacekeeper stands in her direct line of sight, holding a large cannula needle in his gloved hands. He looks her up and down, in what can either be one of two things, want or disgust, and the presence of the needle he's clutching fills the space and almost threatens to suffocate them all. Now, Satin's never been fond of needles in the first place and has only just got used to the sensation of having her blood taken at the Reaping, so this multiple inch needle is terrifying and she gulps.

"Present your left forearm."

Satin wills herself to ignore the fear coursing through her veins at the thought that the tracker could render her dominant arm useless or at the very least put her at a disadvantage. She does as she's told, lifting her left arm in front of the soldier, who grabs it tightly. "This is your tracker, Miss Nicholo" He tells her. "The stiller you are, the less it will hurt."

That scares her enough for her arm to fall rigid in his grasp, and almost instantaneously, she's hit with the sharp sting of the needle as the tracker is injected inside her arm without an acknowledgement. She has no choice. This is one part she wasn't prepared for. The spread of pain accelerates through her forearm as the tracker moves like a parasite and latches to her inner arm muscles. She doesn't dare move, because although the peacekeeper's words could have been interpreted as a suggestion, she knows they weren't. They were an order. When the needle is removed a droplet of rich blood trickles towards her hand before the peacekeeper stains his glove by wiping it away with force; she wonders what the state of his glove is going to look like after all twenty-four injections. It's left a raised red mark which is raw and painful when she traces over it, and the peacekeepers move onto the others without a second thought.

It takes the lone peacekeeper a while in order to administer all of the trackers and only then does the size of the field – and the hovercraft itself – register. Twenty-three of them are going to die in the arena. It's simple maths and even though it was never her best subject at school, she knows how to do the basic arithmetic needed to work that out. Twenty-three children are going to have to die and whoever leaves with their life – hopefully her – will have killed at least one, if not more and will have to stomach that for the rest of their existence. And she's been thinking about that very dilemma since she arrived in the Capitol. The alliance between One, Two and Four is skilled and will be lethal, and the few outer tributes who pose a risk will likely be, too. She's reliant on her plan falling perfectly into place. She knows how to kill them, but she's not sure she can.

In all her planning for the Games, the actual Hunger Games is the fuzziest part since she isn't exactly sure what to expect. She can picture a mixture of different arenas from what she's seen on television for the last decade that she can remember. And by process of elimination, she's tried to rehearse the trip to the cornucopia in the possible environments. Extra high humidity is unlikely since Finnick Odair is the new found expert there; deep forests crawling with poisonous, predatory spiders is her sister's field of play; and Gloss emerged victorious in large field surrounded by ten foot tall hedges that turned out to be a labyrinth style maze where one wrong turn would leave a group cornered by mutts. But she's never once considered rocks. The actual killing, the desperate struggle for survival and the guilt at the pained, dying faces is still a blur which she can't picture no matter how hard she tries to imagine it. No matter how much she focuses on her Academy training and recalls all her practice with her siblings. There's no more chances to turn back or for anything else she can do to prepare. All that's left is to win. And now the tributes have faces which makes life harder because they all have families they want to return to and Satin knows she'll feel even more guilty.

There's a sudden jolt as the hovercraft drops through the air, and it descends straight down which makes Satin's stomach churn and another as the base hits the rough cement below them. Satin convinces herself that it's the motion that makes her feel sick, not anything else. She can't afford to allow any doubts to creep in.

The tributes are quickly ushered off the hovercraft's ramp into a series of twisting tunnels. She's at the front of the queue as usual until she's sent into an empty room. Again, another perk of being born in District One– she doesn't have to walk very far in the creepy tunnels underneath the arena that the Gamemakers use to send up mutts and supplies. It makes sense that this is where the tributes would also enter, Satin thinks despite it never having crossed her mind before. It's not pleasant down there but it's efficient.

The so-called, empty 'launch room' that she's waiting inside has a table with bottles of water and some long-life snacks; crackers, trail mix, dried fruit flakes and cereal bars. Satin wonders if she has enough time to eat some to help increase her glycogen stores and if there's a way to sneak the food into the arena; or if that's a good idea at all. The cereal bars are the first thing she eats, and she accompanies it with gulps of water before slowly starting with the trail mix.

Three quarters of the way through the trail mix. The door pushes open and Persephone struts through like she's on a mission, holding several garment bags in her left hand and a pair of boots in her right. The woman barely looks tired, her skin still perfect and her hair still sleek within her high ponytail. The clothes she's wearing are an indication that Satin is right about the arena, thick trousers, knee-high boots and a heavy cream-coloured wool sweater. It's a sure sign they're at altitude.

The clothing bags are hung on a rack that Satin hadn't even noticed and Persephone approaches with a brush. She drags the brush through the tribute's blond strands, gently diffusing the tangles before collecting it all in a tight ponytail and securing it with gel and hairspray. Two and three hair ties later, her ponytail is so tight that she's worried about tension alopecia. The stylist then bounces a light coverage tinted moisturiser into her skin with a damp sponge and blends splodges of concealer over the remaining redness and blemishes and under her eyes. Satin isn't quite sure why she's being given makeup before the arena and whether the makeup is going to last through the stress of the next few weeks or not? She can only hope it doesn't make her look worse.

Persephone then helps Satin into the outfit that has been laid out for her, telling her that the launch room is likely the warmest she's going to be for a while, which doesn't exactly bode well. She's in a long base layer of thick black wool on both her upper and lower body. The brown cargo trousers stretch to her ankles with buckles situated around the thighs that could double as knife sheaths and zips below the knees to act as convertible garments that may come in handy if the temperature changes drastically. On top, she's given a fleece pullover jacket that looks to be tinted a strange shade of dark green on top of the base brown and a waterproof outer jacket that has various pockets and sits high on her neck with a protective collar. The boots have thick rubber soles with bumpers around the ankle and tie halfway up her shins where the thick socks rest beneath the long base underwear.

As Persephone rises from tying the second boot, she stashes her hand into her pocket and pulls out a pink ribbon that Satin recognises as the type used to secure her pointe shoes. She wonders where on earth the woman had gotten that from but there's a sense of relief that fills her at the sight of something so familiar. The woman wraps the ribbon around the base of Satin's ponytail and ties it into a dainty bow before securing it with clear ties and bobby pins. "Cashmere wanted you to have it and who am I to deny the orders of such a beauty? I had the fabulous idea that you could use this as your token since I noticed you didn't bring anything of your own. Aren't I brilliant?"

Satin laughs lightly at the stylist's self praise; it's strangely reassuring that nothing has changed, that her ego is still as prevalent as the first time they met before the opening ceremony a week prior. She nods her agreement, much to Persephone's delight. But confusion steals from her expression when she watches the woman fish out a sewing kit from inside her pocket as well as swatches of fabric that perfectly match her clothing before she checks for the presence of peacekeepers. And when she finds none, she orders Satin to remain incredibly still.

She drops down into a squat and begins to sew deeper, hidden compartments into the existing pockets of her cargos and inside the lining of her jacket. In a blur, she rushes to grab the remaining snacks from the table before returning to her tribute. To Satin's disbelief, her stylist begins to thread her needle around the packets of food, embedding them into her clothing; so skillfully and discretely that if Satin hadn't watched her do it, she might not have even realised they were there. Which she theorises is probably the whole point because this definitely isn't fair or just or legal but what's the harm in levelling the playing field between her and her allies. They've likely getting the same treatment.

"You look worried, doll." Persephone points out as she stands again, though her tone is more perplexed than caring – as if District One tributes aren't allowed to be scared for their fate. Satin wonders if her siblings were, because Silino sure as hell isn't, she can tell that much. "Or are you just too warm and itching to get up there already?"

"A little bit of both." Satin admits, almost without thinking, which she supposes makes her look even dumber. She listens to the woman's last advice and continues to drink the bottles provided since she 'doesn't have any way of knowing when she'll have her next clean bottle of water.' It would be stupid to ignore her prompting. She gestures to legs. "Aren't they going to find these?"

"Of course not, doll. It's only you and me in this launch room and my needlework is utterly flawless. It isn't rocket science, I'm simply helping you along like a good stylist should. Put food in those pockets at the first opportunity then rip the stitches. I'm off half a mind to be offended that you brazenly doubted my skill but I won't tell if you don't."

The apathy towards cheating surprises Satin, especially coming from an egotistical stylist who has a high opinion of the Games and the Capitol. Nevermind her fear of what could happen to her if she was caught. Another thing to worry about. Another thing to not let consume her. All she can say in response is a meek "Okay."

She doesn't have very long to dwell on the idea of being caught and painfully targeted by mutts because a bell rings out and an automated voice says prepare for launch.

The prompt has Persephone escorting Satin to the glass tube at the back of the room. "This will take you up into the arena." Persephone says, more serious than Satin has ever seen her eyes before. "You'll have sixty seconds until the Games begin so make quick work of finding your allies."

The tribute nods and steps onto the elevated platform, seeing daylight start to stream in from above her with a chilly breeze that seems foreboding. This weather is really going to suck, she thinks.

"And, doll?" Persephone interrupts her thoughts, not waiting for an acknowledgement other than eye contact. "Listen to your sister. Don't be stupid. And you mustn't let them eat you alive."

The very same advice she was given before the parade but now it's more pertinent than ever.

The cylinder closes in a split second before Satin can get any words out and the tunnel begins to move, ascending her into the arena. All she can hear is her own breathing as it's like the world is muted as she sees the artificial light. Her eyes shut momentarily as she takes a deep, calming breath in before her plate locks loudly beneath her feet and she snaps into focus; quick to adjust to her surroundings.

"59, 58, 57..."

Satin glances between the other tributes trying to find her allies as soon as she possibly can as advised. She counts everyone she can see, each pedestal twenty feet apart. With his height, Silino is difficult to locate but he's far too away for her to be able to read his facial expression. The large boy from Eight is on her left and Calamari is directly to her right. It's almost too easy. She's suspicious.

"34,   33,   32..."

She realises that she should take in the rest of the environment. On first glance, the terrain is as she expected; rocky. The large circular field they wait in is the only flat area in the arena, filled with tall grasses and vivid wildflowers; and the circle's circumstance is littered with woods. Trees, slender and silver-barked stand spaced out from their neighbours. There's no dense canopy for anyone to hide beneath. No water source either. The cornucopia appears to be at the edge – interesting.

To the west is a different environment. Mountains loom over them. They're steep and brooding and their craggy peaks are crowned with snow despite the summer sun. Clearly a gamemaker creation. Layers and layers of jagged stone and shale jut from the earth as it rises. Cliff faces are just as steep and abrupt, there's plenty of places where a tribute could fall to their death, or be pushed. Boulders litter the base of the slopes and the only paths upwards are treacherous and slippery; and there are several caves and crannies for tributes to rest in or for mutts to emerge from. The only water source is a stream travelling down the side of the mountains, and so everyone will be making a run for the hills.

"16, 15, 14..."

At the centre of the circle of tributes lies the Cornucopia, a large golden horn that towers over everything as it always does. It's filled with weapons, food and medical supplies; Satin can see the mouth where her position and the gleam of polished steel could be seen from miles away, she's sure of it. Then, there are other items strewn around on the ground. The backpacks furthest from the Cornucopia usually contain the least valuable items, whereas those closest are vital for survival. But they pose the greatest risk and not many tributes will be brave enough to try. All she can think of is that she's glad she has the safety in numbers that comes with being in an alliance.

"8, 7, 6..."

Satin focuses ahead, readying her stance as the final ten seconds begins to count down. She can't bring herself to look at the tributes around her, not wanting to see the panic in their faces in fear of it reminding her just how young they are. She can't do anything to help them, because she too wants to go home, but it doesn't help with the guilt and the upset that it brings. Instead, she narrows her gaze on a block of knives that was close to the Cornucopia wall which she supposes she can easily grab. She has the advantage of her height and her endurance training when it comes to reaching the stack of supplies, and she has enough belief in herself to know that she can reach the block before any of the others and secure herself a weapon she won't have to share. First come first serve will apply with the weapons grabbed in the bloodbath. She'll have to worry about the spears later.

"3, 2, 1..."

Her heart pounds in her chest. Stillness plagues the arena as every tribute prepares for the starting sound.

The moment of silence beforehand is deafening. Everyone holds their breath. Waiting.

And then, it booms through the arena, ringing for some time.

Go.

The sixty-sixth Hunger Games has officially begun.

The Capitol

Cashmere and Gloss sit at their station in the mentor viewing room, but they face the large television screen on the far wall. They can't schmooze in the sponsor watch parties until after the bloodbath has ended because citizens need confirmation of who survived before they can part with any money, and so they've spent their morning sitting in wait and watching Caesar Flickerman recap the events of the past week. But the Reaping, training scores and interviews aren't what they're interested in right now, they're anxiously awaiting the bloodbath to begin.

The other mentors eventually join like they don't have a care in the world, though Enobaria does direct a sympathetic smile their way. Their own senior mentors don't bother to do the same, sitting in the chairs laid out beside them and focusing their attention on the options currently available to them – which is nothing. It's very clear that they're responsible for Satin now, and they wouldn't have it any other way, especially not with how little Ledger and Regina not have cared for her survival. It's time to prove them wrong.

When the seal of Panem flashes three separate times, accompanied by the anthem blaring through the speakers. Everyone's head snaps to the screen. The arena is unveiled at the same time as the tributes, and all they can see is the grassy plain, the cornucopia and a few trees. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the sixty-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

"Woodlands?" Cashmere questions quietly, squinting at the screen to see if there's anything she's missing.

Gloss shakes his head no. "Rocks. Mountains." He assesses the camera pans away from the tributes to show the nation the environment they'll be observing for the foreseeable. "It looks... small."

"It does." Cashmere agrees. Her stomach churns in anxiety. Smaller arenas often mean tributes bump into each other without intervention from the Gamemakers. More run-ins that are uncontrollable. But it can also mean that they can have their sister back sooner. And if she can immediately identify a water source then she's sure Satin will be able to find it, and naturally lead the alliance close by for ease of conducting the plan. "Fuck, I'm so nervous. Is it always this bad?"

This time Gloss nods. "Yours was worse."

"Why?"

"Because I never know what you're about to do, which is horrible when I can't do anything to stop you."

As humorous as the sentiment is, Cashmere can't bring herself to laugh whilst the countdown rings for the last ten seconds. The camera zooms back in, giving the audience close ups of the tributes with the highest odds, notably the careers. But the youngest District One mentors aren't watching everyone else or listening to the surrounding chatter; their attention is fixed on pedestal three on their monitor, where they can spot their sister. When Satin appears on screen, both of her siblings are pleased with her focus. It will keep her alive.

The gong rings and nerves rack both Nicholos. Cashmere picks at the skin of her nails again, despite the pain and redness, while Gloss runs his hands through his hair repeatedly and grips the side of his chair. They watch as the six members of the career alliance leap from their platforms and dash towards the cornucopia as fast as they possibly can, racing against each other to be the first to reach the weapons strewn around; the screen splits into quadrants as they do so, allowing for different angles to be seen.

And Satin moves, using every bit of her rehearsal to sprint with long, powerful strides towards the golden gleaming prize in the centre. She doesn't hesitate after the first few moments, doesn't look around her – which terrifies Cashmere because god knows who is in her peripheral area waiting to strike – and doesn't slow down. On the right of the screen, Calamari shoots forward, likely going for the same knives as their sister or the trident leant up against the inside wall of the cornucopia in typical District Four fashion. And the boy from Eight charges too, his arms pumping. Gloss is thankful for the twenty feet between pedestals because it gives time for his youngest sister to peel ahead of the boy before they converge in the centre; she's out of his reach and they can breathe a sigh of relief.

The screens show some tributes faltering, others running away from the middle and into the mountain backdrop, whilst some freeze.

Gloss grips the edge of the console in front of them so tightly that his knuckles bleach white as he waits anxiously for her to secure something whilst the others start to engage tributes. Satin is the first to reach the block of knives, seizing the blades as fast as possible in a tight fist and tying a pair into the buckles around her thighs. She shares with Calamari when the girl joins her at the wall of the cornucopia, passing her a few of the smaller knives. With the girl's experience in spearfishing, they know that she's going to want to take control of those when they reach them, which isn't ideal for Satin. As expected, Bastian and Victoria are much slower to reach the centre of the circle but they're incredibly fast to grasp their preferred weapons and turn towards the tributes who have dared to risk a trip to the cornucopia.

Moments later the lights at the different mentor stations begin to go out, though no cannons follow because the Gamemakers always wait until the fighting has ceased before they send out the bulletins of numbers to the remaining tributes. One of Haymitch's lights goes out first, and Cashmere notes how defeated he appears but he also doesn't look at all surprised at the way his male tribute falls victim to a particularly vicious slash of a District Two male's sword. The boy from Nine is the next to crumple to the ground when his head takes the impact of a freshly sharp mace at Victoria's hand, and Cashmere can't help but feel a tad queasy at how the camera captures his brain matter on the edge of the weapon as the girl pulls it back.

The large television screen is still jumping between the different tributes and the different fights they're engaging in, not staying on one particular person for longer than a few minutes but somehow always managing to focus when a fatal blow is delivered. Gloss redirects his attention to his own monitor again, and Cashmere follows his lead, both of them wanting to see how their sister is faring. They sigh when they notice her coming face to face with a smaller girl from District Nine because they can easily tell that the other five members of her alliance, although busy with their own tussles, are carefully monitoring each other's performance during the bloodbath and they know she's aware of this also. She can't get away with not acting, without killing someone, because otherwise she'll be deemed a liability faster than she can explain herself and there will be nothing she can do to convince them to spare her. And five on one isn't a fight that Satin can win. It isn't a fight anyone can win. The younger girl's expression is panicked as she looks up at Satin. Cashmere wants to avert her eyes but decides it isn't wise. They watch Satin reach out to grab the back of the girl's jacket and they know that this is the moment where their baby sister changes forever; this is the moment she'll think about for the foreseeable future, and the moment that will always be compared to them.

A guilty look crosses Satin's features as the girl lets out a squeal and a sob. Satin lowers her head and her shoulders slump slightly before she mouths something and lifts the blade. The girl from Nine shakes her head and Cashmere's heart breaks at the next words to leave her sister's mouth.

"I'm sorry." They hear.

"Did she just apologise?" Gloss whispers, in a mild panic, knowing that if they heard her there's the possibility that the others did also, which could break her act apart; and that they're going to have to come out with a plausible reason for her apology for her victory interview with Caesar because he can't remember a time when a District One tribute has apologised for something in the bloodbath – though there is a fuzzy thought that someone once told him one of the girl's in Haymitch's Games apologised for a particularly gruesome act. He's never asked about it though, and he isn't completely sure if the mentor from Twelve would even answer him honestly.

They overhear the girl from Nine plead for it to be fast, seemingly accepting her fate despite her fear and expectancy that the girl holding her will want to drag it out for the fun of it – that's what they're always told will happen at the hands of tributes from One and Two, anyway. And from the way the female mentor from Nine, an older woman who won over decades ago, looks over at the table of District One mentors, she's expecting the same thing. But what happens is not what the population of Nine expects. Far from it. Satin lifts the blade nestled firmly in her left hand and says, "I promise." She doesn't give the girl a chance to acknowledge her response or to panic more. Instead, she quickly closes her eyes momentarily and plunges the knife into the middle of the girl's chest cavity, breaking her sternum with the force and puncturing her heart instantly. The blonde tribute flinches when she removes the knife, coated with blood, and notices that the girl she's holding is unconscious from the drop in blood pressure; which triggers her to lower the girl to the ground and move away.

Cashmere breathes out a shaky breath and catches the appreciative look that the mentor from Nine is directing her way, although she doesn't respond at all, simply returning to the monitor. Gloss is already thinking about plausible deniability, how he can frame that to Caesar Flickerman if asked within the family interviews; and trying to avoid thinking about how Satin is going to react when she has time to replay the moment. Thankfully, no one else has seemed to pay any attention.

There's more commotion to pay attention to, such as the girl from Six stumbling forwards when Calamari's spear finds a home in her chest, eyes wide and face pale as her heart pumps blood out around the weapon before she collapses. The girl from Four has control of the spears. The girls from Ten and Eleven both narrowly avoid contact with the large boy from Eight as he finally snaps out of his autopilot-like trance and charges at the piles of weapons, wanting to rifle through them before he makes a run for it. The two girls' luck runs out quickly after as they encounter Victoria and Murray seconds later and they gulp. The two careers lock eyes and nod to one of the other tributes before they lunge; kukri and knife swinging through the air, blowing out the lights at their mentor's station. And Bastian is preoccupied with piercing the stomach of the boy from Seven, and all of the mentors are just thankful that the death was quick with how small the boy was.

The statistics show that seven tributes are already out, though the rest of the nation is unaware of this number as of yet, and there's still fights being engaged in. Some of the smarter tributes have run away from the bloodbath but some have narrowly escaped the fighting with injuries that might be their downfall. Within the ruckus, the boy from Eight, has found an axe in piles of weapons in the Cornucopia and catches the boy from Five by surprise by swinging it into the space between his shoulder blades and then again into his lower back, sending him to his knees and then he falls forward onto his front.

The boy from Six, who has managed to grab a sickle from the rings of supplies strawn slightly further away from the centre, dares to come closer, fatally swiping at the girl from Twelve, who is trying to grab a backpack of her own, as he steps forward. Luckily for him, the young girl's scream dies in her throat as she collapses, dropping the pack, and he can continue stealthily.

By this point, the rest of the tributes have cleared the field and the six careers are converging at the mouth of the cornucopia. However, they're facing inwards and pointing at the piles as they try to fairly delegate the responsibility of sifting through the items; and this worries Cashmere.

"At least one of them is going to be caught by surprise." Enobaria says, leaning over to the next monitor to point out the situation to her friend.

All the District One woman can do is pray that it isn't her sister who is caught out. In fact she hopes the boy changes his mind and turns away because Satin needs to keep the alliance alive until she enacts her plan or there's a missing link that she'll need to address, which opens up danger.

The boy continues to creep up on the pack and Cashmere holds her breath when he raises the sickle to strike – he's clearly aiming to take one of the larger boys by surprise. But as he lunges, Satin unknowingly takes a step backwards into his path and the two collide. Gloss swears loudly, making several mentors jump.

District One's female tribute barely has time to register anything before the full weight of the boy's body crashes into her. Thankfully, there's not much of it, given that he's from Six. A high pitched squeal is forced from her lungs as she's thrown violently off her feet with his rushed motions, and all of the alliances' heads snap down to the floor in surprise. It looks painful as her shoulder makes a harsh impact with the packed earth and everyone winces as the knife in her hand skitters out of her grip and spins away into the dust. Enobaria looks as if she wants to preemptively direct the Nicholos' eyes elsewhere.

The boy's knees and elbows scramble to pin Satin to the ground, but the girl doesn't just allow it to happen like he had hoped. She twists underneath him as her instinct surges before any thoughts can be made by any of the viewers.

It's then that the cameras catch up and the scuffle is broadcast on the main screen, given that it's the most interesting thing happening in the arena. The rest of the career alliance watches like their viewers instead of tributes as Satin's training kicks in. As if they're waiting to see how she'll react. As if they're testing her. Everyone watches her bend her knees and wedges it between their bodies before shoving it upwards the best she can.

It's Cashmere's turn to startle the viewing room with a curse this time because the movement doesn't displace the malnourished boy, – he's evidently fueled by adrenaline that is overpowering his grip strength – it merely slows him down. It does, however, disrupt his balance enough to allow the girl to slam the heel of her palm into his chin with enough force to have his head snapping back. He lets out a grunt of pain and shock but he swallows it with a growl as his fist rears back in retaliation.

"Why won't this kid just fucking die?" Gloss' angry tone cuts through the tense silence of the room. He doesn't even feel guilty that the kid's mentor can hear. He doesn't care about the kid right now. He only cares about Satin.

Cheers leave the District One booth when Satin rolls and they've sent tumbling again, their limbs scraping on the dirt and muddy earth. She reaches a knife that she placed in her thigh buckles earlier, only for the boy to push her wrist to the ground. The hand with the sickle draws back again, ready to slash at her head.

Cashmere and Gloss can't quite catch their breath, staring at the television screen with wide eyes as they hope they aren't about to witness their sister's death. They can see it coming but the sickle never makes contact, and they both breathe a sigh of relief larger than they ever have before; a shout they can barely register can be heard through the speakers. The boy from Six is ripped off her like a ragdoll.

The nation watches Satin sit up and shuffle backwards; though the older mentors are able to tell the laugh that follows is the fakest, most nervous thing she's ever forced out. On instinct, she reaches for the knife that went flying earlier and pushes herself to her feet before edging closer to Bastian. The boy from Six, however, scrambles to find purchase with his feet as the nation watches Silino drag him by his jacket, yanking him harshly by the collar. He's trying to wrench free, and he looks particularly panicked but the boy from One is far stronger and he refuses to let go of him. He writhes and writhes and writhes until his feet can no longer touch the floor from where he's being lifted.

Panem watches Silino wrap his arms around the boy's neck, catching him in a headlock and pushing his chin and cheek to one side as he lowly threatens him. "Do you think you're smart, kid? Think you can take us all on and win?"

"She's playing a game!"

"We all are." Silino snorts, and fear starts to course through the veins of the Nicholo mentors; they're sure it's coursing through Satin's also due to the possibility of being exposed. Their sighs are deep and full of a twisted sense of content when the eighteen year old jerks his arms sharply to opposite sides, twisting the boy's neck with a sickeningly loud crack. His body falls to the ground in a heap and he stares up at the sky blankly. He almost looks weirdly peaceful.

His death seems to trigger the start of the cannons that always marks the end of the bloodbath, and the official statistics are projected onto the left hand side of the screen. Enobaria and Brutus nod to themselves as their tributes rocket to the top of the list with two kills each and then the rest of the alliance slot in behind with one a piece – something which will please the sponsors, no doubt. Sponsors that the siblings can now speak to; and they aren't going to waste any time.

The Arena

Satin counts the cannons as they fire, shocking everyone away from the altercation and she can't help but be grateful for the Gamemakers' timing – it draws the attention away from her.

One... Two... Five... Six... Ten... Eleven.

She counts eleven cannons for eleven deaths. Eleven children dead within the first hour.

All she can do is silently hope that none of them suffered for long. Though she knows that might be a difficult thing to wish for where the tributes from Two are involved.

To sell the act, she giggles and holds out both of her hands with her fingers splayed after she grabs Bastian's empty left hand and folds his into a fist apart from one index finger. He seems keen to maintain physical contact for as long as possible and stares her down when she breaks it, but she pretends not to notice as she uses their proximity to her advantage to pass the unspoken test that they've set her – if she can count. "Eleven!"

She notices that they all seem pleased to have given her that task now that they've tested her maths skills, probably so that they don't have to bother remembering how many stands between them and victory.

Then, Silino returns to her side, eyes scanning over Satin's body to quickly look for injuries that the boy could have inflicted. Everyone is looking to him to make a decision on their next movements and Satin knows that they're going to have to move soon so that the hovercraft lingering overhead can safely collect the bodies but they're going to want to organise their supplies sooner rather than later to prevent anyone else from getting access to something they might want. But he's more preoccupied by her wellbeing as he asks. "You alright?"

"Yeah!" She chirps. "I could've taken him. You should've let me kill him!"

"Sure you could." Victoria snorts, nudging Bastian, who cracks the faintest grin at the same time that Silino says, "Next time."

A silence falls over them for a minute as no one quite knows what they're supposed to do now. Satin assumes that the others are feeling similarly to how she is, that the arena has always been slightly blurry in her previous run throughs of the scenario and now that they're in the environment, it's hard to decipher their next steps. Calamari breaks it after an awkwardly long while and points to the piles of disorderly supplies and weapons. "Right, are we going to sort these or not? Because the bodies are going to put me off my food."

Chapter Text

The six tributes agree to organise their supplies now, because as callous as Calamari’s earlier words were, she’s right. They need to organise whatever is in the cornucopia, and quickly, so that they can temporarily vacate the cornucopia and allow the hovercraft to collect the bodies. And the idea of having to spend the night and their first meal time surrounded by the fallen children that they killed isn’t pleasant.

“What’s our order, leader?” Bastian mocks, leaning forward in a bow with his arms spread either side.

To his credit, Silino ignores the bait that Bastian is laying out for him, and remains calm while he answers. “Sort out what we need and stuff it into backpacks. We’re going to need to head up the mountain to reach the others, and we don’t want to leave all the good stuff out for the scavengers.”

“Aye aye captain.”

Satin knows that Silino is fighting all of his instincts to remain rational with all the belittling, and so she decides to make a start on sorting through the piles of supplies in the hopes that the others will follow suit. She carefully steps over the body of the young girl she has to kill in order to reach the supplies, and she gently pulls Calamari along with her.

When they reach the mouth of the cornucopia, Satin makes the conscious choice to avoid the weapons strewn around, and begins to dismantle a nearby stack that looks to contain food and water. There is a large backpack hanging from the piles, with a dark green camouflage pattern that looks like it might be useful, and so she picks that one for herself. And just not to seem suspicious or self-absorbed, she finds five more bags – but slightly smaller – and throws them to the floor nearby before returning her attention to the stack.

As Satin expected, she finds various non-perishable foods, including jerky, crackers, dried fruits and granola, oats, nuts and trail mix, as well as some fresh items. The girl puts some into the front and side compartments of her rucksack, then carefully slides a plastic-wrapped portion of dried peaches into the trouser pocket that Persephone had sewn her yoghurt-coated fruit flakes into as a protective measure. Though she’s almost certain that no one will notice. Next, she claims two water canteens for herself and slides them carefully into the largest compartment of her bag. She’s conscious that two might not be enough if they’re in the arena for a long while, but with the knowledge that there’s a flowing water source near the peak of the mountain, she decides against filling all her available space with water when there’s lots else that she’ll want to carry. Then there’s the equipment they’ll so desperately need in this climate. Water purification tablets and iodine solution are available in abundance, allowing Satin to take as many as she pleases; no one will question her supply given that she was allocated the purifying duty. A basic first aid kit acts as a bright red beacon of hope in the midst of all the weapons, and the girl intends on making the most of it. There’s a brief flicker of guilt in her mind that the other tributes may dare to venture inside the cornucopia in hopes of finding some life saving equipment, only to be disappointed and terrified for their lives when they find it empty, but she pushes it away with the harsh reminder that it’s either her or them now. No action can be done to change that now and she has to start thinking about her own survival. She empties the box into her own bag, stashing away most of the bandages, antiseptic wipes and liquids and a splint – which will be useful in case she falls on the uneven terrain.

“Here.” She says just loudly enough for the entire alliance to hear her as she hands Calamari a selection of fire starting equipment. A box of matches, some paraffin wax, a portion of flint and the accompanying steel striker exchange hands, and Satin watches the girl from Four slot them into the side pocket of her backpack. No one else pays attention to where she places them. Good, Satin thinks.

She pockets a flashlight, and knows that she’ll have to make a scene of trying to get it to work later so that one of the others takes pity on her and gives her some of the batteries that she knows are in limited supply. At least that way she’ll know whose not to take once they’re dead.

“We should move.” Victoria says after a while. They haven’t managed to collate everything working separately since all they’re really doing is picking through the supplies and passing them off to each other if it’s not their jurisdiction. It’s clear that a better strategy is needed but the bodies around them are awfully distracting and the hovercraft can be heard lingering overhead in wait. Despite Victoria not being the elected leader, Satin gets the sense she doesn’t care because she continues with her orders anyway. “Temporarily. The Capitol is going to need some space to collect the bodies. They can’t if we’re still here.”

She points up to the sky and everyone gets a glimpse of the underbelly of the hovercraft, making their decision easier.

Bastian snorts, standing from his position against a rack of short range weapons, including what look to be pickaxes that the group can use for climbing. “Well if they want them, I suppose they can have them. We haven’t got any use for them.”

“Not yet.” Murray mutters darkly, and Satin didn’t even realise that the boy was so close behind her as she leaves the mouth of the cornucopia with everyone else. She’s going to have to remember to keep a close eye on him because if he can creep up on her like that on day one then who knows what he’ll be able to do in a week’s time when she’s overly tired and weary enough to mistake his footsteps for something else. Then there’s the fact that he’s just made a ghastly comment about who knows what. She isn’t sure that she even wants to know what was going through the boy’s mind or whether he realised what he’s said; there isn’t anything that comes to mind regarding what he means. Other than the horror story that the boy’s in the Academy always tell in the winter time– that there was a tribute who ate one of his competitors because he was starving and was then mowed down by a large group of mutts personally trained on his smell alone. But as far as she’s aware, that’s never happened, and she refuses to let her mind linger on what is only a ghost story. There is no way that anyone could be desperate enough to try that, and especially not their alliance, not with their access to supplies.

Hopefully not ever, Satin thinks firmly, though she would honestly rather die of starvation than resort to cannibalism. She can tell that the others are waiting for her by the mouth and she hears Silino call out. Enough is enough, that despite the act, she doesn’t want to piss anyone off. Because they need to stick together until the highest scoring tributes have been eliminated, and she needs everyone to trust her deeply. She was always told that annoyance quickly diminishes trust, and she doesn’t fancy testing out.

“Coming!” She chirps, almost skipping over to her allies. In haste, she nearly trips over one of the fallen tributes, and has to laugh to push away the nauseous feeling pressing against the top of her stomach. She refuses to be sick. “Whoops.”

When she reaches them, she walks straight past their huddle and ignores their confused expressions. “Let’s talk further away, the hovercraft is massive so I don’t want to be crushed. And... Did they shower?”

Satin hates the callousness of her words, despite dropping it to a whisper, hoping that the families of the fallen tributes have already switched off and had not heard her. But from the way that Bastian, Silino and Murray laugh and how Victoria comments that showers wouldn’t have helped cover the smell of death, she finds herself thankful that she decided against mentioning how one of the smaller tributes looks frozen in fear to save him from further humiliation in death.

She moves on further past to stop herself from thinking too hard, and flicks her ponytail over one shoulder. Although this may appear to viewers as the tribute showing off, it’s merely a way for her to check behind her. The widening of her peripheral vision allow Satin to see that sure enough, despite thinking she’s the dumbest tribute alive, they still trust her enough to follow her away. They’re trailing her. And compared to the blood-stained faces and hands of the others, Satin looks quite put-together with only dirt and scuff marks on her jacket and a little mud at the nape of her neck that she’ll have to scrub at like she did the flakes of blood.

There’s a little grumbling at the thought of moving away now that the adrenaline rush of the bloodbath has worn off but no one openly voices any disagreement. Not even Silino says anything about his district partner skipping off in the direction of the foot of the mountain.

Satin makes a point of turning back as if asking permission, to which Silino just keeps nodding in approval. She catches a scowl spreading over Calamari’s lips. The girl can’t choose if she wants the cameras on them at this moment or not, but she uses the brief time where her allies can’t read her expression to relax her facial muscles. She can’t find it in her to care if the nation knows her plan since there’s nothing anyone can do now – the audience can only watch, and mentors are forbidden from giving clues via sponsor gifts. In fact, she thinks it might be easier to explain to Caesar, if there are hints throughout her recap. She only has to get that for now. The hardest part.

Everyone is paying a lot of attention to their surroundings as they walk. Except Satin. Or at least that's how it appears to the others. Internally, she’s creating a mental map of the arena for when the rest of her alliance is dead, though she hopes to be much further up the cliffs when she enacts her plan. She wishes she had access to the tiny map in the bottom corner of the television screen which uses the tributes’ injected trackers to show their position in relation to the others.

“Satin stop!” Silino calls out then, and the blond girl comes to realise that everyone has halted and she’s several strides ahead unable to feel her movements. Her foot is on a rocky surface that when she looks down, is uncertain and she probably would have slipped without looking where she’s going.

“Oh, oopsies,” she giggles, putting one hand over her mouth as she bundles towards them. She’s only thinking about the backpack she’s left in the cornucopia and how screwed she’ll be if someone has taken it. Hopefully the claw of the hovercraft is successfully keeping the tributes at bay. She returns to the conversation that the others are having about how they’ve never seen rocks this large. She overhears Calamari complaining about how she misses the beaches, and her thoughts flick to how she’s never seen the golden sands that the girl is harping on about – though Cashmere said once that the sea surrounding District Four is pleasant and warm; she wants to be able to see it in person.

She doesn’t really contribute to their conversation, all she wants is that the arena temperature doesn't get any colder, which is wishful thinking as the darkness hasn’t fallen yet. It’s already nippy and it’s only going to get worse at altitude.

“I think it’s been long enough now.” Murray's voice startles her out of her thoughts and everyone glances at the boy from Four. They can immediately tell that he’s cold and wants to walk out of the shade the rocks are giving them and return to the sunshine. He’s right, the hovercraft has had plenty of time to collect the fallen tributes by now; they saw it descending a while ago but no one wanted to be the first to suggest they were anything but comfortable. “Can we go back to grab our stuff and start a fire?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

“Fine.”

The way the boys from One and Two agree with each other but in different words, is both reassuring and foreboding. They catch each other’s gaze and smirks grow. And if Satin had to guess, from the way she catches Victoria’s: it’s regarding Murray appearing as the weakest link– to first to break. She keeps her eye contact with the girl from Two a little longer when Calamari joins her district partner nervously and begins to lead the group back down the slope. Calamari casts a disgruntled look over her shoulder at the tributes from Two, who are eyeing her up and down, before turning to Satin and raising a pleading brow.

She can’t possibly want me to act on the plan now? Satin thinks, knowing that the others will never fall for it and it’ll endanger her. No one is even considerably armed. “I can’t.” She mouths. She needs to wear everyone down a little more.

When Calamari turns her back, Satin meets Victoria’s curious gaze once more and shrugs. She uses her shoulder to gesture towards the pair from Four and twists her face to one side as if to say “I told you so. I told you she doesn’t trust you!”

The brunette’s eyes blow wide as she nods, cementing that tiny bit more belief in Satin that she’ll follow through when asked. Her recovery is so quick, however, that their respective male partners miss their non-verbal communication and they follow as a smaller group behind their other allies.

The walk back to the cornucopia is pretty much the same as the walk there, except now they’re trekking downhill, which is much easier and draws much fewer complaints. They walk in silence as no one wants to talk to their district partners in case they’re overheard slagging the others off.

When they arrive, Calamari immediately starts on making a fire at the entrance of the cornucopia as everyone else restarts sorting the supplies. Satin instantly reclaims the backpack she organised earlier, thankfully that no one had taken it in their absence.

The Twos start handing everyone weapons from the piles. Victoria takes the blunt clubs and then a sword. Bastian also chooses a long blade, finding a sheath amongst the supplies that he secures over this coat, and she says that it won’t hurt to have a spare. Then they hand the rest of the pack their preferred weapons. Satin smiles when she’s handed two sets of throwing knives that she can secure in her pockets and in the spare vest that she’s handed. It almost looks defective when she tries to slide a knife into a top pocket and it falls straight through. But she supposes that she can make do with one less knife than she’s supposed to. They don’t have a copious amount of spears so the two people who want them – SIlino and Calamari – take precedence, and Satin claims that she’ll carry the last spear stray just in case. No one is any wiser to the idea that she needs them nearby as her secondary weapon.

Murray snatches camouflage netting, some thick wire and strong cordage for himself to make traps and snares. He mentions again what he did in their alliance meeting as he stuffs it into his bag; that he’s going to catch food and other tributes like his mentor did the year prior. Everyone gets a fair share of the range of knives. Finally they distribute the coils of rope, carabiners and grappling hooks with a weighted evenness; and the extra clothing. They don’t take everything, as Silino orders them to leave some incase they need some more due to adverse weather conditions.

After an hour, probably more, of warming their hands up around the fire, they try to decide what to do next.

“What’s the plan, princess?” Bastian asks a teasing question, seemingly into the void because he isn’t looking at anyone in particular.

Is he asking me? Satin thinks, she giggles and twirls one strand of her ponytail around her finger. “Well, I don’t–”

“Not you, baby.” Bastian chuckles, and Satin is surprised that her district partner doesn’t swing for him. The boy from Two nods towards Silino. “That princess. Our leader. Though I know you’re eager, it’s cute.”

Silino actively ignores the jab. Everyone seems impressed with his resolve. “We split into pairs for hunting and patrolling soon, but we need to vote whether we stay here or we start making our way up the mountain.”

Bastian nods, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s move. The eastern ridge looks like it has more caves that could be hiding some of the little runts.”

The way he speaks about the other tributes makes Satin’s skin crawl. He’s so gross and inhumane. And she wonders what happened in his childhood to make him so cold and excited to kill. Her mind briefly flicks back to the overly-confident, bordering on cocky attitude that her brother has to adopt; and whether he’s having to do the same. She can’t tell if it’s desirable or not for it to be an act. Either way she’s uneasy.

Everyone seems to mull over their choices; either they stay in the relative safety of the flat grounds of the cornucopia where the others are unlikely to try and breach their circles or they start their ascent up the mountain to gain the height advantage and open up the supplies for the others.

“Let’s make it a vote.” Silino asserts. “Raise your hand if you think we should start climbing.”

Bastian and, surprisingly, Calamari lift their hands into the air. Silino slowly follows a moment later, clearly not having wanted to sway the vote. But Satin’s facial expression portrays her uncertainty. She’s made sure of it, and her hand hovers near her shoulder as she tries to pick the best option for her– who she most needs to appease at this moment in time. Victoria’s trust in her has already been strengthened, and Murray is of no real risk to her plan, so he can wait, which gives her the easy decision of choosing to move.

Checking out of the corner of her eye that Victoria isn’t in the eagle-eyed mode that she was earlier, Satin lets her gaze travel between the three voting to move. Bastian is first, and when their eyes meet, he winks and mouths what Satin assumes is “C’mon.” She blocks out the nickname that follows shortly after. Strategically, she picks Silino next, who is giving Bastian a dangerously high dose of side-eye, and he nods his head twice at her. She agrees after then, raising her hand. Ignoring her district partner’s smirk, her eyes fall on Calamari. The girl from Four looks particularly vexed at Silino’s coercive control, but when Satin directs a small sad smile her way, her face drops, and she seems to drop the topic after reading her ally's intent.

Satisfaction can’t help but creep into Satin’s body. She isn’t quite sure how she’s managed to bend all of the others to her will without them noticing but she’s quietly confident that she can pull this off if she can keep everyone alive, and weakened, for long enough. She just has to hope that she isn’t being played in return.

“Four to two. That settles it.” Silino’s count breaks her out of her stupor, and she jumps. Everyone snaps their heads towards her and she bursts into giggles, dropping her own head onto Murray’s shoulder for a second. The boy tenses for a moment and Satin can feel the smile on his face spreading so she quickly gains more control of her body again and lifts up, sensing Bastian’s anger. Thankfully, he doesn’t act rashly because Silino continues. “Grab your packs, we’re going to start scaling the mountain and we need to move quickly. We don’t want to run out of natural light.

Satin isn’t sure if there’s anyway to tell how many more hours of daylight they’re going to have to work with. All she remembers from a rushed conversation with Gloss is that the sun typically sets in the west but there’s no certainty that this will be the case in the arena, and the sun doesn’t look as if it’s moving at all.

But she doesn’t want to say anything that might make her sound smart and so she’s left staring at the back of Silino’s wide frame as he grabs his weapons, slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts to move. The others all but scramble to join him, though the Twos hide it better than the Fours, and Satin as the realisation that they’re all so reliant on each other. As much as they’ll deny it. They’re unlikely to break the alliance until the numbers have dwindled. She finds it easy to catch up with him, using her height to her advantage and matching his stride as the six tributes leave the cornucopia as one. Their boots squelch in the muddy ring of grass that lies beyond the pedestals. The plan stretches around them, brittle, yellow yet muddy as it sways in the cold breeze.

They walk quietly for a while, with Silino leading the way and Calamari dropping back a little to take up the rear with the point of her spear dragging behind them. The blade hisses through the grass, effectively leaving a trail to their whereabouts for any brave tributes. She wants to say something but she pretends not to notice the noise, pretends that it isn’t bothering her.

Bastian snaps after a few more moments, though Satin is admittedly impressed with the control of his temper; it took him far longer to react than she expected. He glares at Calamari. “Pick your fucking spear up.” He barks out. “You’re going to lead the rats straight to us.”

To her credit, Calamari doesn’t back down from his attempt to intimidate her. “Why are you so worried about those so-called rats if you’re so big and strong?”

“I’ll skin you alive!”

“I’d like to see you try.” The girl from Four’s chin stays held high in the air.

There’s the first fracture within the alliance, and it’s between exactly who Satin expected. She knows that the cameras are probably focused on them now, with their journey likely being viewed as them ‘hunting’ and most of the other tributes will be settling into their makeshift camps or hiding spots. Any drama is good for viewers and for the year’s ratings. Sometimes, with all the stress and pressure that accompanies the Games, Satin forgets it’s nothing more than entertainment for the Capitol citizens. As long as she can keep it under control, the drama plays into her favour. More drama leads to higher ratings and favourable opinions, which leads to less chance of the Gamemakers invoking natural disasters or releasing mutts to appease Snow and his viewers.

Murray notices the tension and comes to his district partner’s rescue by buttering Bastian up. “Hey, man, do you think we’ll get any more of the rats tonight or will they be too scared?”

Bastian snorts, and all the tension diffuses with it. “They’d be smart to be scared. They better hope we don’t get bored.”

The boy from Four speeds up, and out of her peripheral vision when she turns to watch the, Satin notices him overdoing it, joining the Twos in the middle of their pack. He splits them through the middle. An overly-fake grin twists at his mouth. “We can always go hunting later to pick a few off, or leave one to squeal.”

Satin feels sick, disgusted at how the arena has corrupted the boy within hours. He wasn’t this vicious during training.

There’s a loud huff from behind her and Satin turns to her head to see Victoria striding forward to join the District One tributes at the front. “Fucking Murray.” She grumbles, low enough to be out of earshot for the boys behind her. “He acts like he’s one of us when he’s the furthest thing from it. The weak link. The kid from Eleven is better than he is.”

Another crack in the alliance and Satin fights off the smirk threatening her features. Turns out that the Fours and Twos don’t get along all that well, she thinks, making a mental note of that fact.

Silino doesn’t smile. He doesn’t give Victoria the gratification of a reaction: he only makes brief eye contact with Satin before locking his gaze back onto the mountain. “Calm down, there’ll be plenty of time for sport later, we need to claim our position.”

Five more gazes join his. It would be a prime opportunity for one of the tributes to strike, whilst the group is analysing the area. But the alliance is still six people strong and the remaining tributes would have to fight them all, possibly whilst injured and likely alone. They’ve likely, hopefully, learnt from the last time someone tried to sneak up on them. So nothing happens. They all assess their environment despite Silino being given this role in meetings. Satin surmises that it doesn’t hurt to come to her own conclusions on where’s best to hide and the most likely places for food. And she supposes that she needs to start looking for the best place to be when she gets the others to murder each other on her command.

The plain gives way to rougher ground as they reach the foot of the mountain, with dangerously uneven terrain made of larger sandstone and the other sedimentary rocks. It almost looks as if it could crumble underfoot if someone were to step in the wrong place. There’s ledges, flatlands and terraces interspersed at different heights, which is likely where the alliance will set up camp. They start to ascend and step straight through bramble patches that start to scratch at their skin through their cargos, and the stinging nettles lining the floor would be painful if not for the thick boots adorning their feet. Satin mentally reminds herself not to walk barefoot regardless of how much the boots hurt her feet.

The broken rock fortress looms above them and they come to a standstill at a section of the mountain with jagged rock formations that makes it almost impossible to cover, apart from one small opening.

“That path’s too narrow for us like this.” Silino comments, bringing everyone to a stop as he points at the face of the mountain where a single pale ribbon made up of small stones leads all the way up to the snow-capped peak. “We’re going to have to pass in a single file.”

Victoria’s eyes gleam as she tries to take her place between the District One tributes. She’s clearly confident in her abilities because she isn’t even phased. It’s as if it hasn’t crossed her mind that sandwiching herself between the Ones could be dangerous. “It’s better like that,” she shrugs. “If there’s only one way for us to go up then it means there’s only one way for the others to go down.”

“Exactly. That means that we’ll see anyone who tries to take it. Easy pickings.” Bastian adds.

Satin lets a few high-pitched giggles slip but she can’t help but think about how this isn’t the only path up the mountainous terrain. The Capitol wouldn’t be so stupid to risk such ‘boring’ deaths from a long line of tributes trying to climb. She cocks her head to one side and asks, “Aren’t they going to be small?”

“Well, yeah?” Bastian responds, encroaching in her personal space as he comes to a stop behind them. His hand rests just above Satin’s hip, and she has to fight against her facial expressions. He looks up at her. “They’re weaker than us.”

Obviously, she thinks, knowing that’s the only reason the boy feels so confident. That he wouldn’t stand a chance against someone bigger than him; it’s why he’s so happy to let her, who stands an inch taller than him, chance taking Silino out at hand to hand alongside Victoria. He’s not as invincible as he pretends to be. But she only shakes her head and flutters her lashes to bend him to her will even more. “No, silly. I mean small because they’re far away? Won’t that mean they’ll be out of your range?”

The use of the word certainly strokes his ego, because he chuckles and concedes to the idea, even though he clearly has no idea what she’s talking about. “Sure. I guess. Means we’ll put on a good show.”

It’s not quite the answer she was hoping for, and she wonders what kind of imbeciles she’s surrounded with, who don’t know that things appear smaller when they’re further away. Even Silino’s brain capacity is going down in her estimations because he hasn’t given any indication that he understands either. She sighs. “It’s a thing, honest! Mere taught me about it when I was learning about makeup. It’s pro– No! Pre something.”

“Perspective, Satin.” Calamari drawls in correction, re-joining their group at the base of the path.

“Yes! Told you!”

Bastian’s amusement is, thankfully, sincere, and the other’s follow suit. He nods a little as if to say he believes her, even if the correction did come from the members of the alliance which he likes least, and his hand slowly slides around the blonde’s waist.

Her eyes widen in surprise as he peers down at him before turning back to face the mountain, making sure that her district partner reads it as fear and discomfort. And when she sees his jaw twitch, she knows she’s succeeded.

He nods once and then speaks sharply. “Come on, let’s move. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

Their leader pushes himself onto the trail, surprised at the drop height from the path to the edge of the plain, and then holds his hand out for his district partner, as if she's incapable of such movements without help.

“Thank you,” she blushes, careful not to step away from the path as she overtakes. Sure, the others might not be as paranoid but she doesn’t fancy falling to her death because a rock can’t take her wait.

To her amazement, Silino leaves his hand outstretched, helping Victoria and Calamari up also; although, Satin doesn’t miss the Four’s eyes rolling back in what appears to be pure disgust. It fills her with glee, because if she truly believes that he’s acting this way due to his perception of her weakness, then she’s acting perfectly.

The girls join behind her and they fail to stifle their laughter when Bastian jokingly places his hand in Silino’s outstretched one. “Oh, thank you, kind sir.” He coos. “My knight in shining armour. How would I survive without you?”

Silino snorts, which is only deepened as it transcends into full laughter at the sounds of the girls behind him. He slaps the boy’s hand away, though he’s helping him onto the path subconsciously. “Piss off, man.” He jests, to which he receives a light slap to the shoulder.

“Hey! Where’s my help?” Murray manages to force out through his own chuckles, holding his hand expectantly.

“Idiots.” Silino mutters before all but yanking the boy from Four up onto their level.

For a moment, the six of them share jokes and joy and it hits Satin that they’re all just kids. It wasn’t hard for her to forget that – a fact which horrifies her, mind you – from the moment they entered the arena. But she’s reminded of it as they make the most fun they can out of the situation. And she doesn’t know how the Capitol’s citizens aren’t reminded of this every year.

But then Silino shuffles back to the front, ready to lead and Calamari scowls at his overbearing nature when he gently manoeuvres his district partner behind him. Just like that, the laughter fades into the night and the moment disappears. They begin the climb up the path that is hardly a path at all. It’s merely a gauge in the rock, barely wide enough for each tribute to place one boot in front of the other, making them move slowly like ants on a wire. And they’re all following Silino blindly, unable to see past his six foot six inch frame, whilst trusting Murray, perhaps stupidly, to guard the rear. Every few steps has pebbles skittering underfoot, tumbling eerily down the slope to vanish into the tall grasses below, as if foreboding someone’s demise.

The air grows thinner with each stride, with each metre they ascend, and the wind cuts across the mountain face in sharp gusts that sting their cheeks; their lips are beginning to chap. It briefly occurs that they probably need to move slowly, so as not to risk altitude sickness, though Satin doesn’t know whether the mountain is high enough for that to come into effect.

“Careful.” Silino calls back when he treads on a particularly slippery section of the path. “This one’s slippy. If one of us calls then they’ll take everyone else down with them.”

Victoria laughs. “Don’t worry. If I fall, I’ll grab Bas to cushion the landing.”

The boy grunts in reply. “You’d break your neck on my pecs before I break your fall, Tor.”

Satin can’t help but think they’re taking the situation way too lightly. Then again, she has always been overly cautious. It’s in her nature. Her next steps are slow and purposeful, and she twists the point of her spear into the ground in hopes that it makes some kind of marker for the next time they need to pass. But the banter successfully keeps their minds away from the wind howling between the rocky peaks and the sun hovering above them yet not seeming to warm them up much.

But then, after continuing on for several more strides and what feels like hours but is really only twenty minutes for the rest of the nation, the light begins to drain from the artificial world. It happens all at once, surprising the tributes.

The sky turns a bruised purple as dusk starts to settle, the shadows fading into the darkness until the path ahead is a little more than a smear of grey stone and the rocks surrounding them loom menacingly over. All remaining signs of daylight are vanishing at an alarming speed and it’s a bad omen for the group of six. Being on such an unstable patch of land in this darkness is dangerous, and they need to make a decision of where they’re staying before someone rolls an ankle or worse, falls from the face entirely. And Satin is suddenly aware that she doesn’t have a working flashlight.

She curses under her breath, which Silino overhears. He stops a few moments later on a narrow spur where the ledge widens just enough for the alliance to huddle together. “You alright, Tina?”

“Ooohh, Tina.” She hears Murray tease, changing his voice to mock Silino’s.

Satin’s heart falls. She knows that she shouldn’t let the boy’s words get to her, especially when he’s trying to act tough to impress the others, but she hates that he’s making fun of her name. She’s also unsure why he’s chosen her nickname to insult but let Tor and Bas go unchecked. Cashmere had cried to her and her mum once after her victory tour where she’d said that some of the older victors from outer districts had ridiculed District One’s naming conventions – and their parents’ support of them – in front of her. She’s been sensitive about it since, and Satin realises another of their similarities because it’s now a tender topic for her too. And Tina is a nickname reserved for her siblings and best friends. She doesn’t want him ruining it.

I mean seriously, she thinks, how can he dare to make fun of my name when his parents called him Murray. She wants him dead.

A glare forms on her face, and she directs it his way. It’s deathly and venomous, and it has the boy raising his hands in surrender.

“Oi, that’s uncalled for.”

“Yeah.” Bastian adds with a growl. “Watch it, Morgan.”

It’s unclear whether that was intended as a dig or an incorrect use of his name, but whatever he meant, it has the intended effect because Murray’s expression is wiped clean off. When Silino grabs her hand to grab her attention and reassure her, she swears she hears Bastian grumble an insult and Calamari scoff. Probably because they view it differently, as flirting and as babying. He smiles at her, though she can tell that he wants her to hurry and open up so that they can try to make a decision on whether they’re moving or not. “What’s up?”

She squeezes his hand. “It’s gotten really dark all of a sudden. I think we should stop.”

“Is the princess scared of the dark?”

“No!” She bites back at Victoria's attempts to tease her. She mumbles that her flashlight doesn’t work, but no one seems to hear her and so she tries another tactic. “But it’s going to be pitch black any minute and I don’t want to be walking in it. What if I walk into bushes and they mess up my hair?”

“I think she’s right.” Calamari says in back-up. “Not about the bushes and her hair, that’s stupid, but about how we shouldn’t walk in the dark. It’s dangerous on this uneven of terrain”

From the expression on Silino’s face, he appears to be considering the suggestion, and it likely doesn’t hurt that his district partner was the first to suggest it; there’s always complex inter-district relations to balance when the leader of the alliance and this way he doesn’t look to be favouring the opinions of the Twos over the Fours or vice versa. Satin knows this is an important consideration for him because it’s exactly what Gloss had to do three years ago and fourteen year old her had watched every moment intently. He glances over the edge in the waning light before looking back up the mountain to estimate how long they’d have to walk for in order to reach the next ledge with enough room for them to set up camp. It’s at least a half hour walk and by then, it would be pitch black.

“Back down.” He decides, his voice clipped as he points at the cornucopia that is shining its usual gold as it’s bathed in moonlight. “We’ll have to make camp down by the cornucopia tonight because I don’t think we’ll make the next shelf in time. Better retreating for the night than breaking our necks and allowing the rats to vie for the crown.”

Bastian has a look about him that suggests he wants to argue: possibly to present the case that the Capitol might get bored without the overnight hunts. But perhaps he already knows he’ll be outnumbered or that the bloodbath will satiate even the most enthusiastic of viewers for a few days, because he visibly bites his tongue.

“Problem, Bastian?”

“No, sir.” He mocks salutes.

There’s no arguments as they turn around, careful not to dislodge the loose rocks underfoot so that they can begin the descent back down to the large plain that houses the cornucopia. In single file once again as they pass the same rocks and landmarks on the way up, this time accompanied by their shadows flickering like ghosts as the arena’s false night smothers the sun’s last glow.

As Satin spots turns, she’s drawn in by a pair of eyes lit up by the moonbeam, which diverts her gaze to a frame curled up to disguise itself in a hidden pile of rocks beside a bush. And as they meet, the tribute in the bushes freezes, going stiff and rigid, as if they’re fearful that the blonde is going to turn them into her allies and then it’ll be their last moments. But Satin feels bad, and so she keeps moving away from the hiding spot and back onto the rocky path. She knows that in order for her to go back home, that fearful tribute will have to die, but selfishly, she hopes that something else will take them out. And that it’s quick.

It’s almost fully dark by the time the alliance has pushed through the brambles and long, yellow grasses to reach the plain again. They cross back to the middle at top speed, wanting to build body heat before they have to settle for the night, whilst remaining alert for movement at the edge of the sparse treeline.

When inside, they immediately find whatever warmth they can. The boys clink some of the large crates together to form a barricade at the mouth, shielding them from both the elements and from any tributes who might dare attempt to scavenge, whilst Satin throws blankets in the girls’ spots. They’re clear signs that the Gamemakers expect the nights to be cold, and the blonde stares at her backpack in an attempt to work out a method of carrying it with her when they move on tomorrow. They drop their packs beside them as Calamari starts to stack logs of firewood, found in the piles of supplies, diagonally atop each other to build the start of a fire– no one questions that she’s beginning the fire inside the cornucopia.

Calamari tosses a fire starter inside the bundle before striking a match and lighting. The flame catches the sawdust and starts to burn steadily. Bastian goes to throw another log onto the pile, just because he can, and he’s the type to always want to be in charge, but Calamari pushes him back. “No.” She orders. “You’ll only spread the heat. Give it a minute.”

The boys return to the spots that have been left for them around the fire, and Victoria shuffles back past the barricade holding the body of a relatively large woodland animal, pleased with herself for completing her task of hunting food. Everyone has jobs but Satin, and if she’s totally honest, she’s pleased that she doesn’t have to carry anything heavy because that would obliterate the useless princess act that she’s worked hard to set for herself.

Eventually, with a lot of prodding and poking with weapons, tongs and large sticks from the sparse woodland, they get the fire going and it gives a flickering effect against the gold metal. Murray places a metal grate over the top and positions a large spit held by two metal structures that look similar to the camera tripods used in the Capitol. The boy tried to instruct Satin to watch the spinning of the creature that Victoria had butchered and skinned, but he was told off, quite rudely, by the others as they reminded him that cooking and sorting food is the job of the Fours. Though, Satin is convinced that it’s because they don’t trust her abilities around the fire. That they don’t trust her enough not to have them all dropping dead from food poisoning in a few days if she’s left unattended.

Another pot has been designated as the ‘washing’ station, much to the others’ annoyance because Bastian hadn’t used his brain when complying with Satin’s request to empty a portion of their bottled water into it. But for her, it's perfectly aligned with her objectives, since she needs to supply to dwindle or else they're not going to allow her to fetch water– just in case the others who are ‘not in on the plan’ get muddled.

They cook the woodland animal, which takes much longer than they would've liked since they're all trying their hardest not to complain about hunger by the time it's cooked through. It's burnt but no one dares questioning it or raising any grapes. Much better to eat charred meat than raw meat, Satin thinks, though she can't say she enjoys the taste of what she thinks is some type of squirrel. And it’s an hour or so later, when everyone has removed their boots, and laid down in a circle inside the cornucopia, using their bags as makeshift pillows, to divide up the sleeping shifts when the anthem begins to play.

Everyone jumps to their feet and stumbles past the barricade so that they're able to clean their neck towards the sky. The seal of the Capitol is first, floating grandly above them, and then they're all looking at her face with dark auburn hair and dark eyes– the male tribute from Five.

The other faces follow suit, with some of the alliance hooting and hollering as they point up at the projections, claiming the kills as their own. Satin hopes that they've paid no mind to her lack of reaction when the girl from Nine’s face shows. She feels incredibly guilty and closes her eyes, scared that the girl's features are going to haunt her forever. She's convinced that she can feel the brown orbs burning holes into her eyelids already. Ten, Eleven and Twelve pass with thankfully little fuss, since most of the adrenaline from the first tribute to the fallen wears off very quickly.

God is Satin starting to feel tired, but she needs to cement herself on the first watch so that she can watch the sky’s display alone each night. That will make lying about who's left so much easier and now she knows that the arena darkens at an extreme speed quite a while before the anthem, she knows that the others are unlikely to object to the idea of sleeping early; especially after a few days of excitement. Besides, she's following Cashmere’s advice. Taking the first watch means uninterrupted sleep, for the most part, and she'll be fresher than the others and for far longer.

The seal appears in the sky again with one final flourish of music to close off the death toll, and Satin finds herself stretching her neck from side to side after craning it upwards to watch. She suggests sleeping moments later but no one listens as they praise themselves and their abilities to survive; being that none of their alliance is injured.

Victoria huffs out all of the air from her chest in irritations. “I managed to get the girl from Ten with a kukri but the plain isn’t as flat as it looks because I was on the descent and only managed a few proper swings because I’m good at it. I’ll never willingly pick that weapon again, I much prefer the blunt ones. That’s the only Hunger Games bloodbath I’m ever going to get, because they’ll never let a victor enter the arena again, and I only got two. It’s faster than it looks on tv.”

Satin shrugs at her, letting a faint smile grace her features. “It’s okay, I only got one kill. So did Calamari. And Murray too.”

She notices that Silino isn’t jumping at the bit to correct her false assumptions that he managed more kills, which doesn’t surprise her; and she knows that Calamari has also noticed because she’s glaring at him out of the corner of her eyes. She’s annoyed that he’s claiming credit for more than he did. It’s perfect for his overbearing nature. The Twos want to spend the time recounting how they made their kills, almost vibrating with a bloodlust that Satin doesn’t share. But no one seems particularly bothered or uncomfortable, and so she realises that if she can’t bring herself to fake interest then she’s at risk, so she pretends to listen whilst tuning them out.

She pays no attention until Silino recognises that everyone is fighting off tiredness and snuffs out the campfire. The inside of the cornucopia is warm with the heated air and the group settle properly underneath blankets and within sleeping bags as their leader restarts dividing the sleeping schedule into chunks. They have no way of knowing how fast time is passing overnight as there is no sun to track and so they’re simply ordered to wake the next person when they start to feel drowsy.

“I’ll take the first watch.” Satin offers when he asks for volunteers.

Everyone turns to her. “You will?”

“Yup!” She chirps. “I’m not tired yet. I’ll wake one of you later.”

Day Two

The next morning, Satin is awoken by Victoria, who was allocated the last shift of the watch. And when she finally removes her face from the thick, rough fabric of her backpack, it takes her a minute to adjust to the bright morning light. She makes a second line in the dirt despite the knowledge that they’re going to be moving on soon. Their second day in the arena. It’s already beginning to feel quite warm inside the golden horn, and she unzips her jacket before clipping it to her pack. Her dad had always told her to remove layers when warm as then she’ll feel the benefit when she’s to put it back on.

She’s the last to wake and looks much better rested than the others; Murray looks especially rough and Satin wonders if he had the middle slot. Crackers and other dry foods are eaten for breakfast since there is a scarce supply of berries or fruits this far down the mountains. The plentiful bushes are closer to the peak if Satin remembers correctly from their first attempt at ascent.

Once they’re all alert, Silino barks at an order for them to grab their packs and any spare items they might need which they’re able to carry on their person. It’s time for them to try the mountain again, and this time they’re going to climb all day if need be as no one wishes to spend another night on the base altitude; not when everything worthwhile is up except the weapons. Weapons which they have claimed. Satin can’t help but feel thankful that they’re leaving supplies behind – once they’re out of water in the canteens they’ll have to go and fetch them.

And so they begin the hike, trudging along the trail that claws its way up the mountainside, single file much like yesterday. It looks so much steeper in the daylight without the shadows dancing in the dark. Each pack looks absurdly large as they bulge with supplies looted from the cornucopia. They’re stooping like elderly men.

District Two

The siren-like bells ring through the square of Adoquin and every television in the district displays the seal of the Capitol. This is the sign to huddle round the screen for the first mandatory viewing of the day and it’s early.

Cato can’t quite work out why the second mandatory viewing of the Games is at ten a.m. according to the mountain timezone that he’s pretty sure the arena is located in, as he pushes himself out of bed and downstairs. His dad and eldest brother are at work for the day, likely crowded around screens in the metallurgy plant so they’re not breaking the law regarding the Games. District Two is, admittedly, quite serious about the Games, and the principal city is certainly not the place to try and escape the viewings. Mason is already downstairs, Cato would be able to hear him from miles away, enjoying his last summer before he officially joins the workforce, in what he describes as a physically demanding job. And Cato has no training until the Games are over given that both his and his training partner’s mentors are busy in the Capitol. And god forbid Clio, his training partner, allow anyone other than Enobaria to train her. He rolls his eyes, at the thought as he flings himself onto the sofa. He’ll go for a run later and then practice his technique on his own.

As the seal of the Capitol fades into the background and Caesar Flickerman starts to relay how little happened the previous night, Cato grabs his baby brother and pulls him into his lap. He ignores Mason’s jabs about using the baby as a distraction from his new on-screen girlfriend and pays attention to the screen. And he’s definitely not looking more at the blonde girl he’s taken a liking to than the tributes that he should be rooting for. He wants a good return on his bet.

The camera flicks between the various tributes hiding themselves in the surrounding area; clearly to meet screen time quotas so that their mentors and families don’t cry out accusations of favouritism, because they aren’t doing anything interesting. Then, to Cato’s delight, it refocuses on the large alliance, who are climbing the mountain.

The boy from One, whose name Cato can’t quite be bothered to remember, leads the way. His massive frame blocks out the sun for the girl from Four who follows behind. Her name also isn’t of interest to him. The girl from his district comes behind them, her hair tighter than he has ever seen it in the Academy and her face her usual scowl.

“She’s always been a miserable bitch, ain’t she?” Mason chuckles, reaching for a snack as he glances at his brother. He’s the year above her at the Academy and remembers the fit she’d thrown when she wasn’t selected for sixty-five, and how she’d all but bribed Lyme to choose her this year. She’s celebrated so obnoxiously that half his friends had wanted to risk the mentors’ wrath and volunteer, despite being incredibly unprepared, just for the chance to take her out. Not that they’re particularly violent or bloodthirsty themselves.

Cato laughs, thinking of his own experience with the girl. He’s the year below, and although minimal, his friend group had always tried to avoid her ever since Archer tried to flirt with her once and got a death glare in response. They think the phrase ‘I’ll make you let your hair down’ might have been the reason she declined his advances. And the girls told them that she always used to glare at anyone who dared come within three feet of her in the dorm hallways. Cato looks back at Mason. “Properly miserable. We all hate her guts. And Clio said she’s surprised she hasn’t lost all her hair with how tightly she ties it.”

Mason’s voice drops into a teasing whistle. “Ooooh Clio said. I’m surprised you aren’t interested in her with how much you talk about her.”

“Shut your mouth. She’s just my training partner. It’s not my fault that I got lucky with mine. That she’s one of my best friends.”

“Alright, point taken. Mine was a right prick I know, but it’s just ‘cause she wasn’t any good.” The older brother concedes, though his eyebrow raises cheekily when he decides that he isn’t finished winding his brother up. “Won’t your new girlfriend mind?”

“Piss off–”

“Cato!”

He groans as he’s caught by his mum, choosing to ignore Mason’s near cackle. She wouldn’t care usually, but she’s still convinced that he’s going to start speaking only in swear words and insults despite there being no evidence pointing towards that from three other kids. Roman isn’t even paying attention to them, he’s more captured by the sight of his toy bricks on the floor beside their couch. “Sorry mum, but can we just watch?”

As they pay attention to the screen again, they can see that the boy from Four is hot on Victoria’s heels and she’s very clearly irritated by him, even if he’s not talking. Satin and Bastian bring up the rear of the group, a few paces back and chatting mindlessly between themselves. The audience are unable to hear what they’re saying whilst the cameras adjust to tracking the group’s movement but they can see Satin turning back to face him every so often. And they can see her twirling a strand of blonde around her index finger, enticing the boy.

Mason snorts. “Huh, would you look at that? Maybe she does like Two’s tributes after all? Cato you’re in luck!”

“Mason.” Their mother says hastily. “Stop picking on him and just watch.”

On the screen, the alliance can be seen continuing their way up the mountain path, and Cato finds himself thankful for two things; firstly, that he wasn’t picked this year because fuck climbing that mountain to the point of looking red-faced and puffy in front of an attractive girl, and secondly, that his brother has finally shut up so he can concentrate. Any and every bit of information that he can retain will be helpful for when he’s finally picked to volunteer.

“Watch your footing.” The boy from One barks to the others without turning back to face them. His neck muscles ripple as he manoeuvres around a part of the path where the cliff face nears them, and juts out like a crooked tooth. “It’s unstable and with the weight of our packs, I don’t want any of us to go flying off.”

“He said watch it.” Victoria adds when she hears the sound of Murray behind her skipping a fraction on a patch of loose gravel. He’s lucky not to take out the pair behind too, which he would have done if he’d have fallen onto his hands; they notice a small sigh of relief leaves them.

“I’m fine.” The boy from Four grunts, rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to throw the rock in his hand at the back of her head. He discards it to one side instead. “I kept my balance. Maybe you would too if you hadn’t packed the whole cornucopia in your bag.”

Victoria laughs sarcastically, but from the cameras, everyone can tell that it hasn’t quite reached her eyes. She doesn’t rise to his attempts at angering her, looking forward.

“They’re going to be the ones to break that alliance.” Cato’s mother says matter of factly before excusing herself to the kitchen to fetch a drink and cook some food. No one actually comes to monitor their screens, not in Two anyway. As long as the television is switched on, the Capitol are aware and happy to assume the citizens are watching; the volume on the Capitol’s Games channel can’t be altered anyway.

“This is the kind of shit you need to watch out for.” Mason tells his brother, before launching into a speech on how the tributes he’ll end up with are likely going to behave just like this. They’ll hate him due to his chances. As if he doesn’t know that already. But since all the group on screen is doing is walking, he humours him and lets him talk.

A while later, when they’re much further up the mountain and the gap between the four leading and two stragglers has opened up, Victoria tuts and something and tries to drop back to talk to Satin, but she’s surprised at the distance between them. “Hey blondie, are you paying attention back there or are you too busy flirting?”

“Hmmm, what?” Satin asks, tilting her head with wide, guileless eyes. “I was just asking how I’d fall.”

“What?”

She smiles brightly, closing the distance between the two groups. “I mean, if I slip… will I go splat sideways or will I hit the ground straight down, like I’m on my back?”

“Satin–”

Murray snorts. “What are you, five?” He doesn’t wait for the girl to answer him, and immediately starts gesturing for the others ahead to keep moving.

That’s the moment when all of Panem sees how Bastian feels about two of his allies because he immediately sides with the girl from one in the argument. “What the hell, what’s your problem, Morgan?”

“Nothing–”

The girls from Four and Two look like they want to start an argument, though no one can be certain whether it will be between them or if would split the alliance in half – by gender or by district. But what Cato, and probably a large chunk of Panem, is almost certain of, is that the Fours would wind up dead if they tried.

Cato swears his heart jumps when District One’s female tribute lets out a sigh that is so breathless and feminine he’s never heard anything like it. He lets a smile cross his features so wide that he’s sure his older brother would’ve made fun of him if his younger one’s fidgeting hadn’t pulled him back down to earth in record speed.

“What is it, little dude?”

Roman, slightly red-faced, warm and squishy, looks up at his big brother before pointing at the group on television. He blows a raspberry and babbles. “No like.”

Sure that he’s talking about Bastian, who Cato doesn’t like either, he never has, Cato laughs. “Yeah, I don’t like him either, Ro. I don’t like none of them.”

“Liar.” Mason coughs teasingly, stifling laughter behind his glass of orange juice.

“Mason, he’s two, shut up.”

Then Roman squeals to grab the boy’s attention, pointing at the screen again, which has changed to show only one tribute, before flushing a shy pink colour that blends with the warm red already on his cheeks. Next, his head is buried in Cato’s shoulder with another excited squeal.

Cato smiles down at his little brother. “What are you excited about?” He then looks at the screen, where his favourite tribute, the girl who his bet is riding on, is shown. His voice drops. “Oh.”

The oldest of the three Hadley’s in the room can no longer stifle his laughter, and orange juice comes spurting out of his nose as the realisation hits him. And when he speaks, he has to fight to be heard over the baby’s giggles. “Looks like Roman’s got the same taste as you.”

Cato refrains from winding up and socking his brother in the face; but only just. And only because it would likely, definitely, result in his parents banning him from training this summer; stopping him taking lessons from Brutus when he returns from the Capitol. He calls this self-preservation. He’s going to train his skills every single day he’s physically able until he’s picked, because no one can ever be too good, even if he thoroughly believes that he’s the best in the Academy and that the mentors are biding their time. Maybe next year, is what he tells himself, though he believes it now. Brutus had promised sixty-seven or sixty-eight, as long as he promises to behave, which means no flirting with one of their female teachers. And he’s never going to allow himself to end up as complacent as Bastian. The boy has been training beside Cato for as long as he can remember, and he’s always thought he was the best thing to grace the institution; yet everyone with half a working brain disagrees. His celebration was also overly obnoxious, and his brother, who’s also in Cato’s training year is so certain that he’s going to win that he’s practically insufferable.

“Let’s just leave it.” The brothers hear through the speakers as Satin manages to calm the boys down before they start exchanging punches. She sounds dejected, and looks it too, as she mutters that she won’t say anything anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tina.” The boy from One says from the front of their group. “Ignore Murray. Now, can we keep moving?”

Yeah, ignore Murray, Cato thinks to himself, he’ll be dead soon enough. He can’t see the boy from Four winning in any scenario. Especially not after last year’s victor. And although it’s different from the attitudes he’s used to from his female friends in the Academy, he’s quite fond of the blonde girl’s sensitivity. He just hopes that she can be ruthless when it comes down to it.

It looks like it pains Bastian to agree with the boy from One but he nods, chuckling under his breath. He steps closer to the girl in question as the group all begin to restart their climb. “You’ve got a point babygirl.” He whispers, but the cameras pick up everything.

Cato’s face scrunches up in disgust. As does Mason’s. Even Roman, who can’t understand what’s going on, looks grossed out. Mason gags. “Did he just call her babygirl?”

“I think so…”

They can’t tell if the girl on screen is uncomfortable, but she doesn’t look overly pleased. The view, thankfully for her, changes back to the boy from their district before they can assess the expression. Bastian continues. “But she’s got a point. We should test it out. Hey, Calamari, want to go first?”

Calamari turns from her position at the front of the group and glares at him. There’s a droplet of sweat running diagonally across her temple that almost makes it seem as though she’s tearing up at the thought, but then she wipes it and the mirage is gone. Her spiteful expression returns. “Hilarious. Stop talking and I’ll shove you off myself.”

Satin’s giggle is a light, airy tinkling sound that seems to echo through the speakers of the Hadley’s living room as it bounces back at the tributes from the rocks built around them. It’s got a melodic tune to it that entrances the others until she stops and they snap out of it, confused as to what she could possibly have found that amusing. “You wouldn’t really do that, right? Push each other off?”

“Satin–”

“If you pushed me then I’d just grab onto a branch or something.”

The camera catches all of the tributes ahead of the blonde rolling their eyes at her but Silino’s words are remarkably soft for his size. “Satin, there are no branches up here, keep walking.”

Cato swears he sees the girl roll her eyes at the order because she is moving; in fact she never stopped, but the group continues to climb. The path is so narrow that they have to flatten themselves against cliffs in some places, gritting their teeth and bracing as their packs scrape against the stone.

The brothers then become distracted as their mother returns with a late breakfast for them all; two bacon sandwiches each and a bowl of scrambled eggs for Roman. The screen flicks between the various tributes for a moment while the career alliance is quiet; and right as the screen is filled with the different paths leading to the summit, the Capitol’s bulletin leads the coverage away from the arena and into the studio where a middle-aged presenter begins his spiel about the most important news stories to come out of the Capitol, including a few of the victors seen getting drunk after the opening day, and then the local weather for each of the districts. All of which is relatively warm apart from the northernmost part of District Six, because why wouldn’t it – it would be far too easy for it all to be the same.

Then the message that mandatory viewing has ended for the morning appears on the screen, and Cato scrambles for the remote to switch the television back over but it remains on the Games channel, and he sighs before leaning back onto the sofa and biting into his sandwich. He feels a little stupid that he forgot how the television doesn’t switch after viewing ends as they want more people to watch but he ignores the comments his brother teases him with and watches. He suspects the Capitol might be deeming day two as too boring, as the cameras focus on the descending six tributes, who are being referred to as ‘the hunting pack’ despite them not really hunting.

After a few more moments of silence, what Cato believes must have been at least fifteen minutes of watching a silent live feed, the silence is broken. By Satin returning to the ideas of falling from the path.

“Do you think I’d bounce if I fell?”

“What is it with you and bouncing?” Calamari calls out her question from the front of their line. “I thought we already explained that isn’t how cliffs work?”

Satin lets out a giggle. “But ‘Mari! The rocks might be bouncy if I land on my pack. I’ve got the food and the blankets! It’s safe so it will break my fall. Right?”

Murray lets out a bark of laughter, and in his living room, Cato wants to kill him – skin him alive, and slowly – so he can’t begin to imagine how the girl’s siblings are feeling watching this all unfold.

The boy from Four turns back and only laughs again when he sees the look on Satin’s face. “She’s serious. Oh my god, she’s serious.”

“Mhm!” Satin beams back at him, though her eyes flick sideways for a heartbeat when he twists away, still laughing under his breath, and then her gaze meets his back before. She looks to the drop beside them. It’s Mason that catches it this time, and he chortles loudly before exclaiming his thoughts. “She was gonna push him off then.”

“No. She–” Tatiana tries.

She’s interrupted by Mason again. “Mum, I swear to you. On Roman’s life.”

Their mother looks both horrified and terrified by the thought. “Don’t say that!”

“I’m serious mum, you know I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure.” Mason urges his mother to listen after quickly tickling Roman’s tiny feet so that he’s none the wiser to the fact he’s offering him up a sacrifice if he’s wrong. He looks at Cato, who nods in agreement before glancing back at their mother. “Rewind it.”

Tatiana concedes to her son’s urging, grasping at the remote and rewinding back to the moment the boy from Four laughs. They catch an eye roll this time around, and they’re thankful that mandatory viewing has ended or they’d never be able to settle their argument.

“There!” Mason shouts, pointing at the screen. “Look, she’s measuring the distance between him and the drop.”

The family members watch repeatedly as Mason presses play and rewind over and over and over again.

“Mason, we get it.”

The older brother speaks up once more, thoroughly enjoying the twists in his expectations. “One good shove and he’s gone.”

“I can’t blame her with how he’s acting.” Tatiana adds. “I don’t care how little of a brain she might have, no one should be laughed at. Especially not by boys who look like that.”

The Capitol

“Eurgh, I hate him.” Cashmere spits, seething with bubbling anger at how the boy from Four is constantly laughing at her sister, for no reason.

And she knows that Satin has an almost foolproof plan for which she needs the sea-rat alive, because they designed it together, but she’s thankful her sister inherited more of their parents’ patience. She’s self-aware enough to recognise that if she was in that arena then the boy wouldn’t have made it this far. Neither her nor Gloss were blessed with much patience and it showed in their arenas; in fact, Cashmere is surprised her brother hasn’t exploded from stress.

“I’ll go one better.” Gloss adds, gritting his teeth to keep his voice low. Their older mentors have taken the later afternoon shift today, leaving them to hold down the fort for District One, so Cashmere isn’t quite sure why he’s keeping his voice down – there’s no risk of the others working out their plan. Brutus and Enobaria aren’t even listening and Finnick and Mags are out of earshot. Gloss breathes heavily. “I despise him. If the plan wasn’t so dependent on them all being alive then I’d be happy to see her shove him off.”

Cashmere laughs. “I know. But he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

To her surprise, a hand lands on her shoulder, harshly enough to make her heart beat faster but not enough to have her jumping out of her seat. Her head wants to swing around to face the person but their bony fingers are clamped on top of her ponytail.

“Talking about me?” Finnick smirks in suggestion.

Gloss scoffs. “No. Why would we be talking about you?”

“I heard you say ‘get what’s coming to him.’ That’s what my mum always says when I prank her or whatever. So, Nicholos, what have I done?”

“Nothing, Finnick.” Cashmere assures, feeling slightly bad for him. He’s still fifteen and many of the other mentors will hardly give him the time of day. It must be difficult, navigating such an unfamiliar environment so young. “I’m talking about your wanker of a male tribute. What are you doing in Four that produces such tools?”

The fifteen year old places his free hand over his heart in fake hurt. “I’m wounded. I can’t believe you think so little of me?”

“Not you.” Gloss says. “Not yet anyway. But why aren’t you on your own monitor?”

“Mags let me walk around. Told me to make some friends, though she was probably kidding.”

“Most likely.”

Finnick remains chirpy as he smiles and asks. “Can I sit with you two until lunchtime? I have my own chair. Mags is in her focused state of mind and Beetee is nowhere to be found. Even Dave’s asleep.

Cashmere nods and a sharp wince follows. “Yes, if you get your hand out of my hair.”

“What?” The teen says as he moves, taking a step backwards, making the blonde wince again.

“You’re on my hair.”

“Oh sorry.” He apologises sincerely, gently lifting his hand before his now-signature cheeky grin returns to his face. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your best feature, would we? I bet it cost a lot of money.”

Cheeky fucker, the woman thinks to herself, though she supposes this is what it’s like to have a younger brother. She doesn’t mind it. “I’m a natural blonde, you prick. Now sit down, shut up and watch before I snitch to Mags.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh she would.” Gloss chuckles, finding humour in the way Finnick quickly throws himself into his chair and focuses on their screen, not once complaining that he can’t see the young boy he’s responsible for. Perhaps he doesn’t like the boy either; it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary. The younger boy pales a little, but he still seems comfortable.

The siblings have managed to perfect their selective hearing, and so they haven’t been listening to the majority of the conversation taking place on the journey to the flat shelf near the mountain peak, but they tune in when they hear their sister ask what is possibly one of the stupidest questions they have ever heard, even with the act.

“What happens if we get to the ledge and it’s not there anymore?”

Cashmere sighs as she watches Victoria glare over her shoulder. The girl looks both confused at the line of question and annoyed that such a stupid question had been asked. The camera catches her snarl, flicks to Satin’s oblivious smile then back to the girl from Two. “It’s rock. Where would it go? It’s not like it can walk away.”

“I dunno.” Satin muses sweetly. “What if someone got there first and moved it or made it invisible?”

“Then we kill them.” The boy behind her shouts aloud, likely to scare anyone nearby, though the map in the bottom left corner of the mentor’s tv screen shows there isn’t another tribute close enough to have heard that. Cashmere can’t help but grin at the way Brutus rolls his eyes; and Gloss matches his sister’s expression at the thought that he’s wasting energy every time he opens his big mouth. At a much faster rate than the others, and energy is harder to regain in the arena once hunger starts kicking in.

“The cliff?”

“No, the person, sugar.”

Satin tilts her head to one side, and Calamari, a few paces ahead of the blonde, chuckles to herself while mumbling that she’s not surprised that rocks confuse the girl. She doesn’t miss the opportunity to make an off-hand comment about One’s education system.

“I hate him too.” Gloss bristles, narrowing his eyes at the screen as if the boy will retreat away from his sister.

“He can’t see you glaring at him, you know.” Cashmere giggles, trying to find humour in the situation as they watch the alliance continue to climb higher and higher up the mountain.

“I don’t care. It makes me feel better.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Gloss.”

The siblings twist to look at Finnick synchronously. Bewilderment is evident in their eyes, looking between each other and the teen beside them. That’s an expression they’ve never heard before. They speak in unison. “What?”

“You know, whatever makes you happy… whatever floats your boat… Do you not use that?”

“No…”

Finnick sighs. “Just District Four then.”

“Just District Four.” They nod.

The air in the arena clearly gets thinner as the alliances’ breathing grows laboured, and the mentors watch as the sweat starts to wick away, clearly much colder up at the peak of the mountain. And when the camera pans back as the six of them reach the ledge, the birds eye view of the arena shows a patchwork of reddish-browns and beiges made of rock, spreading at the edge with the ring of burnt yellow grass of the plain housing the cornucopia that blends with the darker shades of the sparse forest. The rocky ledge that they’ve laid claim to at the top of the terrain is reminiscent of burnt umber, a broad outcropping that juts out from the mountain like a jawline. The drop was sheer on three sides but wide enough for the size of them to comfortably sling off their packs, drop the spare bags to stretch out their camp without the fear of rolling over the edge in their sleep.

“Perfect.” Silino can be heard saying as he takes advantage of their altitude to conduct another visual sweep of the arena. He’s talking more to himself than the others. “We’ll see anyone moving for miles.”

Gloss rolls his eyes. “He’s forgetting about the other side of the mountain. It’s unrealistic to think that every tribute would have stayed on the face closest to the cornucopia, especially not the hiders.”

On screen, they watch the alliance settle into the area, leaning back against the rock. They take large pulls from their water canteens. Even Cashmere stifles her laughter as she spots her sister fussing with her overly heavy pack, tugging at the straps and peering inside with exaggerated confusion. They know there’s a cracker of a line on its way.

“Hey, Mari?” Satin calls out to the girl from Four. “Where do I find the air tabs?”

Everyone blinks, both in the arena and in the mentor viewing room. They swear that Enobaria face palms at the same time as her tribute. Cashmere can’t wait to be able to tell her sharp-witted friend all about her sister’s true intellect in preparation for her win but she knows that it can’t be risked until the tribute from Two are dead. It’s going to feel great to get one up on them.

The camera focuses on Calamari’s blinking as she tries to process what she was just asked. “Sorry, say that again. The what?”

Satin’s facial expression is one of pure innocence and One’s mentors find it difficult to keep a straight face. “The air tabs.” She repeats. “You know, the ones that give you air… extra, what is it called again? Oh– Oxygen! You said we need more when we’re high up, and we’re really high up so I need the help with breathing. I don’t have any. Did they forget to pack mine?”

Murray chokes on his water, spitting half of it onto the stone, swiping the remnants from his spit-take from his chin so he doesn’t look like a complete fool on national television. “This is brilliant. You think they’ve given us bottled air? Why would they do that?”

Satin shrugs, “Well we’re really really high up, Murray. I just said that. I just don’t want to faint and then collapse on you all.”

She then takes a sip of her own water and zones completely out of the conversation. Cashmere is certain that relief has settled into Satin’s frame as she finally gets to sit down and Gloss can sense it too as he takes the way her breathing is deeper than usual. She stretches her legs out and rolls wrists and ankles to ease the tension from them as the others start to discuss hunting and cooking food.

There’s a lull in conversation in the mentor viewing room; the lunchtime hour has resulted in lots of mentors of still-alive tributes heading to try and schmooze sponsors over the platters of food. Finnick checks who’s nearby, and when he realises that Brutus has entered the small, attached kitchenette, leaving a space between them and Enobaria, he scrapes his chair along the floor to shuffle closer to the Nicholos. He drops his voice. “I know she’s faking.”

The siblings avoid making direct eye contact so as not to look suspicious. Gloss doesn’t avert his gaze from his monitor as he retorts with, “Who?”

“Satin.”

It’s Cashmere's turn to reply then, but she takes the opposite approach, assessing the fourteen year old. He looks serious. All she can do is deny. “She’s not. All the smart genes ran out by the time she was born, unfortunately. Do you know how exhausting it is for us to deal with everyday?”

Finnick smirks and Gloss’ eyes bore into the side of her head. She holds back a wince. Shit, she thinks. I’ve overdone that.

A laugh bubbles out of Finnick after a few minutes. “Even if I wasn’t sure of it, I definitely am now. You’re an awful liar, Cashmere. And I’m fifteen, not stupid.”

“What?”

“I caught her out in our first alliance meeting, when she tried to tell me she knew what a big word meant. Far too large for someone with supposedly so little brains.”

His words are immediately met with two identical glares, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “Woah, chill out guys! I didn’t tell anyone. The secret’s safe with me.”

Gloss strengthens the intensity of his glare, his jaw twitching and locking in the fear that they’ll be discovered or overheard. “You better not have.” He growls. “Or I promise to make your life a living hell.”

Finnick blanches, his face falling extremely pale as he considers what he’s just been told. Gloss, at twenty-one years old, is far stronger than he is at fifteen, and far more influential. Part of him must surely think that he’s wishing he never said anything, Cashmere can only assume.

She feels guilty for scaring him and goes to open her mouth to reassure him that her brother isn’t as scary as he looks but she’s beaten to the mark by the soft, lightly inflected voice of Mags behind them.

“Are you threatening my newest victor?” She questions, her face contorting into an unnaturally harsh composition, that is rarely seen and barely suits her. And that although she likely knows it’s stemming from some kind of joke, both of One’s mentors appreciate that she’s protective of the young boy– they’re both the same when it comes to their sister. They just demonstrated such traits at merely the thought of something going against Satin.

“Now.” Gloss denies to the best of his ability; which isn’t much. He’s been caught red-handed.

There’s a short bark of laughter from Enobaria, who’s sitting at the next station over. “He totally was.”

Cashmere suddenly finds herself incredibly thankful that she had whispered all of her communication with her brother today, because Enobaria, who they previously assumed was out of earshot, was in fact listening the entire time. Nosy bitch, she jokes to herself, catching the woman’s gaze and then rolling her eyes, which only makes her laugh more.

Finnick shakes his head profusely. “No, he’s just jokings, Mags. Honest.”

The older woman sizes the situation up before shaking her head, mouthing something to Finnick, and returning to her station, which now has an ice-cold beverage courtesy of Brutus.

Finnick leans closer to Cashmere and his voice gets quieter and quieter until it’s an almost inaudible whisper that is only just loud enough for the blonde woman to hear. “I’m serious, I haven’t told anyone about her act. I like your sister, because she was nice to me. I hope she wins. Besides, I hate my guy just as much as you do.”

When the blonde mentor doesn’t respond verbally, though her force displays her appreciation, Finnick becomes conscious that the others are looking over at them, confused by their silence. So, he does what he thinks is best and draws all the attention to himself. He, thinking it’s the acceptable thing to do, slaps his hands against his thighs and pushes himself to a stand. “Right, well I better get back to Mags. I am supposed to be learning the ropes, after all. See you two around.”

“Did he just triple his age in seconds?”

Chapter Text

Day Three; The Arena

The evening prior was particularly uneventful, with very little for the group of teenagers to do except scan the arena. And there simply isn't much to pay attention to – the entire arena is boring, made of sandstone and reddish mountains, with the occasional clump of evergreen trees to break up the steep landscape.

Bastian had gone on and on about how these aren't the mountains he's used to at home, but Victoria insisted that they're just as cold. This only serves to tell Satin that she was right in her assumption aboard the hovercraft that they're closer to Two than she originally suspected. This would've worried her for the Twos' environmental advantage if they were more intelligent, but she's reassured in the fact that they're just as disorientated as the rest of them. She's still got half a mind that the Gamemakers are going to throw the tributes off by moving the rock formation around, but she tries to push the thought away since there is nothing she can do until it happens. And there's the pressing idea that after Gloss' maze-like arena layout, the Gamemakers likely don't want to appear predictable or complacent. That although it's proved a largely popular design, her brother has mentioned once or twice that it's been a disaster for rich Capitol families whose children expect them to replicate the layout for their birthday parties. She's trying desperately hard not to worry herself about things that she can't change – that's always been one of her fatal flaws.

There was conversation about the environmental conditions of their homes; One's genial pleasant climate with the views of the Great Wilds of the North and the tall building of the Capitol alike, separated only by the river. And then the bitingly cold winds that sweep through from the North in the winter. It coats the district in snow, along with the Capitol. That's an aspect that the tributes from Two can relate to; balmy summers and icy winters. But Calamari commented insistently about how much she misses the beaches – golden sand and pebbles alike – around her home. The closest that Satin has ever gotten to the warmth that Cashmere told her that District Four boasts all year round, is the vineyard in the southernmost part of one, where her grandparents on her mother's side live. And even then, she had only visited three times in seventeen years. They would always travel to them.

She'd listened as closely as possible, if only to make the time go faster before nightfall, especially when they don't have any substantial amount of meat to cook over a fire. And Silino had instructed them all to use that night for rest, despite Bastian's eagerness to go hunting.

"You don't think it's a good idea to hunt down the rest of them?" He had asked, narrowing his eyes and laughing incredulously.

The brow that Victoria had raised in response was a shock to everyone's system, but the gesture was so disdainful that it would've made Enobaria proud in the mentor viewing room. Everyone had agreed to rest again, likely to keep the peace and let the Capitol indulge in their kills from the first day for a little longer. Revel in the fame that they're unable to reap the benefits of yet. "I think he's right, for once." She had announced, with far less malice than if she were to say the very same words to anyone else. "We're all tired from lugging everything up the mountain, and I'm sure everything else isn't any better. There was enough blood shed yesterday to tie us over for once more night. Give Caesar something to talk about. Us."

"He better. But what–"

His district partner had bitten then, rolling her eyes. "It's five against one, Bastian. Just leave it. Brutus isn't going to withhold anything from you."

"Fine but we're going to have to kill them eventually." The boy had spit, features and muscles tense and tight with his fury. He flops himself down on the harsh ground beside Satin, who had mouthed a small apology. His hand had found his way to Satin's thigh and she had to stop the bile from rising past her throat.

There are no faces in the sky that night, given that no one actively tried to hurt anyone, and Satin is thankful that she took first watch again, as she doesn't have to explain anything to the others.

So that morning, their third in the arena, as Satin wakes with a roll in the direction of the boy from Two, who smirks at her. She shuffles back into more space as he stares at her and she immediately reads his intentions; she'd prefer to be as far from all of the tributes as physically possible. But she knows she can't and they eat their breakfast, which is once again small non-perishable items, all at separate times since they don't want each other to know how much they eat or the extent of their hunger without their usual supply of food. Satin supposes from what her siblings had told her that some of the outer district tributes might be more accustomed to going without food and she feels guilty for even thinking about grumbling in hunger. And even more guilty for the fleeting thought that they have an advantage.

It takes her a while to wake properly, content with dozing for as long into the morning as the others will allow so that she can remain as well rested as possible to keep her energy up. She's sure that it's an hour later when her district partner gently rouses her to include her in the debate of what they should spend the day doing.

Satin rubs her eyes with her fists, careful not to irritate or disturb the semi-permanent markup that her stylist had applied. And as she rolls up her blanket and sleeping bag to prevent bugs from entering throughout the day – her worst nightmare – she moves into the small circle of tributes sitting around the fire and thinks about what the cameras could possibly be showing right now since there's a very high likelihood that no one is doing anything interesting. She doesn't see how this could be entertaining anyone.

"I'm sure they're getting something out of it." Calamari says with very little amusement in her tone, zipping her coat closed when the sun disappears behind the thick clouds covering the sky.

A laugh leaves Satin, girly and light as her face contorts into a real portrayal of confusion this time. "Did I say that outloud?"

The others laugh and it's Silino who confirms it for her but Bastian who seems to agree with her conclusion. "She's right. All we're doing is sitting and waiting. We need to do something or they'll start throwing new things at us."

As a debate opens up about what they want to do with their time, with half of them ignoring the jobs they were assigned in their alliance meeting, Satin stares out at the landscape and then up at the sky. The cloud cover has turned dark, grey and heavy, lingering, ominously as it starts to spread. She recognises the sight of rain clouds and thunderstorms, and hopes that it's a red herring because rainfall would only lead to cold and infection and even hypothermia if the wind started to pick up and blow against their dampened clothes. They would have to find shelter like a cave or covered ledge in record time, including all their supplies. But she doesn't say anything because she doesn't want to fight to be heard, and the clouds are moving exceptionally quickly so there's the chance that they might get lucky.

The complaints about the cold restart as the group jumps to stand, apart from Satin, who refuses to admit that she wasn't listening. They stare at her. "Aren't you coming?"

"What?"

Bastian laughs, holding his hand out to her. "C'mon sugar, we're going hunting!"

Satin's stomach turns. She really doesn't want to hunt like the others who are treating the tributes like they're prey, and her mind whirrs with ways to get out of being forced to watch another death at their hands when she can't think of anything worse. For when she wins, she doesn't feel guilty looking at the families of lots of tributes. She doesn't think she could handle that more than necessary.

Her gaze moves between the five people standing ahead of her and then her answer computes. She doesn't care that it might sound too smart. "Are we all going? But what about the stuff?"

Realisation hits them all like the train they travelled in one, faster than anything they've experienced before, and they look between each other, as if expecting someone to have an answer, likely Silino.

"Right..."

He trails off and Satin catches his eye and interrupts. "I'll stay."

"You will?" He asks.

"Yeah." She chirps cheerfully. "You guys can have all the fun as long as you promise to tell me all about it."

Silino leans closer, whispering directly into her ear after giving her a supportive look. "Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself? What if someone attacks?"

The urge to roll her eyes is stronger than she's felt in a long while, because there's no way he really cares about her wellbeing when his survival depends on her demise. She lets her eyes flick to Calamari for a split second in a plea. "I'll be fine." She giggles, tapping the knife vest and spears beside her. "I've got my weapons."

"I'll stay with her."

Their heads snap to face Calamari, who steps forward, throws her backpack on the ground and takes a seat next to her blonde ally, shrugging. "What?" She spits. "I'm not too bothered about missing it. Just bring back something to eat, please. Something that isn't human Bastian."

The boy from Two looks as though he wants to move a sarcastic comment about picky eaters, but he decides against it, huffing and securing his sword in his scabbard a second time for extra security. He turns away, muttering something about it being 'her loss' before heading to a path that leads to another area. Murray scampers after him like a mouse. Victoria and Silino aren't far behind once they've double checked for their own weapons, and the boy from One starts to relay instructions not long after.

When they've disappeared from sight and earshot, Satin turns to Calamari and asks. "What's your favourite season?"

"What?"

"What's your favourite season?" She repeats with a smile. "Mine's spring."

Calamari lets out a deep sigh before answering. "Summer."

"Oh 'cause of the Games?"

"Right, because of the Games." Calamari snorts as if Satin just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable, before expanding on her answer. "And because of how home is in the summer. The air is hot and saltier and carries the thick smell of caramel and coconut. The sea is warmer than normal when we go swimming or fishing. And it brings out the freckles on my nose."

That's a factor that Satin had never considered. Life in other districts. Life that is vastly different to hers. The variation in climates was a given with how big the nation is, and the difference in hobbies and daily activities comes hand in hand with their environment, of course. But she'd never spent time considering that the weather patterns elsewhere impact perception. District One's springtime is her favourite. The valleys and creeks bloom shades of vibrant blues and green and purples, shining with the gemstones hidden beneath also. The animals and birds re-emerge in the woodland area of which she adores seeing and looking after the tiny raccoon kits. The increased daylight hours are a bonus too, meaning that the walks to school and home from ballet aren't half as bad.

And as much as she loves the warmth of the sun of her summer months, July still houses the Games. That despite how cold northern winters get, summer holds the fear and grief that comes wrong with the annual entertainment event, especially for the younger children and Satin can hazard a guess that it's worse for the outer, poorer districts with less preparation and slips in the bowl. She supposes that District Four, much like home, is able to detach from the tributes the moment they're on the train.

They fall silent for a little while after that as the girls talk to themselves before Satin starts to ask more irrelevant questions to pass time.

A cannon makes them jump in the early afternoon, and Satin finds herself hoping that whatever their allies did to cause the tribute's death was fast but they continue to mindlessly chat as they await another. But another cannon never sounds. 

Silino and Victoria return first, each holding what looks to be some kind of sheep-like creature, already removed of all wool and skinned ready to be cooked. Then, Bastian and Murray enter step back into view, and the boy from Two's shirt covered in blood and small, dried speckles are starting to flake away from the blade of his sword.

Rejoining the circle, he throws his pack to one side and immediately removes his shirt to wash using the warm water that has been heating over the fire for most of the afternoon. And as much as Satin hates the thought of it, she pretends to sneak looks at his torso when she thinks he's looking but times it so that she purposefully gets caught.

The boy smirks to himself, rinsing the blood away and hanging his shirt on a long thin stretch that sticks out almost like a peg. He zips his thick overcoat and wraps a blanket around his shoulders for good measure as the fours finish up cooking the meat – which Satin thinks is going to taste awful. She's never been fond of lamb, and without seasoning it's likely going to taste even worse, but she's aware that she can't afford to be picky about it.

"I found her by a bush near our trail." Bastian explains through a mouthful of food a short while later. "She tried to run back to her hiding spot when she saw me but I moved much faster and managed to get her with my sword. It meant she died too fast for me to have any fun, though. Ah well, there's always the next one. I want to find that big boy from Eight."

Satin manages to disguise the sigh of relief that escapes, when she realises that poor girl died quickly, as satisfaction with the food. If she's correct, which she's sure she is, then that girl is the same fear-stricken eyes she ignored a few days prior, and she's guilty that there was nothing she could've done to save her– it's unrealistic to think otherwise.

Later that night, when the others are asleep and Satin is on watch, the only face in the sky is the female tribute from Seven. Wide brown eyes and round cheeks that point a picture of innocence that chips away at Satin's heart; for those fearful eyes hiding in the bush belonged to a small girl barely older than twelve.

Satin watches the artificial stars in the arena sky, trying to use the brighter stars to determine the time of night. But it's to no avail, there is no way to tell time in the arena, that's intentional from the Gamemakers. And all she needs is for the anthem to pass, and now it has, she gently shakes Bastian awake before snuggling into her sleeping bag the best she can.

Day Four

The fourth day is the most uneventful yet. It takes ages for the alliance to fully wake, already starting to feel tired and groggy, and the mornings weather is noticeably cooler with a bite to the wind that is now unrelenting. They lounge in the same spot, as the morning creeps past slowly, dragging its cold fingers across the sandstone cliffs and plateaus; and the light that manages to reach them through the thick cloud cover, is dusty and thin and doesn't do anything to warm them up. The ground beneath them is uneven and uncomfortable without regular movement, and is still cold to the touch from nightfall instead of hot earth. They're all wrapped up in their thick arena jackets – angular and shaded by district in an attempt to differentiate yet blend in with the dust clouds and craggy surfaces – but even when they pull their hoods up and zip themselves in tightly, the wind still finds ways to sneak against their skin. It howls through nearby crevices, carrying flecks of grit and small stone towards them.

Murray braves the sharp air and crouches beside the logs they'd used for fire the night prior before trying to coax another flame from the meager kindling. It's frustrating him and he's muttering to himself, insulting the wood for not taking as he flicks the striker again and again and the matches he's trying are being blown out by the wind before he can get them anywhere near the fire. "Nothing. Everything's damp or dead. We'll have to collect more kindling from somewhere."

"The wind's stronger this morning.' Satin says, fingers idly tapping the shaft of the spear she has resting across her lap in a rhythm she counts internally. She could almost use the time to visualise her ballet steps, and she quickly decides that she'll do just that once everyone has stopped talking.

"It blows the heat sideways." Calamari adds as she gestures to the fire and tries to block the wind with a large blanket held as high as she can reach.

"Which is why we should've taken up camp on the lower ridge." Murray complains, crossing his arms and abandoning the fire to the wind. "It was much warmer."

"Yeah, warmer, much easier to sneak up on, and much more likely to flood if it rains. Don't forget how easily mutts can control the flat lands." Victoria says flatly. Her arms are crossed over her chest in annoyance and she stares over the rocky cliffs as if she's daring someone to argue with her.

The conversation doesn't go anywhere, it never does when they're chattering away to kill time, and Murray only fails to light the fire again and again, until he eventually gives up and heads in the direction of the nearest trees with an axe that no one saw him bring and his long-bladed knives, hoping to fetch some more firewood.

Midday comes, marked only by the sound of chewing on dried meat strips and nuts, and the occasional word. The cold is making everyone angsty and easy to irritate because the warmth they expected to follow the rising sun never comes. If anything, the wind's bite becomes more aggressive as it howls across the ledge impatiently. Shadows have started to stretch over their environment too early and it leaves Calamari to desperately try the fire again, as it is her assigned duty after all.

It burns out twice in the hours that Murray is gone; once by a harsh gust that scatters the kindling in multiple directions, and a second because they all leave it too long without prodding due to a distraction made by what sounds like footsteps but is really a small hare thumping along the rocks. It crosses Satin's mind that the animal might be a mutation, but there's the lingering thought that it's far too early for that to be thrown at them. It's Silino that shoots it dead in seconds with an arrow to the brain, a perfect shot with little blood that means they have another source of energy if anyone can get fire going.

If Calamari is worried about her district partner's absence, whether for his well-being or her own, she doesn't show any signs. She seems to be such a master of keeping her face neutral that Satin hopes she's at least played poker once before in her life, because she'd be able to make a killing. Especially against some of the sleazy old men who spend their time drinking the pubs dry, that has to be a nationwide thing.

By late afternoon, Murray has returned with a large heap of dead wood, twigs, branches, and leaves that he's harvested, in hopes that the dry material will assist in starting the fire that will warm them up. Calamari doesn't sigh in relief at the sight of him. Instead she takes a clump of the supplies and throws them onto the existing pit, immediately blocking the wind's direction and striking a match. The tension that releases from her shoulders when it stays alight is palpable, and it spreads through the group. They build it larger and greedier, throwing more stones and dried bark into the flames; and they're instantly pulled towards it by the warmth that is just enough to dull the wind.

When evening falls, no one has spoken in hours to conserve energy – it's not much warmer than the blizzard that hit almost a decade ago – and their jackets are zipped up to their chins, hoods are pulled over their heads, blankets tight to their frames, and hands wrapped up in socks. Satin is so thankful that there's no snow, because that would've been unbearably cold – and she likes to think she's gotten used to cold weather by now. Though if this arena is anything to go by, it's highly likely that an arctic arena is due soon. No one has dared to joke about the weather or Calamari's aversion to a slight wind chill, because the arena's cruel cold is persistent and they want nothing more than for it to end. And they're only day four.

All they've done is sit in silence and incessantly poke at the fire to keep it burning, making sure it mountains enough heat to cook the hare, which they split as evenly as possible. It must be getting to Murray because he doesn't even complain about receiving the ears as the main part of his meal.

The orange of sunset morphs into the silver of night as they start to discuss whether they think the Gamemakers will flush a tone tribute out tonight or if they'll wait a while longer. No one is oblivious to the fact that today has been boring for the Capitol's viewers but no one wants to call the upcoming events either. Just in case the Gamemakers get any ideas.

It doesn't take long for the alliance to get to sleep, leaving Satin to stare into the fire with nothing to do besides keep warm and alert. There's no movement for the entirety of the watch, including the blaring anthem – short and with no faces populating it – nor are there any screams or cannons. Just wind and shadows as she waits the shortest amount of time possible before waking Calamari.

Day Five

That night is the coldest sleep that Satin has ever had despite her sleeping bag maintaining her body heat. And that morning, when she wakes, naturally, to her surprise, the weather isn't much better. It's still bitterly cold and overcast, though there's different weather fronts beginning to form at the edges and it looks like they're going to come to a head right over their makeshift camp. Clouds are stacking up, appearing darker and in weird shapes, suggesting potentially heavy rain, or sleet and strong winds. But no one knows where they're going to hit or when, which is a problem.

Most of the day you spent arguing over whether they should hold steady in their spot or whether they should try and find somewhere with more shelter. Satin stays out of the argument, not wanting to waste energy, physical or mental, and she barely listens to the two sides. If she had the ability to override decisions, then she would vote to take shelter so as not to chance catching pneumonia from the cold. But unfortunately, acting dumb has reduced all chances of that happening and means she'll have to wait to be asked.

She stays as warm as physically possible instead of her sleeping bag, running her fingers through her blood strands and combing away the knots that I've started to form. She hates how greasy it feels against her palms as she redoes her ponytail several times, unhappy with the lumps underneath as she tries to tie it. The hair tie is starting to lose its elasticity with how many times she has yanked it but she's careful not to snap it as she uses her pink ribbon to tighten to the best of her ability. Then she snacks on trail mix for lunch when she spies the Sun floating above them, an easy signal for noon. Everyone is still arguing about their course of action; jackets keep being shrugged on and off as the weather can't make up its mind.

There's a fleeting thought that they're all stupid for changing clothing so quickly when they're unable to predict any change in weather. But most of all, Satin is bored. She's fed up with the boys trying to convince everyone of their point of view.

Satin smooths down the unruly flyaways at her hairline and looks at Calamari, next to her around camp. Her voice is sweet yet raised over the others as she asks, "does my hair look okay?" as a distraction.

"Yes." Calamari sighs, raking her eyes up and down her ally's frame that is mostly covered by her sleeping bag before narrowing her focus on her hair.

Victoria scoffs at the girl from Four in contempt before turning to Satin. "Don't trust her judgement. It looks lumpy by your right ear. I'll fix it."

As she shuffles closer, Satin can't help but wonder two things: if this will further drive the rift she needs between the girls; and whether she really wants to trust Victoria with the state of her hair when hers looks like straw. But she doesn't want to anger her and so accepts the help, feeling the girl change the location for a few of her bobby pins.

"She's fucking lying to you." Victoria mutters into her ear, only just loud enough for her to hear. "If she's lying about something as little as your hair, then what else is she lying about?"

It's not her that you need to be worrying about, Satin things to herself and she has to hold back a laugh. But she nods. "Thank you for fixing my hair. It's my strength."

"I know it is." The girl from Two chuckles. "When are we dealing with her?"

"Soon." She assures, despite knowing that it isn't going to happen for another week. She's keeping careful count of the days.

"Everyone okay?" Silino asks, watching Victoria retreat back to her own space with one eyebrow lifted. His confusion, a perfect mirror of Bastian's, has broken up their argument.

"Yeah, c'mon girls. Don't leave us in the dark."

Satin giggles lightly. "It's girl stuff."

Victoria backs her up without a second thought, and although the boys appear to want to object, they don't. The likelihood is that they're too scared to ask about whatever girl stuff could encompass. And thankfully, in a move that saves not only everyone's ear but their attention span and sanity too, they don't resume their disagreement.

"It's two to one: stay to move." Silino tells them. "So we'll continue as we did yesterday, except hunting in pairs. Someone's got to find something or the audience will get bored."

Someone. Satin knows he means someone.

"You do know that there's six of us in this alliance, right?" Calamari seethes, squinting in the leader's direction her hatred for him is so visible it's nothing short of a miracle how he hasn't picked up on it yet. "I think we should move."

"I agree." Victoria supports. "If it's going to start raining then I don't want to catch anything before we can even get going. And pneumonia is no way for any of you to go."

The rest of the alliance ignores her attempt at a jibe with nothing more than a sigh and a roll of their eyes. They've come to expect nothing less from Victoria by this point and it's the least abrasive threat that she could have chosen. In fact, Satin hardly considers it a threat at all, just a minor annoyance.

"Satin?" Bastian asks. It's then she realises that she's the only person not to vote thus far.

She forces her eyes wider, and pushes them to appear glassy. "I really don't want to get my hair wet."

To her surprise, none of them laugh at her. The most she receives is a sigh from the two older boys, who are clearly the pair who voted to stay put, but they each act fairly, taking the deciding vote as gospel and starting to pack away their things.

To pack all of their supplies back into their bags takes them what they can only guess is another hour of their life. But no one dares to complain about another member moving too slowly, because they're the people to beat, right now; and the more time they waste collating their possessions, the less time they have to kill before they can split back into their split watches. Blankets and tarps are tied haphazardly around shoulders and bag straps, dragging across the floor and flicking up dust that will easily give away their location. But no one can bring themselves to care as they trape through the sandstone cliffs.

The afternoon comes and goes just as quickly as they try to find the best place to take cover in case the weather takes a turn for the worst. They're having no luck until they find what appears to be the opening to a cave. It's no larger than an average-sized living room, and if they were blessed with an overhead view of the rock formation, they would be able to see that the long crack displays as a funnel.

"That'll keep us dry." Silino says when he spots it, directing the group towards it. "And with luck, the walls will keep out any unwanted winds which will keep us warmer and make it easier for us to keep our fires going."

There's a small scuffling noise coming from inside that gives them pause. "Is that a mutt?"

They listen carefully, staying as quiet as possible, but the noise only dies down, confirming that it can't be a rogue muttation this early on in the game. And when nothing emerges from the single entrance, the group of six go barrelling inside, making as much noise as physically possible, it seems; they're unaware that there are two other tributes inside.

The markers for Districts One, Two and Four are flashing red in the central zone of the map in the bottom corner of the screen for the viewers, but the tributes can't see this and so are walking in completely blind. It could potentially be an ambush and they'd be none the wiser.

Of course, it isn't an ambush, which they soon realise when they're deeper inside.

Because sitting opposite each other, faces white as sheets and not a spoken word between them, is two tributes with nothing but a backpack each. Satin's stomach drops as she spots them. They appear to be in a temporary alliance for a dry, warm — well, not freezing — night's sleep, because there's no indication that the tributes know the other's name. Their hands are clasped tightly together with spare socks warming the skin of their extremities and their expressions fall in panic before they shuffle back, only to hit the wall of the cave and force themselves to their feet. Hands grip the minimal weaponry tightly as they try to brace themselves. To prepare for the inevitable. Perhaps to fight to the best of their abilities.

But it's two against six and that's a fight they're unlikely to win, especially not against six teenagers trained in combat intensive death schools.

The scared tributes pale even more, past the point in which Satin thought was physically possible, whereas the pack are hotting and hollering at the prospect of securing two kills in quick succession.

Satin knows she can't do anything to help them, or even beg for the others to make it quick, because that would put her at risk. And she doesn't want to work out where the cameras are either, though she's sure it wouldn't be that difficult. Although she knows these deaths are inescapable, it doesn't mean she has to watch every second, she'll simply practice looking without paying attention.

As a result, Satin doesn't rush to the front of the group nor does she engage herself in the animated discussion about who gets the 'privilege' of adding to their tallies which is callously settled with the best of the tree in rock, paper, scissors. Silino and Victoria cheer after their wins yet Satin is the one who feels apprehensive at how cold and calculating her district partner is acting. He's a far cry from the boy vowing to protect her from the Two only a week ago.

Silino and Victoria unsheath their swords from their scabbards with a sharp scrape of metal on fabric; it's a surprise that nothing rips with the speed.

The next while is filled with the sound of slashing against clothes, squelching of skin splitting, slick with blood and sweat, the screams and whimpers of the dying tributes, coupled with the sickly timed laughter of the alliance. Bastian and Murray get a few hits in but Satin is pleased that at least Calamari isn't gagging at the bit to inflict any more pain on the tributes; though she does wonder how the girl is going to escape the accusations that will be thrown at her when considering that she can't also use the excuse that she doesn't want to get dirty. The tributes' deaths are already slow and drawn out as it is, to the extent that Satin wants to vomit. There's pain and helplessness in the whites of their eyes as they wordlessly beg for someone to help, for someone to end their suffering. The fact that these scrawny, tired, underfed children are wishing for death to meet them sooner than natural is horrific; and it's ridiculous that the Capitol citizens watch this in glee.

How is this entertaining?

When the first cannon sounds minutes later, the second is not far behind and the hunting pack drops the bodies unceremoniously onto the floor of the cave. There's no care or compassion as they make a beeline for their forgotten backpacks, rummaging for any supplies that they can take.

"They've got no use for them anymore." Someone mutters, which churns Satin's stomach even further.

She's handed a torch, this time with full working batteries, which she slides into a side pocket of her jacket for safe keeping and a spare pair of socks. The small packs that these tributes had clearly grabbed from the outskirts of the cornucopia in a hurry had very little to distribute among the six of them, and relief fills her when she notices that the water bottles are almost empty because that means she can still work on the assumption that her plan can happen on or around day twelve.

No one has seemed to notice the giant issue of how there are thick, several inches deep, pools of blood that have started to conceal in puddles beneath their feet. They're going to need to sort it out before it starts smelling overly metallic and starts to cause them more issues than it would breathe in the elements outside. But there's also the issue of not having supplies that they want to waste on cleaning the area.

Calamari is who addresses the elephant in the room. "What are we going to do about their bodies?"

"Leave them." Bastian shrugs in suggestion, splashing the toe of his boot in one of the puddles and laughing.

"We can't leave them." Victoria argues. "They'll start to rot."

"And the hovercraft won't be able to reach them." Calamari sneers in his direction, giving him the dirtiest look. If looks could kill, then he'd have been dead a long time ago.

"Alright fine, then we'll have to move." The boy from Two concedes, though no one misses how he casts a look at the others, especially Silino, as if expecting them to take the lead. As if insinuating, but he's not responsible for the task.

No one moves, which prompts Bastian to speak again. "Well you killed them, means you have to move them."

Silino sighs and pushes himself to a stand, lifting the deceased male tribute and walking to the opening of the cave without even bothering to pick up his weapon. No one else moves to do the same with the girl and so they all sit and watch him repeat the motions a second time, returning with flakes of dried blood clinging to his clothes.

When he returns, he tells Murray to create a run-off path further into the cave with rocks to divert the puddles of blood further inside. They all sit at the edge, near the opening; and with the breeze, it's annoying Satin that they couldn't have waited to attack because the whole reason they came inside was to get protection from the elements.

They have no meat to cook when the evening falls, which means their meals once again consist of snack foods and nuts. And they agreed that each watch will be taken outside the Cave to keep an eye on their surroundings so that they can catch anyone who dares to come near. Satin is also relieved that she'll be able to monitor any possible weather changes and know if they need to move before it's too late. The chill that accompanies the sudden nightfall is harsh, but Satin once again finds herself thankful for the fact she has the first shift— it's less cold and she's the only one awake for and able to see the tribute to the fallen.

As expected, there are only two faces in the bulletin that night, to match the two cannons that fired mid afternoon. The boy from Three, with thin, wiry facial features that have him appearing younger than his stated sixteen. Then, the girl from Five, the dark rings under her equally dark eyes having been edited out. She looks angelic and although the fear in her eyes isn't present in her portrait, Satin has to blink back tears as she tries to avoid making eye contact with the face in the sky before it fades away behind the Capitol seal because she's sure that the eyes are following her and that they're going to haunt her dreams out of guilt.

She makes two more lines in the dusty sandstone, to add to the eleven she had already drawn previously, as a reminder for herself. The over halfway and day five is about to come to an end. Her watch is soon over, not wanting to lose out or sleep, so she wastes no time in curling back into her sleeping bag after she's shaken Silino awake.

Day Six

She's awoken in the morning to risk wind creeping into the cave and the low home of chatter, which is surprisingly between Bastian and Calamari, who don't get along at all. They're joking about the rest of the alliance, we're making their voices and repeating things they've said; and so Satin keeps her eyes shut and schools have breathing in a way that only a younger sibling with years of experience manipulating her parents to carry her to bed can. It's the best way she can think to hear their real thoughts, or whatever they're willing to divulge. It wouldn't surprise Satin to know that the others are doing the same so as to eavesdrop. It's a good way to find out where their allegiances lie and who they really want to fall first.

The creepily quiet surroundings are broken by the sneezes that Silino lets out when he can't hide his photo sensitivity any longer as the sunlight creeps through the cave opening, giving away that he was listening. But he hides it well, stretching and mumbling as he joins them in the semicircle and forcing the others to follow his lead. Satin doesn't even get the chance to hear what they would've said about her because of the interruption, which angers her. Though she's sure they'll take any opportunity to continue.

It takes them until the sun is soaring through the sky at mid-morning to be awake and organised for the day. The girls are going to source some of the edible plants that the trainer had told them about whilst the boys, except Murray whose job is to stay back and guard their shelter with orders to kill anyone who comes near, are about to head out on a hunt for some game; the richer in protein, the better. The obvious doesn't even need to be stated: any tributes who have the misfortune of bumping into them must die. No hesitation.

Most of them leave their bags with Murray to save logging them when unnecessary, but Satin removes the blanket from the clip of hers and takes it with her. She wants to be able to have access to food and water, and has gotten away with carrying it due to needing somewhere to store all the herbs they collect, though she's convinced that they're just appeasing her at this point.

The air is damp and humid as they split apart, passing the red-stained sandstone where the two fallen tributes had lay the night prior. Their boots scuff up dust clouds as they pick their way across the uneven slopes that lead them in the direction of the tree-filled clearing where they're most likely to find the plants they're looking for.

Between the burnt rocks, stubborn smashes of green cling to life, their roots thread-thin and so deep that they barely move in the wind; and leave so glossy that they look almost artificial, which would make them inedible.

Satin trails, a few pieces behind, twirling a strand of her ponytail around her finger, humming under her breath and keeps checking that her spear has been safely secured over her back as she lets her gaze wander with deliberately acted aimlessness. Whenever someone looks back at her, she fakes confusion, tilting her head at nearly every plant.  Airy questions leave her lips, shooting out queries that she already knows the answer to, such as "Didn't they say this one was poisonous?" and "Can we eat that? Are you sure?" to play the perfect ornamental tribute who's only good for her beauty with wide eyes and slow to realise jokes, accompanied with small giggles but she's really counting their finds and memorising where the best patches are growing, in case they ever needed whether that's alone or as a group.

Victoria takes the lead, her gaze cutting to satin more than once just to make sure she's following every deliberate movement she makes. And Calamari is restless in the middle of the two, darting to the sides to pull plants from the Earth with such speed that Satin is surprised she hasn't fallen off the incline completely.

Hours pass in a rhythm of find, kneel, examine and decide, dispersed with frequent short breaks to chat, drink some water and have a snack when noon steam rolls past without so much as a warning. The thick cloud cover is obstructing any chance they have at working out the time.

District One

"What is she doing?" Jupiter asks her group for friends who are clustered in the back corner of the squares main area where they watch the Games, taking full advantage of the large screens that are programmed to only show their own tributes. The recent coverage has been recaps of yesterday's deaths, including in managing viewing, and now they're watching a split screen of the two hunting groups. "I know she knows about purslane!"

"How?"

"Don't you remember when I used to eat it on the way to practice because it's free protein?"

Their group chuckles to themselves at Zeal's words as they remember how they used to find any edible plants that he could get extra protein for free. And how you would never be able to tell that he spent years doing the same practice nor that he attributes all his extra muscle to the natural sources he finds, because his frame is so lean.

"Seriously guys?" Jupiter leads, the tone almost coming out like a whine. " I just don't know or understand why Satin is acting this way."

Her best friend since they started ballet at a young age, Jupiter is more worried than she ever has been with this year's Games. Sure, she was worried when Cashmere and Gloss were in the arena a few years back but she was staying optimistic for Satin's sake; and this year the panic is getting to her, despite Paris' — their other best friend — insistence that Satin is going to be fine. But she's tougher than she appears. Paris has always been harder than the two of them, more outspoken and Holly has always found it easier to lie and keep secrets for their own advantage, especially at school. Jupiter can only hope that Satin can channel their strengths when it really matters.

"It's her tactic." Marvel says. He's not in their main friend group, the only one who isn't through dance, but they're letting him flit between their group and his own out of respect for Satin, because they've been friends the longest and she'd want them to include him. "There's no way she'd act like this otherwise."

"I bet she's hating every second of it." Paris laughs, knowing the girl inside out.

"Easily."

"I don't know why you get a say?" A voice says from behind as the figure approaches the back of the square where they're all perched. They turn to spot Maverick, Satin's boyfriend, stepping closer as he narrows his eyes at the friends, especially the male ones, just inconspicuously enough that they don't notice.

"I'm her best friend?" Marvel rebuts with his own question.

Venom drips from Maverick's voice as he fights back. "And I'm her boyfriend. I think I know her better than you do."

Marvel rolls his eyes and wants to retaliate, to bring the boy back down to earth with a quick reminder that he's known Satin since they were babies because their brothers are friends, yet her 'all knowing' boyfriend is suddenly the most intelligent man on earth after six months. The seventeen-year-old boy who sat next to Satin in English, asked for a few answers and then fell so hopelessly in supposed love that he had to ask her out at a family Solstice party. Marvel seriously dislikes him and he's sure that Maverick can tell.

But Jupiter puts her hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. "Just leave it, Marvel, it's not worth the argument. He seems stressed."

"Alright, let's just watch." Marvel concedes, refusing to give his best friend's boyfriend the satisfaction of looking at him. He turns his attention back to the split screen just as Augustus and some of his academy friends join their small group, much to Mavericks' chagrin.

"Shit." The girl from Four curses on screen as her face twists into annoyance while she stares up at the sky the difference in audio has a major majority of the square snapping their heads up intently; they're half expecting the girl to have found something or ingested something deadly or perhaps walked into a trap. But they soon realise she was referring to the weather conditions because the settling cloud cover has deepened and soon, heavy raindrops begin to fall harshly and fast. In seconds, the tribute's clothes are marked through with rainfall and the downpour is roaring.

"Back to the cave. Now!" The girl from Two barks, already starting to sling her bag over her shoulder. And her district partner says something almost identical on the other side of the screen, and the camera angles change rapidly as the two groups of tributes start to dash back to their cave; and all Panem can do is watch.

The ground looks treacherous as the rain makes the sandstone slick where they're all scrambling up the slope that they had descended hours earlier. Rain batters at the tributes so harshly that it makes Satin's friends shiver and shudder for her. The blonde has never been overly fond of rain, and they can only imagine that it must be incredibly uncomfortable to have to stay in sopping wet clothing for the foreseeable without any real way to warm up. The brutality of the rainfall has droplets streaming down their faces and plastering their hair to their heads due to the strong winds rendering their hoods useless and soaking into the plant bundles the girls had collected and scared off any wildlife that the boys might've been able to capture. The storm all but swallows the arena and sheets of rain blur the distant areas whilst it pounds loudly against the various rocks. Marvel would have laughed at the sight of the small windscreen wipers brushing rain away from the camera lenses if his friend wasn't at risk of a serious chill.

"She's faster than them." Paris says, pointing at the screen with pride at the sight of Satin pulling ahead of her allies. She doesn't even spare a glance at how the boys are faring, simply because she doesn't care what happens to them. This is the Satin they recognise – determined, resilient and a perfectionist who won't accept failure, and that includes the race up the incline. The girl who has always appeared almost untouchable in her grace and mannerisms.

The stamina from years of ballet coupled with the Academy training and the endless tips and tricks from her siblings has Satin peeling even further away as the trio dart up the mountain face as fast as they can. Her friends can't quite decipher the expressions of her allies at the showcase of her speed or whether it's a good thing that they know just how good she is with both speed and endurance. But they're confident she'll be able to spin it and attribute it to her leg length if it comes up.

"She's always been fast." Jupiter praises to no one in particular, much softer than Paris had previously, to which Augustus, Marvel and their other Academy friends agree with. This is proven by the sight on screen. It's one of her surprising skills. None of them would have initially expected her to be as fast as she is. Maverick notices too, the way she darts up the slope to reach the cave mouth, hardly faltering.

By the time the girls reach the cave, Satin has opened up a several metres gap and the arena is engulfed. The district watches on as the girls stumble inside without so much as looking over their shoulder, startling Murray with the sight of them, dripping wet, breathless and with mud streaked up to their knees. They're surprised that he didn't immediately attack.

He jumps to his feet before realising that the intruders are his allies returning. He's suddenly incredibly thankful for the orders that made him stay behind since he's the driest of them all. The girls drop their packs onto the floor alongside the bundles they collected, and all flinch when there's movement behind them, reaching for their weapons. The boys have returned, with only a small creature that will hardly satisfy the six of them for an hour. They're just as damp if not worse, and as the five tributes remove their outermost layers, they clearly wish they had spare, dry undergarments in their packs because it's their main point of conversation for the next few minutes as they search through their supplies.

Maverick's eyes flick sharply sideways as he watches all of his girlfriend's male friends at the sight of the alliance having to strip down to dry their clothes. They all cover themselves with blankets and sleeping bags as Calamari starts a fire that they can use to warm up and cook. He doesn't want anyone looking too closely at his girlfriend, especially not in a state he's yet to see her in. She's always admired, he isn't blind - he has the prettiest girlfriend in District One - but he hates how the cameras are showing so much of her and how she's allowing them to portray her this way as if these boys from other districts belonged beside her. She'd told him that she had to take part in the alliance before she'd left and he knew he should wave it off as strategy, but that would mean agreeing with Marvel; and he isn't oblivious to how the camera constantly lingered on Satin. Especially when she's close next to Silino or the boy from Two. How close she's forced to move and sit. And how she's looking back for them whenever they do something.

They know that the alliance can't and won't last but Maverick wants her to sever it as soon as possible; they all do. "Doesn't mean anything." He says, voice louder and sharper than intended because he's trying to calm himself. He didn't intend for the others to hear him, evidenced by how he unclenches his fists when heads snạp towards him and immediately tries to smooth his tone as he offers a half-arsed explanation of his outburst. "She doesn't need them."

"Of course not." Holly says lightly, locking eyes with the boy.

Maverick smiles at her, happy that one of Satin's friends finally understands his point of view, finally listening.

But then the cameras change from split screen to one lone viewpoint of the inside of the cave, and the dark lighting in the arena makes the male tributes look larger and harsher; more dangerous.

"She's safer in a group for now." Marvel argues, not looking at the other boy when he speaks. Maverick isn't Academy, and as far as Marvel is concerned his input is worthless, especially when it comes to Games-based tactics. The boy would die in the bloodbath if District One's mentors were ever stupid enough to send him. He's sure Gloss would jump at the opportunity. If there's anyone who hates Maverick more than he does, it's Gloss Nicholo who always states the boy gives him a weird feeling.

The boy scoffs, his eyes narrowing at the screen in focus. "Safe is not the word l'd use, mate. Dependent, more like, or trapped. She isn't meant to be with them."

"First of all, we aren't mates. Second of all, you have no idea how to survive an arena, so don't pretend you know what you're talking about or that you know what Satin's thinking." Marvel seethes, angrier than ever at how Satin's boyfriend is treating her by acting holler than thou. He's spouting bullshit, yet again.

"All I'm saying is that she's better than them. She—"

"He's right, man."

"Shut up, Augustus!" Maverick shouts. It startles everyone, and Marvel thinks that he's finally caught the boy out, he's finally shown his true colours and that Satin's female friends will steer her clear of the red flags. But he apologises just as fast as everyone objects and Marvel curses, making eye contact with Gus.

"She'll be fine, just watch."

Hours later, the friend group has dispersed for dinner at their respective houses whilst the alliance on screen warms up, before returning to congregate at the viewing station in the Square, managing to secure one of the areas of seating. Jupiter has invited Marvel and the rest of the Academy crew back, but to the boy's annoyance, Maverick has joined them again.

The screen flickers, dissolving from the blurry curtain of rain outside that has been the main focal point of the evening's mandatory viewing into the calmer scene inside the cave that is bathed in a thick blue of twilight.

The friends in One can't help but wonder if the view has changed because the capital citizens are getting bored of watching solo tributes shiver in the downpour and want to see something more interesting, some interaction. Which has resulted in the display.

Of the six person deep alliance, who are settled into a small circle with their shadows thrown across the walls by the faint glow of the fire.

Their shoulders tense, going stiff, and Maverick's friends shift uncomfortably beside him. They stay silent, not trying to speak to any of Satin's friends; they don't know them well enough to try and make casual conversation.

Caesar and Claudius are making their own conversation as commentary, noting how they're using the collected herbs as part of their meal; arranging piles of edible plants with calm, steady hands. Their blankets are wrapped tightly to keep out the cold and their hair is still damp and glinting in the flames. The commentators are remarking how they're smiling and how they're working together with a type of familiarity that comes only from trust. An off-handed comment about the group's chemistry has the crowd clapping and cheering with how they view their tribute chances so positively. There are even some wolf whistles from the back of the square at the suggestive nature.

Maverick feels heat crawling up the back of his neck in anger at the insinuation, muttering repetitions of the commentary ma mocking tone, that has one of he friends giving him a sidelong glance. He's seething when the boy from Four presses a strip of dried meat into Satin's hand despite her insistent refusal, her expression softer than she'd shown in days. His fists clench tight against his knees and his stomach knots. He wants to shout at the screen that she's acting but that word meant two things. First, he would be agreeing with Marvel, which he refuses to do. And secondly, if his girlfriend is going to return home a victor then he can't be having anyone tell her stories about how desperate he is to prove himself and his worth around dating her.

He swallows sharply and eyes burn on the screen ahead where the cave looks as though it's warmed immensely since they started the fire, appearing almost intimate. They share food and are huddling over the fire and close to each other as darkness folds over the rest of the arena - something that eagle-eyed Caesar doesn't miss the chance to point out. It's nearly time for the commentary teams to switch out for the night, a sign that mandatory viewing will soon be coming to an end. Maverick can't shake the image of Satin leaning close to that bloodthirsty boy from Two no matter how frequently he tries to remind himself that it's only a tactic.

"Isn't the way she anchors them remarkable, Caesar?" Claudius almost coos, his voice echoing lowly through the speakers across the square.

Satin's friends smile as the commentators suggest that she's the real leader of their alliance, repeating that she's anchoring them with the trust she's cultivated. But Maverick can't bring himself to join in their festivities. His stomach tums. Anchors are something permanent that weigh you down. He wants to be that for her, not the other tributes. He leans forward, dissecting every flicker in her expression, searching for a crack in her demeanour. Is she laughing at something the boy from Two mutters barely audible underneath Claudius Templesmith's loud mouth? Did her hand linger on Silino's too long when she leant over the boy to pass the food along? Is the camera playing tricks on him when it paints them as some twisted kind of family unit or are they really enjoying each other's presence a bit too much?

His breath hisses between his teeth as he watches, ignoring how one of his friends is trying to reassure him all six of the tributes are using each other, nothing more. But just as he tries to agree, he can't ignore the way his girlfriend is looking at them. It isn't calculating, it's soft. She had never looked at him like that before, usually quick promises and moments that he has to steal from her before she hurries off to training or before one of her siblings catches her. And maybe he's overanalysing everything but he can't push the thoughts away that she's giving the three boys in her alliance real gestures that she's never given him; and maybe it's selfish that he never wants anyone to make her feel like that ever again. When she returns, he's determined to do everything in his power to ensure she knows she's his and only his.

Just as Claudius starts to call for the end of mandatory viewing, clearly wanting nothing more than to introduce the overnight commentary teams because most of the tributes have begun sleeping for the night, there is a flicker of movement on screen.

"Hold on a moment, Claudius." Caesar enthuses, drawing back the attention of everyone in District One. He sounds excited and when both of their tributes are visibly safe, that can only mean one thing – drama. "What's this?"

The screen shows Satin, tightly cocooned in her blanket and sleeping bag, beside the boy from District Two. His gaze can be seen dropping to her lips before he shifts nearer. His shoulders brush hers and he leans closer, speaking in a low hush that the microphones can't quite catch. Satin laughs, soft, light and too airy for what is normal for her and for what is expected in the arena. Her lashes are lowered and her head tilted ever so slightly. Then, the boy from Two moves, unmistakably in the direction of her mouth.

The group of friends hold their breath in uncertainty and Maverick lurches forward as if he could stop the movement through the screen, his throat tightening and rage spiking behind his eyes. But just before their lips can touch, Satin turns her head. It's very last minute and another giggle bubbles out of her throat. His kiss lands uselessly against her cheekbone. The blonde's eyes sparkle as she maintains carelessness and feigns oblivion, acting as though she hasn't noticed what the boy had just attempted.

On screen she looks innocent, but the commentators have a field day. "Did you see that, Caesar?"

"I do think that would've been very hard to miss, Claudius. We have a little romantic tension building from our tributes from One and Two. I wonder what her siblings make of that?"

The camera zooms closer on Satin, showcasing her soft, feminine smile and the glint in her eye as she continues giggling. The frame freezes for long enough for the two commentators to over analyse their body language, positions and their facial expressions, trying to read for intentions. Anyone who has seen the Games before knows full well that by tomorrow morning the hosts will be interviewing body language experts during the slow periods, trying to scrape every bit of drama out of the moment that they can. They'll likely bring Cashmere and Gloss in for an interview as well, which Satin's friend group are sure will somehow twist the narrative to work in her favour.

"I think that might've been the most clever thing we've seen that girl do, Caesar." Claudius says teasingly. "Coy and playful, of course, but she navigated that well. That will keep all the boys on her side. I think it's all part of the natural Nicholo charm."

Maverick's fists clench so tight that his nails dig crescents into his palms, threatening to draw blood. He wants to shout at Claudius Templesmith for even suggesting such a thing. It's not charm. Yet the sound of the crowd swallows him, pushing him under the surface of their laughter and teasing commentary about their relationship. He isn't going to let her leave him. Ever.

When the Capitol seal appears again, announcing that mandatory viewing has ended, and the night commentary team have taken their places in the studio, the large screens are flicked off and the crowd begin to disperse. Maverick doesn't wait any longer before exploding.

"She should've shoved him off her." He spits, voice sharp enough to cut through the laughter of Satin's friends nearby. He's disgusted that they're excusing her behaviour, laughing about it and enabling it. He appreciates that she didn't kiss him so there is little to be mad about in that respect, but he's still angry. "Everyone saw her. She didn't even try to get away. She just giggled."

Jupiter flinches, as do some of the other girls, but Marvel and Augustus move between the group and Satin's boyfriend. Paris, however, pushes herself past and stares the boy down. "I can tell you have no idea what it's like to be a woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she did the best she could to politely reject a man; it won't have hurt his ego. She has plenty of experience in that area." She says, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know she couldn't have just shoved him off, don't be ridiculous, Maverick. Outright rejection would've put a target on her back. I know she can win but he's all-muscle and much stronger and the only other one awake. It would've been him versus her and you know how that would've gone down."

"He's bigger and stronger? So what?" The image burns his mind.

"So she had to be clever." Jupiter interrupts. "She has to keep him on her side. It's only day six and there are still ten tributes left. Playing dumb is the best way for her to keep herself alive long enough to win."

A bitter, raw laugh escapes. "Playing dumb? While he tries to kiss her? Do you think everyone is going to see strategy? No, they're going to see them flirting. The entire Capitol is laughing at me?"

At his outburst, fearing that he's going to snap completely under the pressure, Marvel and Augustus stand in front of the girls again. "Hey, man." Augustus says as gently as he can in hopes of diffusing the situation. "Step back. There's no need to be all up in their faces. They're as incapable of doing anything as you are."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Do I look like I care?" Augustus repeats, purposefully using his height to his advantage to tower over Maverick, looking down at him with a scowl and narrowed eyes. "You're intimidating the girls."

"I am not! I'm just pointing out that the whole of Panem is going to be laughing at me! Think about how stupid this makes me look?"

"Satin's the one in the arena, yet you're only thinking about how it makes you look? How selfish can you be?" Paris interrupts with a laugh. "Panem doesn't know you exist, Maverick, have you forgotten that part? No one cares about how it makes you look whilst Satin is trying to survive. Mandatory viewing is over, you can leave us alone now."

"How dare you–"

Marvel intercepts, pressing his hands onto Maverick's chest and pushing him lightly so that he takes a step away from the girl who is insistent on arguing with him. "Stop. Shut up. And fuck off. Satin's alive because of that choice. If she had snapped at him or shoved him off like you wanted then you would be watching her bleed out on those rocks instead. Is that what you want? Because I certainly don't want to watch my best friend die because she tried to protect your fragile ego. I want her to come home and if she has to make the boy from Two think she likes him back then so be it."

Silence clamps down on their small circle; the air suffocating. Maverick diverts his gaze, staring at the stones beneath their feet, his jaw twitching and trembling with his teeth bared in an attempt to chew through the rage. "She's mine." He whispers, too low for anyone to hear before storming off out of the square with his friends following close behind them without a word.

Satin's friends exchange uneasy looks until he's out of earshot; though Holly's eyes linger on his retreating frame for longer than necessary.

Jupiter breaks their silence with an awkward laugh. "Well, we should get going. I'll see you guys at practice tomorrow?"

Day Seven

The storm did not break. By the time Satin wakes the next morning after managing to somehow sleep quite late again, she's the last to rise, carefully pulling herself out of her sleeping bag to expose as little of herself as possible before re-wrapping one of the thick blankets around her frame.

The sound of the rain is hammering against their sandstone hideout, beating its fists angrily on the outer walls. It's a constant sound that might make the alliance go crazy if they have to endure this for much longer, which Satin thinks might be the Gamemakers' objective. To make one of them snap and cause some bloodshed, despite the Capitol audience likely being appeased by the weather changes. Though, camping to stay dry probably isn't helping their case. They're effectively locked in.

The cave smells of damp polyester and the faint hint of smoke from the fire and cooked meat and herbs. The sleeping bags, now laying on the floor, are slightly clammy from the night prior, but are an absolute lifesaver when it comes to retaining their heat. Satin doesn't know what they'd have done if they weren't accessible to them in the cornucopia. Freeze probably.

Before Satin can even think about eating any of the dried fruit in her pack, she knows she has to pee which means braving the rain. She pulls on her thick jacket that is still uncomfortably damp, forces her shoes on her feet and hikes the blanket up from where it covers her legs as she pushes to a stand.

The girl nudges Calamari as she passes her, nodding her head towards the cave's opening with a pleading look on her face. "Come watch my back?"

"What?"

"I need a wee..."

The girl from Four complains with a sigh and a harsh roll of her eyes, but she stands anyway and follows Satin outside. They both wince at the feeling of the rain trickling down the back of their necks, unable to stave it all away, even with their hoods up. They both want to be as quick as possible but Calamari takes the time to pee also, stating that she might as well, as the two of them watch each other's backs before rushing back into the cave and immediately re-hanging everything up to dry on the out crops of rocks to dry.

They have packs of dried fruit for their first meal of the day, a little too late to be considered breakfast, before they fall into a silence for a while to eat. But the silence doesn't last, it quickly turns to tension with no one wanting to admit to their annoyance.

"Alright," says Bastian after a while, leaning back against the wall and gently pulling Satin with him so that she has to adjust her positioning to ensure that she's covered. "We need a game or something before I start stabbing you all just to hear something besides rain."

"What kind of game?" Calamari mutters, perching on her sleeping bag, wringing out her damp braid onto the floor of the cave.

"Anything stupid." Murray suggests with a grin, trying to sound cool and tough in front of his allies. "I'll go first. Would you rather fight ten mutt-rabbits the size of a dog or one mutt-dog the size of a horse?"

Sharp laughter breaks out. "Easy," says Two's girl, smirking. "One mutt-dog. That's only one target. One slash to the throat and it's down.'

"A mutt that large could crush you before you could even raise your sword." Silino tells her matter of factly.

Bastian narrows his eyes and snorts. "I don't agree. We could crush it first."

It looks as though an argument is going to break out between them over one of the stupidest questions imaginable and so Satin makes it her current mission to distract them. She sits cross legged, her chin resting on her palm as she watches with feigned innocence. "I think I'd pick the rabbits." She says airily, eyes blinking as if she hasn't thought it through. "They'd be so fluffy and really nice to cuddle, don't you think?"

"Cuddle?" The others groan, and a few roll their eyes. Satin hopes this isn't being shown live.

"You asked." She giggles, twisting a lot of damp hair around her finger and trying to move the conversation onto another silly topic.

Every moment they're wasting underestimating her is another moment she's securing her win.

Bastian leans closer to Satin, whispering into her ear after brushing a strand away from her face. "You can cuddle with me if you want, baby? I'm sure I can warm you up."

She can only giggle again. "Maybe later when it's colder?" Satin can only hope that appeases him for now. And she breathes a sigh of relief when he nods despite having to bite back her discomfort when he winks secretly.

The day drags, still pouring with heavy rain, as they bicker and invent verbal games such as naming weapons in alphabetical order around the circle until someone forgets, listing as many district imports as possible with the carrier that they can't name anything from their own homes, and crude jokes about each other. They nibble constantly on their supplies to keep their mouth busy and their stomach as full as possible.

"Would you rather fight with nothing but a spoon or with your hands tied behind your back?" Murray asks another stupid question that is bound to cause a second argument.

"How do you even come up with these?" Victoria spits with disdain. It's obvious that she wants nothing more than to continue hunting outside.

"Just answer it." The boy manages through gritted teeth.

The group argue more, trading both about weapon weapons, their strength and how they could use the spoon to the best of their abilities. Calamari tries to argue with logic — the spoon can pass an eye but not a ribcage — but no one is listening as Bastian and Silino are arguing on the side of pure strength.

Satin tilts her head, her eyes as wide as sources, pretending to think very hard before she pipes up. "Can I sharpen the spoon first or is that cheating?"

"That would obviously be cheating." Victoria informs her.

The blonde shrugs. "Then I'll pick the hand thing. I don't like spoons."

The other five tributes look confused and stifle laughs. "You don't like... spoons?"

"No." Satin giggles. "I don't like them except for eating yoghurt."

It was so deliberately vapid that they wave her off with matters that she'd be in a fight with the cutlery herself and continue to argue amongst themselves, the five of them eating more of their food stores than is likely a good idea. But Satin stores away how quickly they are to dismiss her input."

The afternoon begins to fade into the muted colours of Twilight, creeping closer to that rapidly vanishing light and visibility that marks the nightfall proceeding the tribute to the fallen, they're bored again. As they walk to the entrance, they see how the arena has changed. Low lying areas have been drowned, apart from the glint of the cornucopia which is suspiciously untouched. The streams in the distance appear swollen with mud and sticks to replace the clear springs. Calamari curses under her breath when she spots it, knowing that water will be the next real problem because they're going to have to ration some of their bottles soon. But Satin? She knows that it will be clean again soon and when it does, they'll need water which gives her the perfect opportunity to fetch it.

Back inside the shelter a while later, someone suggests a new game of naming victors and arguing over who would win if they were to fight in another arena. It instantly evolves into a screaming match, which Satin tries to ignore.

She's successful in ignoring them until they bring up her brother.

"Gloss Nicholo or Palladium Barker?"

"Gloss." She interrupts with a smile, lifting her chin high.

"I know he's your brother darling, but do you really think he could beat Palladium Barker?" Bastian asks, more gently than he would've asked anyone else.

"Gloss would win. I know it."

"Are you—"

Silino interjects this time, with an air of superiority. "She's right, man. Palladium's good but he won twenty years ago. Gloss is much fresher and faster. He's better."

Well, at least he's got that right, Satin thinks.

"He's your mentor?" Bastian asks.

"Yeah, because that would make you biased, bro." Murray adds.

"Not officially. You saw in the meeting that he's still in training." Says Silino.

Victoria rolls her eyes. "Boring! Can we go back to the game?" She doesn't wait for an answer before she moves along to the District Four mentors. Another argument breaks out, and so Satin keeps to herself as they go through all of the other districts' most notable victors before they start comparing between them.

"Okay, so Gloss or Brutus?"

"Brutus could take him in a heartbeat." Victoria defends, voice sharper than the knives in their vests.

"No way, Brutus is slow now." Murray argues, because of course it would be the two of them to argue the most. "Gloss is—"

"Reckless." Calamari interrupts.

Bitch, Satin thinks, trying her hardest not to let her annoyance slip through on her face as people bet against her brother. She knows that the situation is completely hypothetical since there's no way that the two victors will ever have to face each other in an arena; and she's aware that none of her alliance's opinion truly matter when she's counting on them being dead in less than a week, but it's bothering her that they're all writing her brother's abilities off as nothing but luck. It's all too similar to what they're doing with her. And she can't help but think that maybe her act is part of the reason why they think Gloss isn't a competent victor but she can't switch up yet. She also certainly can't argue her case because whenever she argues, she always uses intelligence and the words that will leave her lips will be far above the IQ level they perceive her to have. If she tries to fight that Gloss is probably the most competent victor to date, given that he's the only person to successfully secure a winner in his first year mentoring, then she'll give herself away.

All that's left for her to do is bite her tongue and attempt to steer the alliance onto something else. Guilt gnaws at her as she prays that a cannon fires soon. A perfect distraction.

Putting on her most innocent voice, Satin asks, "Who's Brutus again?"

She knows exactly who Brutus is. She's met him more than once, of course, in the alliance meetings and he was more than pleasant to her, and her siblings have mentioned him in some of their stories from the previous year. She hopes that this isn't going to put him off talking to her when she's a victor; hopes that it doesn't offend him; and hopes that it doesn't sour any chance of friendship before it can really begin.

But the way the others trip over themselves, especially the Twos, to explain his victory, and how they sneer at her ignorance, is worth more than just the distraction it has provided. At least this way they aren't fighting over impossibilities.

"You've met him." Victoria says.

"Yeah." Bastian adds. "My mentor – large man. Bald. He was in all of our alliance meetings."

"Oh yeah!" Satin chirps, though she isn't sure quite how the man in question is going to take the personality traits that he was assigned. That his descriptors are large and bald. "I didn't know that was him, I watched his Games!"

"You couldn't have." Murray points out. "He won late forties, didn't he? Satin, do you know when you were born?"

The tone he's taking with her is down right derogatory as he laughs at her perceived lack of intellect, thinking that she's so witless that she can't remember her own birthday.

"Of course I do." She snarls. "Tenth of July, 49."

"Tina..." Silino says quietly with a shake of her head. It can only mean one thing: be quiet.

She takes the cue, and she notices Calamari has taken note of their interaction, glaring daggers at the blonde's district partner.

"Brutus won forty-six."

"See. There's no way you could have watched it." Murray laughs.

"Re-runs exist, moron." The girl from Two quips, and Satin is surprised that she's come to her immediate defence.

"Yeah. Don't act like you haven't beat one out over Cashmere's re-runs, Morgan." Bastian shoots back.

"I haven't!" He protests.

Gross, Satin says to herself, allowing her face to scrunch up in disgust in the mental image it paints. She doesn't want to think of anyone acting like that over her sister, despite it not being a surprise given how some of the boys act in One and how she watched the Capitol citizens reach for Cashmere when they first stepped off the train. Though, she does feel a little sorry for the boy. He thinks he seriously has a chance with Cashmere. He's going to die under the false allusion that Cashmere would be into him. He's far too young, ugly and male for that.

"Alright, alright,  let's all calm down." Silino suggests. It only serves to gain him glares. But like a true leader, he doesn't buckle under the pressure. His expression doesn't so much as falter.

It's only when they fall silent do they notice that the arena has fallen into darkness, and they're out of firewood which is no good considering that the temperature has dropped with it. They each turn on their torches, to which Satin pleads uselessness, stating that hers isn't working and resulting in Bastian playing the brave knight act by giving up his torch for her with an off handed comment that he isn't scared of the dark. That he'll protect her. The cave walls have leached cold and every breath they take turns into faint mist.

They each decide, with little to no effort in what is easily the fastest consensus they've come to in the time they've known each other, that they're going to stay indoors for the watch tonight. No one wants to brave the biting cold. It's slightly inconvenient for Satin, who wants to be able to watch the tribute to the fallen, just in case she's missed anything, but she also is fairly confident that no one has passed today since none of the alliance have mentioned hearing a cannon fire.

In no time, everyone is shivering, pulling their sleeping bags higher and spreading the blankets into a haphazard pile on the stone cold floor. A few of the sleeping bags are newly wet at the bottom, though no one can tell from what or from where the damp is seeping in. But it renders them useless, meaning that there are only four sleeping bags between the six of them. Arguments erupt immediately. They'll have to share.

"I am not freezing to death because you want space." Bastian snaps, yanking a sleeping bag towards him.

"Then don't hog all the blankets." Calamari retorts.

"We'll have to share." Silino orders.

"Fine." Calamari rolls her eyes at his bossiness, fed up with his controlling nature. She looks him up and down, realising the boy's size, before adding. "But I'm not squeezing in with you."

The laughter that follows is sharp and childish. It has far too much edge to be played off as humour, and thankfully no one tries or questions it. Each of the boys look at Satin, who sits serenely against the wall, in the middle of the argument, and pretends not to notice as the three of them angle to claim a place beside her. If she had it her way then she wouldn't be sharing at all. In fact, she'd rather sleep in the damp sleeping bag just to avoid them touching her whilst she sleeps, but she knows that frostbite is a real danger and she doesn't want to risk it.

Bastian insists that she'll be warmer with him, which Satin dismisses as an improbability considering that he's the smallest of the boys in the alliance. Silino claims that she'll be safer next to him, given that they're partners and he's the one with the most vested interest in her survival. Murray mutters that it makes sense to pair evenly to distribute heat; though Satin doesn't know how pairing evenly would result in him being rewarded with her. Their voices overlapped as they cut each other off in a petty, hungry competition.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Victoria complains. "We aren't ogres, you know."

Satin suddenly realises that this might diminish the trust that the girls have in her, and might break them away from the plan. She needs that trust. In order to maintain it, she voices her opinion. "Yeah guys, I'm getting cold. Please can someone just pick before we all freeze to death."

That seems to push the boys into an agreement to hurry, but they still can't seem to decide who is sharing with who.

Eventually, it's Calamari who makes the choice. "I'm fed up with waiting. We'll share by district. It makes the most sense."

Murray huffs, and Bastian sighs defeated, but they reluctantly agree, settling into the sleeping bags beside their district partners. Watches are then delegated to districts for tonight only, given that it makes more sense when they're each going to be in physical contact, which means that the watches have to be slightly longer but at least they have a little bit of company for the few hours they have to stay awake. Satin once again claims first watch for her and Silino as she unzips the sleeping bag and slides herself in beside him.

She's already not looking forward to this night's sleep because with both of their heights, the two of them hardly have any room to manoeuvre or adjust themselves and it's incredibly difficult to get comfortable. Maybe this is one of the scenarios where her height is a disadvantage. She doubts that she's going to get any sleep.

The other pairs have managed to doze off as the pair from One talk aimlessly through their hours of watch. They have to shift every so often to keep comfortable until they start to get drowsy. Silino falls asleep first, and Satin sighs. She's tired and she was unable to see the anthem when it played a short while earlier, but she needs to wake the Twos before she can shut her eyes.

She gets into position, her hand over Bastian's shoulder to shake him awake when a cannon sounds.

Fourteen.

That's another tribute lost, and if she had to guess then she would say that they probably have fallen victim to the elements or some kind of infection, although she guesses that she'll never know until she asks her siblings on the outside. Guilt wraps her for a split second but she manages to push it away with the reminder that she's one step closer to going home; the only thing that is keeping her going, especially in her least favoured weather conditions. And the tribute passed after the anthem which means that their face will be in the sky tomorrow night, making them easier to track.

She looks over at her allies. No one has stirred. In their sleep no one heard the cannon, which means it's a death that she can easily lie about if she's confronted on how many people are left, which she expects will soon come.

It's the old District One Academy proverb: if a cannon doesn't fire, does a tribute really die?

And she intends to use it to her advantage.

Gently, she shakes Bastian and Victoria awake, telling them that it's their turn for watch and hands them the torches that she made sure to keep on so as to drain the batteries before getting comfortable in her own sleeping bag.

A fleeting thought crosses her mind that the pair from Two have the perfect opportunity to eliminate the majority of their alliance, but she deduces from the way they're still shivering that they're not going to bother tonight. And so, as she soothes herself to a sleep, half on top of Silino and her head resting on his bicep that is stretched behind his head, all she can think about is what her boyfriend is going to have to say about this when she returns.

Chapter Text

Day Eight; The Capitol

“But this isn’t just another tribute,” Cashmere argues, only just managing to keep her voice steady and calm at the blatant disrespect that the sponsors have just thrown her way. Somehow, the men in the room are still hooked on every word, entranced by her deliberate soft power. “This is our baby sister, and you’ve all seen how much she means to us. I’m not going to let her become a casualty of the rain. Helping us will help the entire alliance, regardless of who you’re supporting and what I say. I’m sure that Enobaria will tell you the same thing, as will Mags.”

“Shouldn’t you be deferring duties to Regina?” One sponsor asks. “I was under the impression that you’re still in training.”

“I am.” Cashmere bites back. “But like I just said, this is my baby sister. I am not in the business of sitting idly and watching her struggle.”

The central area of the sponsor room falls silent and all of the nearby eyes fall on Cashmere— the woman is thankful that her mentors aren’t here to witness this display because she knows they’ll bench her and that would mean she has less control over what Satin has access to. She’s never been more thankful that she has the ability to help. Suddenly she understands why Gloss was so stressed two years ago, it’s hell trying to compose yourself in the presence of sponsors when all you want is to scream and find a way to break into the arena. To kill them all herself.

In the almost two years since she’s become a victor and the one year of mentoring practice – that Regina had begrudgingly spoken her through; though most of it, she and Gloss had to learn on the job – she has learnt how to deal with the Capitol’s citizens, that sometimes you have to be sharp and mean despite the poise they expect of you. Everyone watches Cashmere closely, how she commands attention without truly trying. Men’s eyes are trained on her figure, she isn’t oblivious to how they’re staring at how the luxurious white silk of her dress catches the light as she moves and how her skin seems smoother than ever, almost flawless, as she teases them with steps back and forward. She hates having to use her looks to her advantage with men, but if it’s what it takes to gain help for Satin’s alliance then she’s more than willing to do it.

Gloss stands quietly behind her, his usually vibrant green eyes dark with intensity and calculation as he tries to assess the sponsor’s emotions by reading their faces. He’s poised also, precise with his movements and measured gestures. Now that they’re responsible for securing sponsors, he’s made sure that he’s combed his hair neatly and is wearing a tailored suit – no tie – to make him look as professional as possible. The same visual tactics worked when gaining Cashmere money so there is no harm in trying it again. He’s been through this before, the sharp political undercurrent and how the sponsors treat the tributes like commodities to use and discard. Tried and tested methods are the best choice to enable Satin to come home.

He also knows he needs to watch Cashmere as carefully as he can without appearing overbearing; he doesn’t want her risking her own safety or the sponsors getting the wrong idea, but she’s only telling them the truth. And she’s telling them much needed, harsh truths at that, even if she is bordering on rudeness that he’ll have to likely fix later.

And when Cashmere speaks again, her gaze is hyperfocused on one particular group of sponsors that she knows she has a good chance of winning over, and the threat beneath her cold words is barely contained. “I’m perfectly capable of securing sponsorship for my own sister without Regina’s assistance, thank you very much. But if you don’t think so, I understand just fine. I’m sure someone else will believe in me.”

“Now hold on a second, Cashmere.” One of the members of that small group that the woman had targeted says, uses her name on purpose to catch her attention. To seem more receptive. “It’s not that we don’t have faith in your abilities as a mentor. It’s just that and I don’t mean to be impolite, I pity your sister in that environment and I pity the two of you for having to prepare to lose her.”

Despite her poise, that knocks Cashmere back for a moment as it dawns on her for the first time that her influence, that Gloss’ influence, might not be enough to save Satin. That her brainless blonde act, despite keeping her from the imminent danger of her allies’ violence, might not be able to convince sponsors of her winning abilities. It’s a fact that Cashmere never considered and it terrifies her. But she can’t allow for the sponsors to notice her apprehension, for they’ll eat her alive, and so she screws her head back on and narrows her gaze on the man who spoke up. “We aren’t preparing to lose her. Satin has a much more detailed plan than we did. Don’t pity us and certainly don’t pity her. She doesn’t need your pity. She needs a way to survive the cold. I can promise you it’ll be worth your while.”

To the citizen’s surprise, Gloss’ words came out much softer than his sister’s since he’s usually assertive with what he wants from them. However, his tone is no less urgent. “The two days of torrential downpour has the entire alliance shivering, soaking wet, and likely at serious risk of hypothermia. We need a way to get them dry and keep her warm.” Gloss’ eyes narrow slightly as he stares at the sponsors, daring them to press him. “I know it’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary.”

One sponsor, a heavily bejewelled woman with a garish blue gown fit with feathers whose name isn’t on their sheet of approved sponsors, shifts in her seat with a tilt of her head and a loud click of her tongue. When she coos in response, she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Ah, how unfortunate, yet I’m not sure what exactly you expect from us. Tributes are supposed to suffer, aren’t they? You indeed did.”

Cashmere’s eyes flicker with anger as she tries to hold it back the best she can. This woman, who is the furthest thing from relevant – Cashmere has never ever heard her name uttered before – is driving her up the wall with her purposefully ignorant and antagonistic comments. But she is not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing it bothered her and so smiles. It’s cold and calculating. “We aren’t looking for luxuries.” She gestures toward Gloss, repeating his words. “We’re after necessities to help the alliance get to the end of this. They need to be able to move and act, which they won’t be able to do if they’re frozen solid from the cold rain. We have a short window of opportunity before someone else snatches the chance, and you will help us.”

It’s demanding and both siblings know it, but they’re fairly confident that it will pay off. Confidence is a respected trait in the Capitol and the two of them have it in droves. The bejewelled woman snorts, totally unladylike. “And what’s in it for me? I was tricked into sponsoring District Five last year and look where that got me. Down on my returns.”

“Well that’s your own fault for choosing District Five, isn’t it?” Cashmere hits back at the woman at the same time in which Gloss says, “This is different.”

The older brother shoots a look at his sister out of the corner of his eye, non-verbally telling her eye for the prejudice seeping into the comment even though he’s aware it’s sometimes necessary when liaising with sponsors and clients. The air of superiority often does well for them, driving the perceived wedge further between the districts and securing District One and Two sponsors. Ordinarily, Gloss would feel guilty about possibly depriving the other mentors but this year, all bets are off the table. It’s his sister’s life on the line again, and he’d be damned if he lets her down. “We’re in a much better position to offer you security than District Five. The mentors are quietly confident that one tribute from this alliance can win but I’m not too proud to admit we need help.”

“I asked what’s in it for me?” The woman repeats, looking at who can only be her partner, in a matching blue outfit. “For us?”

Gloss’ smile is thin, he wants nothing less than to be talking to this group of morons, the live arena playthrough is still on screen and he’d much rather be watching his baby sister, just in case. “You get the satisfaction of sponsoring the winning tribute. We aren’t here to beg for your charity, we have plenty of others willing to make us offers since we know the president rewards those who back the right tribute. However, if you were to accept, we can offer you something much more valuable.”

Another sponsor, an older gentleman in a perfectly tailored white suit to match his quiffed hair, leans forward with intrigue, his voice low and smooth. “And what exactly is it that you’re asking for, Mr Nicholo? More blankets? Socks? Gloves? Another fire starter? They’ll have to move if they want us to care for them. You can promise this, yes? It’s beginning to get a little tedious.”

Shit, shit, shit, Cashmere curses internally. If the citizens are starting to find the Games boring then that can only be negative. Muttations are likely to occur. That’s the last thing Satin needs or that Cashmere wants to see. She needs to fix it.

Gloss immediately backs her up. He gives a single nod. “Exactly. As Cashmere said, we’ll do our best to encourage them to group, and I can assure you that Brutus will do the same once I inform him of your concerns. All we’re asking for is something as simple as a foil survival blanket or a portable heater – battery powered, of course. Nothing extravagant, just enough to get the alliance warm, dry and moving.”

The room is silent for a moment as the weight of the request hangs in the air. Gloss can’t help but begin to get frustrated at how long they’re taking to agree. The items aren’t of high value, especially when compared to what Finnick Odair was gifted last year and they’d be sponsoring the favourite; in their eyes. It’s an almost guaranteed winner. He has no idea what could possibly be holding them back, and he opens his mouth to question their decision but is effectively silenced by Cashmere’s elbow digging into his ribcage as she gestures forward. One man, thin with a sharp, beak-like nose, then finally speaks up. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Warmth won’t do them any good if our eyes aren’t on them.”

Cashmere has to fight back the groan that threatens her throat. Have we not just told them that we’ll fix this? She questions, thinking about how these morons ever passed any standardised test with the listening skills of brick walls. Groaning would be impolite, no matter how much she wishes to do it. It takes all her control to fix her tone as she snaps at them. “They need your attention in order to get through the storm. Don’t ever doubt my abilities in keeping eyes on her again.”

The use of the pronoun is a slip of the tongue, a total accident, but Cashmere is unbothered. This way at least the sponsors won’t have any doubts regarding who she’s backing, and then when Satin does win, she can come and rub it in their faces. Cashmere lives for an ‘I told you so’ moment.

There is a huff of amusement from the woman decked in all the ugly jewels and Cashmere worries for a second that she might have pushed it too far – being seen as rude would be very detrimental to her reputation, and although she would welcome that with open arms from next year, she doesn’t want to endanger Satin by pissing people off. She has no idea if these sponsors are close to the president.

Subtle pressure spreads through the warm air, and Gloss knows he has to be the one to break it. That although Cashmere is correct, he has to save their skin by apologising. “Please excuse my sister.” His expression shifts into something fabricated to mimic earnestly, thankful that he’s never dealt with these sponsors before and so they’re unable to see through it. “You have to understand for a moment how Cashmere is feeling. I can tell you that it’s horrible because this is the second time I’m feeling this way, but it’s different for ‘Mere. This is our baby sister and Cashmere and Satin have always been inseparable. We might all be close but if we were to lose Satin then it would feel like Cashmere has lost half of herself. I’m sure you don’t want that?”

As Gloss pauses, he hears murmurs of agreement from the sponsor nearest and he feels relieved that maybe their social standing is doing some good. They’re believing him; two of the women are even smiling at him. He wonders if making himself cry would be a step too far, as his voice softens and he continues. “I can only apologise if she was too harsh. They come from her fear, I promise she was not intending to be disrespectful. She’s just stressed.”

“Stressed.” One middle-aged man repeats, looking Cashmere up and down predatorily before making an off-handed comment about relieving her stress that has Gloss wishing he could do something about the creep. Something incredibly violent.

“Yes. Stressed that she won’t be able to protect the only person who’s ever truly needed her. You have to understand that there isn’t much we can do anymore, not from back here, but we have to try our hardest. It’s why we’re so insistent; out of fear that we’ll have to watch her pass before our eyes.”

Three of the younger female sponsors are blubbering now, one of them reaching out to grasp Cashmere’s hand in her own and run her fingertips along the back soothingly. It’s impossible not to think of how truly compassionate they have the potential to be, if they weren’t placing monetary value on children’s deaths. Even the grossly bejewelled woman looks touched by the sentiment.

Cashmere feels a nudge to her side and lifts her bowed head to catch her brother’s expectant gaze. She notes the tearful expressions of the sponsors and immediately recognises it for what it is – an easy sure fire way to secure the equipment Satin needs. If she has to play the worried card until the Games are over then she will, and she’ll make sure these sponsors tell their friends about their bond. It’s a bonus that it gives her a free pass to be rude this year so long as she apologises later. “I’m sorry for my rudeness, really. I just want to help her. I can’t stand the thought of losing her. And–”

She’s lucky that no one catches her wince when she takes her brother harshly jabbing at her side again as her sign to stop talking, bowing her head to appear remorseful.

They wait for what feels like an eternity with their heads lowered, allowing the fraudulent sob story to really sink deep into the sponsors, until the sharp-nosed man gives a slow nod in agreement. “Fine,” he says, voice almost carrying like a hiss. “We’ll provide you with enough to cover the cost of three small heaters, one per district, and two aluminium survival blankets per tribute. But remember, you’ll owe us. Each of us will require separate favours in exchange.”

Gloss doesn’t flinch. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. You knew where to find us. All requests go through President Snow.”

Cashmere’s lips curl into a beaming smile, her voice smoother than butter now that the deal is secured. “Thank you.”

As the sponsors begin to murmur amongst themselves once again, no longer interested in what the siblings have to offer and effectively shooing them from the table, Gloss steps away. His hand rests lightly on Cashmere’s shoulder to pull her along with him. She doesn’t look at him immediately, her gaze still fixed on the sponsors as she’s dragged out of the sponsor room and into the hallway that connects them to the mentor viewing room.

Eager to return to watching Satin intently, Cashmere makes a move towards the double doors of the mentor room but is shocked by her brother’s hand wrapping around her bicep to stop her. “Let go of me.”

He stares at her, then shakes his head disapprovingly. “You can’t threaten the sponsors, do you understand me?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Only because I was there to cover for you.” He retorts, glaring at her. “What the hell were you thinking? Without me, you would be in so much trouble right now.”

“I was thinking that Satin needs sponsors and those morons were taking too long to think that I just wanted them to do something! Anything is better than watching and waiting!” Cashmere snaps, ripping her arms from Gloss’ grip. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Gloss repeats in disbelief. “What’s wrong is that you could have ended up dead or on some hitlist! I know you’re stressed but you can’t be lashing out at the sponsors.” He drags a hand down his face, beginning to pace a tight line in front of his sister as if he’s a caged predator, which he supposes he is, when he thinks about it for longer than a few seconds. “Don’t let yourself think that these people care about you? Do you seriously think that they give a shit about us? About Satin? They don’t care, Cashmere. If you piss them off they’ll have you killed without a second thought and I won’t be able to stop it.’

“I know they don’t care. I might be younger than you but I’m not stupid. Snow can make my death look like an accident for all I care, I’m doing this for Satin. If the sponsors won’t move fast enough then I’ll push them until they do.”

Gloss stops pacing. He stares at her, watching the same echo of recklessness she displayed two years ago that he’d had to convince everyone was just her attempt at appearing resilient. The same irresponsibility that their mother had to drill out of him before he volunteered yet couldn’t completely squeeze out of Cashmere. His jaw clenches. “You think I don’t want the same thing? Do you seriously think that I wouldn’t accept all of your clients as well as my own if that meant that Satin could live? I would. But insulting them all isn’t the way forward, no matter how much we might want to. That’s suicide, Mere. Satin doesn’t need a martyr as a mentor, she needs her sister alive.”

The fight in Cashmere’s posture falters and the little crescents of pain that she’s digging into her palms finally work at grounding her. “Alive,” she repeats bitterly. “Me staying alive doesn’t mean anything if she doesn’t come home. We shouldn’t have let her do this.”

Gloss takes a step closer. "I know we shouldn't but there's not much else we can do is there?”

"I know that," she hisses. "You don't have to tell me these things. I'm not thick"

Her brother rolls his eyes, knowing full well that it’s going to piss her off but he can’t stop himself from doing it. "I’m not saying you’re stupid, Cashmere. l've never said that. All I'm asking is that you don't force the sponsors' hand by insulting them. That will get us nowhere.”

"I get it."

"Do you?”

"Yes. I get it." Cashmere shouts back her repetition. “You’re two years older than me. Don't start acting like you're my dad.”

“And what would dad say?"

"I don't fucking know, maybe that you're being a douche about it.”

“I'm not." The older sibling asserts. "I’m just warning you about it because -"

Cashmere knows it's childish but she sticks her fingers in her ears and chants, "Blah, blah, blah.”

"Cashmere don't be a fucking child." Gloss spits angrily. "I don't want to fight with you about this and I’m not trying to be an asshole but I— fucking listen to me!"

"Sorry I can't hear you over your ego." Cashmere says with a nonchalant shrug, refusing to look at him until he grabs her wrists and pulls them away from her ears forcefully. "Ow! You aren't better than me because you won a year earlier.”

"That didn't hurt." He tells her. Even if it did, it might help hit some sense into her despite that not being his intention. He groans. "Listen. I'm not saying I'm better than you, not at all. You were excellent last year and you're probably more useful in reminding the sponsor of who they could lose with how much you and Satin look alike. I just want you to be careful, alright? We have to keep the sponsors on our side to nap Satin.”

"Fine. I got it the first time." She retaliates. But she isn't finished being childish. "I don't know why it matters so much. I guess you'll look like a better mentor if I behave, right? Is that—”

"Because I can't lose either of you!" Gloss shouts, interrupting his sister. He doesn't care if anyone can hear him; if shouting is going to get Cashmere to listen then he’ll shout.

Cashmere is dumbfounded. Of course she's thought that she's as important to Gloss as Satin is since he cared just as much during her time in the arena, but hearing him say that out loud hits her like a freight train. He truly thinks her actions are that dangerous. "Gloss...."

"No, let me talk this time." He says, meeting her gaze. “If you continue being this self destructive then you will get yourself killed, Cashmere. And if you're not here when Satin comes out, I don't know what we'll do. I'm not trying to be a douche, I'm trying to look out for you. Now, I don't mean to snap and I don't want to fight but you're my little sister. We need to work together.”

The doors to the mentor room swoosh as they edge open and draw the attention of the siblings. They're the only ones in the hallway but a head of curly bronze hour peeks between the doors, sending them an uneasy smile.

"Umm… guys?” Finnick says nervously, not. immediately noticing that they've already taken note of his sudden appearance. "Mags sent me out to tell you that we can all hear you, and that you should probably come in before your official mentors get here if you don't want to be in trouble.”

They have no idea how long they've been in the hallway or how long they've been away from the screen; they know they need to be watching the live feed again. Therefore all they're able to do is nod and follow the newest victor back into their viewing area. "Thanks, Finnick."

As they walk behind the fifteen year old, Gloss turns to Cashmere. "I was harsh. I'm sorry.”

Cashmere exhales heavily and drops slightly further behind. She shakes her head and wipes tears that she didn't realise had begun to fall with the back of her hand. So was I. I'm sorry too. It's just— you know I don't like being treated like a child, even if I act like it sometimes.”

"I know." Gloss says, apologising again as he smiles at his sister. His voice drops in volume, not wanting to expose her misdemeanours to the other victors that might be listening. "But you can't threaten the sponsors anymore, you know that, right?”

"I know. "

"And if, when, Snow pulls you into a meeting, it’s probably easier just to admit to it, but make sure you tell him it was from the stress and that you won't do it again."

"I will." Cashmere confirms, and if anyone else had said those words with that much conviction then they'd have easily believed she was agreeing.

But Gloss knows his sister and he recognises the fear that flickered in her eyes for a split second. He understands it too, being called into a meeting with Snow is terrifying since you never know what is going to come out of it. They're going to have to work their hardest to ensure that Satin doesn't experience those same emotions. But as much as he's thinking of his baby sister for the majority of his current moments, it's important that he considers Cashmere's feelings too. He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"What?" She questions when she notices him looking. "I’ll tell him it was the stress so it shuts you up but I’m also going to tell him that some of his sponsors work too slow to be any good."

Gloss smiles as they reach the door. He knows that's the closest he's going to get to a promise, from Cashmere, and it will have to do. He hopes that Snow appreciates the honesty. Thoughts of ways that he can work mentions of Cashmere's positive traits into conversions with his next high profile clients come to mind, but he decides not to comment on it as they reach their station.

"You alright?" Enobana asks cashmere from the monitor one desk over when they sit down. She doesn't have to say the words for everyone to know she's asking because of how intense their Screaming match must have seemed.

However, Cashmere brushes it off like a professional. "We're fine," she says as she reads the sticky note on her monitor, following the steps that bring up the sponsor input screen before typing various codes in. “We managed to secure some supplies to dry them off and keep them all warm for a while.”

The mentors from Two and Four thank them, both surprised and impressed with how they’ve managed to convince the sponsors to give such a gift on the eighth day when the majority of the tribute pool is likely to be wanting exactly the same thing. Showering of praises that Cashmere barely hears continues, typing more details into the monitor including the individual bank details of each sponsor and the items that they’ve promised to splurge on, splitting the cost and pressing send. Her first official secured sponsor gift and she’s managed to type a note that will help the alliance. Then, the chime of the parachute rings in their ears and they all pay close attention to how they’re going to receive it.

The Arena

A faint tinkling sound coming from outside the cave’s mouth breaks the alliance out of their conversation and all six of them snap their heads to face the noise. They each recognise what that sound is; they’ve watched enough of the Games to know that they’re hearing the sound of a parachute delivering their first sponsor gift.

The group of six all glance at each other from within their sleeping bags; no one has wanted to expose themselves to the cold outside despite being up for a while. They can no longer hear the rain against the cave walls, which is a good thing, but the icy chill still lingers. Everyone is expecting someone else to move but Satin has a fear that another tribute is going to sweep in and steal whatever they’ve been gifted if they don’t hurry up.

“I’ll get it!” She chirps as she stands. She ignores Silino’s whines as she unzips the sleeping bag they’re sharing, wraps a blanket around her middle to guard her legs and treads carefully to the mouth of the cave.

The rocks are wet beneath her feet and she has to avoid dramatically squealing when a particularly gross squelching noise comes from beneath her toes. And she refuses to look down. She refuses to acknowledge whatever she just stopped on besides recognising that she’s going to need to clean the soles soon.

As expected, resting on the rocks just outside is a silver parachute, connected to a rather large metal casing. It’s much bigger than Satin anticipated it being, and she suspects the weight might reflect that. Printed on the side, Satin spots the Capitol’s seal as to be expected but as she crouches closer, bracing to lift the parcel. She spies the emotion of District One beside it, much smaller and harder to notice, and a neatly folded square note.

Satin sneaks a look over her shoulder to make sure no one has followed her out before silently unfolds the note, careful not to rip the corner.

It’s from her sister.

She leans her entire body over the note to shield it from the cameras’ prying lenses as she reads. Cashmere has clearly typed in code, because the message itself makes no sense, until she takes notice of how the first letters of several words are capitalised as if trying to signal something to the only person who will understand her markings – Satin. She squints at the words to make sense of the letters.

M-O-V-E-N-O-W

Move, she repeats in her head after rearranging the letter. Move now. That’s her sister telling her that they need to get out of this cave so as to appease the Capitol and not cause natural disasters or muttations. As she re-folds the note for the others to uncover, Satin knows that she’ll have to find a way to get them all up before it kills her. Though she doesn’t suspect that it’ll be too difficult with how restless they’ve all become, especially the Twos.

“Satin?” She hears her district partner call out for her. “What’s going on?”

“Everything alright, babe?” Bastian adds, to which gains him groans and sputters and what sounds like a slap.

“Yeah! I’m okay.” Satin calls back. “it ‘s just that it looks heavy. But I’ve got it.”

She bends at the waist to spread the weight of the package and lifts it into her arms. It’s lighter than she expected it to be. It’s remarkably easy to carry but she fakes a grunt as she paces back, hearing heavy footsteps coming to meet her in the mouth of the cave.

Bastian all but snatches the parcel from her arms when he meets her, taking it back into the cave and leaving Satin grateful that she’s already read the note because she isn’t confident she’ll ever see it again with how careless he’s being.

“Who’s it from?” Victoria asks as the pair scurry to sit down again, barely waiting for them to settle before she tears the seal and note from the parcel. She reads it through once, tracing her eyes over it. Then again and again. After her fourth attempt her head snaps up to look at her blonde ally. “Have you read this? Whatever Cashmere has said makes absolutely no sense.”

Satin shakes her head and the girl from Two folds the note into a hovercraft and glides it across with the demand to read it. She fakes reading, already having committed it to memory and then meets her pointed stare. “It makes sense to me.”

“It does? How?”

“Because I grew up with Cashmere, silly! I know what she means when she says things.” Satin chirps with a wide smile. She knows that she can’t give away the meaning because contrary to popular belief, she isn’t that dumb. She knows the mentors can’t give tips or direction via their notes. “It says that our mentors are getting bored of watching us do nothing in the cave. I think we should move.”

“Why move when the weather is taking the competition out for us?” Murray comments, grinning to himself.

“Because!”

“Because what, Satin?”

She has no idea where this boy has got the audacity from all of a sudden but she wants to smack it straight off his face.

Thankfully, Silino speaks for her, preventing her from going off on the moron. “No, she has a point, Murray. If the mentors are getting bored then the rest of the Capitol probably are too.”

Everyone thinks about it for a second, trying to non-verbally reach a decision as they look around at their clothes, still hanging on spikes of rock. The layers appear to have dried but just by glancing at them, the group can tell that they’re going to feel like ice when they first put them on against their skin. They’re all dreading it, wanting to suggest not moving until they’ve warmed up the clothes until Calamari makes a suggestion of her own. “Shouldn’t we open the package?”

It’s as if they’d forgotten all about the giant gift for a moment before they all snap back into sense, curse, and then scramble to be the first to open it; eager to see what life-saving measures are inside.

Someone presses the circular button on the front of the metal container with slightly numb fingers and the group, all crowded around tightly, gasp when they spot the items inside. Three portable space heaters blink to life with a low-sounding hum the moment the obstruction is removed. They lift them out, distributing them evenly between the districts since that was likely what their mentor intended. The heaters have dials on one side, and battery windows on the other which signals that they’re reusable if the tributes are willing to sacrifice torchlight for warmth.

“We’re sharing these.” Silino says. His voice carries his leader’s authority. “If it runs out because you can’t decide on when to turn it off? Tough. If you leave it behind? Tough. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Bastian mocks a salute. It’s argumentative but no one can be bothered to care since they’ve been given a new source of warmth, ready to move onwards. They use the heaters to dry their clothes and boots, sharing the best they can before grabbing their packs.

“Uh guys…” Satin calls as she trails slightly behind the others on their journey back into the open air. She’s level with the parachute container and when she moves to pick it up again, she notices a selection of small silver pouches, each no bigger than her hand. They’re a perfect colour match to the container and almost embedded inside, so it’s no surprise they missed them at first glance. She lifts one in the air above her. “There’s more in here.”

“We can’t use the container, Satin. Just leave it.” Murray complains nodding his head at the entrance from the back of the group – other than Satin.

Arsehole, she thinks, cursing him under her breath. Then in a fit of rage and possibly a deterioration of her ability to deal with this boy’s extortionate ego, she launches the lightweight pouch at the back of the boy’s head.

It makes perfect contact with his crown and his hands leave his weapons as he hastily pulls him to cover the point of impact. He shouts as if he’s expecting to be bleeding, which alerts the others to events. Satin anticipates that someone would throw a weapon in retaliation, and so, to avoid it, she drops to her knees, pretending to be picking up the container.

“What, bro?” Bastian grumbles in response to Murray’s dramatics.

The boy from Four, who never threw up anything back, glances at Satin and then points at the pouch on the floor. “Satin threw that at me! It hit the back of my head.”

“I threw it to you.” Satin rebuttals when all eyes turn to her. “I told you to catch.”

Calamari’s expression turns suspicious, though it’s unclear if she’s thinking that this is where Satin is going to try and bring their plan to action. She says, “We didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh!” The blonde giggles. “Maybe I said it in my head. Sorry, Murray.”

Murray nods, still rubbing at the back of his head through his hood. He accepts the apology and the boys try to move on, but thankfully Victoria is too stubborn to brush off the pouch because she crouches down to examine it.

“Hold on. Satin was right. There is more in the sponsor gift.” She says before turning to her ally from One. “How many of these are in there?”

“Twelve. I counted them twice. What’s that? Two each?” More giggles leave. Satin’s mouth as she holds a precariously balanced stack of silver.

“Yes.” Victoria rolls her eyes, holding her hands out in expectation. “Pass them over.”

“Okay! Catch!” Satin smiles before throwing the pouches at all of her allies two at a time.

They each examine the small bundle, noticing the zip and carabiners. All they wonder is what exactly they’ve been given, clipping one each to the straps before unzipping the second. Tugging the attached flap simultaneously sends a crinkle of silver aluminium spilling out in all directions. A bright reflective silver survival blanket, wide enough to wrap around their frames and long enough to reach their feet, escapes the pouch.

“What is it?” Murray asks.

“A survival blanket. It keeps the cold out and retains your body heat.” Silino tells him, pulling his blanket around himself and securing it with velcro before gently shoving the others out with the instruction to put their blankets on too. They’ll stand out like sore thumbs with how reflective they are but no one can quite bring themselves to care. They’re warm and dry for the first time in days.

“Thank you, Cashmere.” Satin says sweetly whilst staring up at the sky.

District Two

The day’s mandatory viewing is signalled at midday and the District Two Academy falls into immediate order. Every teenager inside the steel building finishes their repetition, whether that be throw or swing or deadlift and come to halt, forming orderly rows on the floor. It’s been drilled into them ever since they first started here, many as young as five or six, and has only gotten stricter as they’ve grown up. Each year group sits with each other, organised by reaping age, and Cato is no exception.

He gravitates towards his friends, finding them at the nearby stations without a second thought. He’s only focusing on his strength at the moment because he wasn’t joking when he told his brother that he refuses to train weapons until Brutus and Enobaria return to assist them. Thankfully, this only makes it easier for him to locate them, and the group all sit in a neat row beside the others in their year, annoyingly in view of the trainers. Everyone directs their attention to the screen.

Caesar and Claudius do their usual recap of the night’s morning’s events, where they learn that the main alliance, six deep with career tributes, was gifted with a way to warm up, courtesy of Cashmere, and that the female tribute from Eight passed due to presumed dehydration. They’re now in the crux of the eight day and only ten tributes remain.

When the commentators fade out to reveal the tributes, Cato isn’t surprised that a now dry Bastian is leading the group with the giant boy from One. The girls are at the back of the pack, evidenced by the sound of the faint giggles and the infrequent sigh.

“I hate her guts.” He hears his training partner, Clio, say from beside him. “Hurry up and die, you self-centered bit–”

“Clio.” Evander, Cato’s best friend, warns, his eyes flicking between her and Victoria’s group of friends only a few rows ahead.

“What?” She replies, cocking her head to one side and glaring daggers into the back of the friends’ skulls. “It’s no secret that we all hate her. Besides, what are they going to do, attack me?”

“They might…” Octavia, another of their friends, says with slight worry.

“They won’t.” Clio laughs in assurance. “None of them would dare attack me, especially not with Cato right there. We’re the best they’ve had since Enobaria. They aren’t going to risk that.”

Amara, the third girl in their friend group laughs. “She’s right.”

“Unbelievable.” Ajax, the second of Cato’s best friends, mutters, though no one is really going to dispute that fact. They are the best, the most likely to be put forward by the trainers as the volunteers next year, or the following. The most likely to win, too. Enobaria had mentioned that they were considering splitting up their partnership and entering them both separately.

“Can we all just watch?” Cato presses.

His friends nudge him, and Archer, who purposefully sits behind them for reasons like this, prods the space between his shoulders until he shivers before learning forward and booming into Cato’s ear. “Ah yes, you want to listen to your girlfriend… man, she isn’t even talking.”

“Shut up, Archer.” Cato huffs, flicking his friend’s forehead before returning his gaze back to the screen that shows the alliance walking back down hill in hopes of reaching the cornucopia again, though they must have missed the reason why.

The six of them stand out massively from the rest of the environment, dressed in their silver survival wraps to help fend off the cold that makes them look almost comical when the feed zooms out. So much so that many of Two’s Academy kids laugh at them. But all Cato can think about is his tactics – how the temperature might mean next year’s arena will be one the warmer side of moderate and then sixty-eight will likely be extreme. And how it’s remarkably stupid that none of the group checked their pack for extra socks and gloves before they left the cornucopia.

Mandatory viewing seems to drag as they have to watch hours of the endless commentary from Caesar and Claudius as the alliance descend the looming mountains back to the flat plain below. It’s a wonder that the men haven’t run out of things to talk about, though Cato isn’t at all surprised because they never do; they have a talent for refusing to shut up.

The six of them are almost down on flat land when a loud snapping sound clatter with the speakers followed by a deep guttural screen of pain that silences the entire Academy. Everyone is laser focused on the large screen as they watch the alliance’s heads snap towards the sound.

The boy from Four’s face lights up with glee. “I’ve got someone!”

“What?”

“I’ve caught someone in the traps I laid a few days ago.” He repeats, turning and running over the uneven rocky terrain; he moves diagonally over and it’s a miracle that he doesn’t break an ankle. He backs the others to follow him with an excited wave of his hand. “C’mon, some idiot was dumb enough to walk right into my trap.”

That perks the others up and they chase after the boy, gripping their weapons tighter and refusing to acknowledge how difficult the weight of their packs is making it to run. But most of the Academy students can see in their movements that it’s paining them.

The running continues in the general direction of the screen for nearing an hour, with the only sound being the crunching of the floor beneath them and their laboured breathing. The injured tribute must know that the alliance is nearby because on the feed he can be seen clamping his hand over his mouth to muffle his agony as he struggles. But, unluckily for him, the boy from Four, much like his mentor who won the year prior, remembers the exact location of where he laid the traps and finds him not long after, following a few moments of shoving aside rocks.

The trapped tributes head ripped upwards so fast that his neck makes a cracking noise that has half the Academy wincing. All Cato can think about as he spots the state of the boys right leg — appearing to all but hang by a few ligaments and torn skin — that maybe the tributes from Four might be useful if he wants all his important joints to remain intact once he’s chosen.

Fear covers the boy's face as the six deep pack approach him. He knows he’s unable to get away fast enough but it doesn’t stop him from trying, squirming and wriggling backwards on his elbows but to no avail. The boys from One and Two share the same thought as their non-dominant feet press down on the tribute’s thighs, rendering him motionless.

“Woo!” Amara cheers louder than the others when the boy from Four steals a spear from the grasp of One’s male and doesn’t hesitate to force it harshly through the tribute’s stomach and then again through his chest.

Cato lets out a snore, not only at the spray of blood that erupts from the chest wound, but at how excited his friends are at the bloodshed — they’ve always been slightly in this way, having been brought up in the depths of District Two’s Academy. The constant spiel of victory bringing the district honour will do that to someone’s brain. He can only wonder when man viewing will end because they’ve been watching for hours and everyone is itching to start their training back up again.

The cannon booms and Caesar's portrait on the left-hand side of the screen can be seen wincing and then heard offering his commiserations to the boy, even if it is shallower than anything they’ve ever heard him say before.

The giant assembly hall breaks out into a discussion over how many people the tributes have left to eliminate, with half the population not having any idea the numbers now that the sale of the Capitol covers the screen displaying the remaining tributes as mandatory viewing finally comes to an end, much to everyone’s delight.

But as everyone rushes to return to their training stations in an attempt to reclaim their spot, Cato’s eyes remain fixed on the screen whilst he follows his friends back to the swords area. The alliance on tv return to the original path and after an hour and a half of training, they finally are seen in reach of the cornucopia. Cato smiles to himself when he notices the girl of his affections pocket, a lot of the spare clothes for herself before anyone notices, meaning she has more supplies after her district partner distributes them as fairly as he possibly can.

Cato weighs a longsword in his hands momentarily, gauging the best moment to swing at Archer, who’s staring at him in anticipation. A little bit of training without Brutus won’t hurt so long as I don’t cheat on my mentor by approaching another trainer for help, he thinks. He risks one last glance at the screen. He knows that he should want one of Two’s tributes to win, if only for the food parcel, but they’d both be insufferable. And besides, he needs a return on his bed since he’s gone against his mum’s better judgement. He’s rooting for Satin now. Officially.

───────────── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ────────────

Days nine and ten are particularly uneventful for the majority of viewers. None of the rich citizens have been willing to open their pockets up for the tribute ever since the prices have written after the careers received their heaters and survival blankets, all of which they’re still using. The mentors are feeling frustrated at the lack of generosity, that they aren’t entirely surprised, which means they’re trying not to take it out on each other. Especially since the career alliance is still standing strong and they’re now going to be fighting against one another. Only one more death and then see will be starting to host the final eight interviews once again. Wiress and Chaff are trying their hardest to secure anything to help their respective tributes, as is the male mentor from Eight, but with no luck. And as much as they want to hate Cashmere and Gloss right now, none of them can bring themselves to; they can’t be mad at them for using their advantage to try and bring their sister home. Cashmere is incredibly relieved when she realises this fact, particularly since the two victors from her own district, who are still supposed to be training her, evidently couldn’t give a shit about Satin and I focused on her partner instead. So the less anger she can feel, the better.

And in the arena, Satin wakes from the night in the corner of cornucopia with suspicion. The ground is suspiciously dry for a low laying area that was flooded two nights earlier, and it’s honestly starting to freak her out a little, because his artificially controlled as their current surroundings are, there is no rational explanation for the lack of mud when compared to that of the bloodbath.

Satin wants to grab all of their extra supplies and move back up to higher ground and fast. She only needs a way to convince Silino. She looks at him from the other side of the pack, and mouths at him that she wants to move, gesturing with her head around at the plains. The thought of appeasing the sponsors flicks through her mind again, replaying her sister’s note over and over in her brain.

Thankfully, Satin had managed to sleep from the end of her watch all the way until sunrise, but she can tell but the appearance and positions of the others that they only managed a few hours each, uneasy at best, because they’re all sprawled in the hollow metal horn as the morning breaks heavy, slowly and sourly. No one bothers to eat, which is probably their first mistake, but they rise with stiff-limbs and exhaustion prickling their every move.

Silino gives his first order of the day and with the prospect of climbing again sparking dread into their bones, the boys are the first to snap.

“We keep going up from the east.” Bastian growls, his voice raw from lack of sleep. He secures his scabbard and backpack with jerky movements. “The ridges are thinner out that way. It’ll be quicker.”

Silino sneers. “Quicker maybe but not easier. The west is all scree, we saw it ourselves. You’ll split your skull before midday.”

“It’d be better than marching in fucking circles like you want us to.” Bastian shoots back. “What are you playing at, man? Trying to tire us all out? Because I swear you’ve led us up and down the same rock path three times. I haven’t forgotten how you chickened out of the climb ‘cause of the dark that first night.

“I didn’t chicken out, arsehole. I saved us all from falling to our deaths in the darkness. There’s no way we’d have been able to see anything. Besides, I’m in charge of navigation.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses. I don’t–”

Murray, whose face is tinged red from the sunlight again, barks out a laugh and steps closer to the pair. “You’re both stupid. It don’t matter which way we go if we can’t find any of the stragglers. I should go lay more traps, unless you’re both scared.”

Calamari, beside the other girls, audibly gulps, Victoria sighs in annoyance and Satin shakes her head. it's like he's asking for a fight or that he wants them to kill him, she thinks, knowing that they'll do it slowly too, to prove a point. Taunting them is quite possibly one of the stupidest things the boy from Four could be doing. She braces herself to break the fight, trying to think of what she should say. She needs them all alive. Only three more days of this unbearable weight and then she can be rid of them.

Bastian and Silino seem to instantly forget all about their previous argument, rounding on Murray with matching sharp, predatory grins. Their eyes flash with hate and their hands start to slowly grip their respective weapons as if gunning for a fight. “Say that again. Go on.”

“You heard me.” Murray lifts his chin defiantly.

“Scared?” Bastian hisses. “I'm not scared of anything, unlike you, who wants to keep running off to lay traps and avoid all the hard parts.”

The boy from Four immediately gets defensive. “I speared that boy like it was nothing! did you not see? I didn't hesitate.”

He's trying to impress them, Satin realises, though she can easily tell that it's major backfiring since all he's doing is angering the boys. She’s seriously scared they're going to overpower and kill him because as much as she hates admitting it, he’s a vital part of her plan.

“What’re you looking for? A pat on the back? For me to jerk you off because you didn’t hesitate?” Bastian snorts, rolling his eyes. An obvious sign of the rift. Another clear indicator that they’re only putting up with each other.

Murray’s face turns even redder. “No, man… Oh for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. I just had an opinion.”

“Yeah, there’s no need to be vulgar.” The girl from his district mumbles in his defence, though it doesn’t help at all. It’s impossible for anyone to tell if she really cares about the vulgarity of the statement since it can’t be the worst she’s heard at sixteen.

“You can keep your mouth shut and all.”

Classy as always, Silino, Satin thinks to herself, hating her district partner in that moment for making her life harder by involving himself further. Calamari looks at the girl with pleading eyes. Satin has to shake her head no and mouth the promise that it’ll happen soon. The others aren’t ready to strike yet.

“Unneccessary mate.”

“I’m not your mate.”

“I’m just saying, there’s no need to take it out on ‘Mari. If you have a problem with me then you need to take it up with me.” Murray says, his hand drifting to the trident that his district partner is subtly offering out to him before muttering comments about the Ones under his breath; that they hide behind their looks, covered in stupid sparkly trinkets and perfumes.

Insults are exchanged and Satin knows that Caesar is probably giggling to himself and preparing all the camera angles to catch the pack’s dissolution as they speak. She’s not going to give him the satisfaction just yet. Weapons shift and are angled too close to prominent veins and arteries.

Bastian looks away from Murray and meets Silino’s eyes. “Why don’t we just kill him now? Save ourselves the dead weight. C’mon leader, your call, make it the right one.”

“Try it.” The boy from Four says, rolling his shoulders back and trying to act tough as if the fear isn’t radiating from his features. The terror is palpable and the tension stretches further and further with each second that Silino doesn’t answer. The three of them are bristling in the half-light, too tired to see any reason and far too stubborn to retreat and fear looking weak.

To Satin’s – and likely everyone else's – surprise, it’s Victoria that breaks it up. With solid posture and no warmth in her eyes, she shoves herself between the boys and pushes her hands out with such force that it makes all of them stumble back a few steps. “Enough.” She barks. “It’s too early to be doing this before breakfast. No one in the Capitol will be even awake yet so there’s no one to see the show. Do it later.”

Murray looks as if he wants to object, in fact, they all do, but Satin sweeps in where Victoria was sharp, gesturing for Calamari to follow and take the boy from her home to one side whilst she works down on calming the others. The girl does so but not before Satin manages to send a smile filled with fake reassurance Murray’s way. She wraps her hand around Silino’s bicep, careful not to catch the weapons she knows from her observations that he has hidden there, and then leans against Bastian’s shoulder as if it’s nothing. She tilts her head to one side so her ponytail spills down loosely, starting to curl at the ends from the lack of product and the grime; but it still looks better than any of the others’ and she knows that she’s giving them a great shot to use in all of their promo. It’s the only way she can think of to move the topic away from the death they just postponed. Silino’s arm flexes beneath her hand and her neck is already starting to ache from the slight downwards angle that she’s positioned in to include Bastian but she smiles again.

“Oh, come on, boys. You’re all strong. It’s why I choose to sleep near you instead of running off, isn't it?” With a look purposefully cast in each of their directions, she knows that they’ll each twist their words to imagine that she’s only talking to them; making up some sick fantasy in their heads that she can’t admit her infatuation. As if there’s any there at all. A brief thought of what Maverick is thinking right now, of her act, crosses her mind but she quickly realises that she can’t allow herself to think of anything other than her survival and before she can stop herself, more words are flowing from her lips. “Why waste your energy on each other when you still have six more people to kill?”

Her first outright lie regarding the remaining numbers. She is aware that the Capitol screens will be highlighting her error for the nation, and many analysts will be digging into her tone and body language for deceit. Satin doesn’t care what they think they find as long as her allies believe it.

“Exactly.” Victoria backs up. “At least wait until the big kid from Eight is dead and then it’s every man for themself. Right, Satin?”

Satin’s laugh rings soft and smooth, rippling off the metal horn nearby, and even through their scowls, she can see that the boys’ shoulders ease up. Their glances are restless but much cooler. No one has yet to comment on her mistake. They believe her. They trust her fully that they haven’t been counting themselves or questioning how having six more people to kill other than themselves would have them back at bloodbath numbers. Or maybe they haven’t stopped to question it and she should move on. They also have failed to realise that they’re nearly at the point in which they’re deferring to her for decisions. She chirps, “Right!”

“Fine, let’s move.” Silino says, ordering everyone to secure their gear. They do so in silence, checking their weapons and securing their backpacks to their frames, though Bastian is grinning ear to ear at the idea of a free for all fight.

Paired off by district in one of Silino’s possibly stupidest moves yet, they climb the sandstone mountain again until they find a flat, dry surface to set up camp, which takes the majority of the day. They leave Murray to organise shelter, to which he hoofs and puffs about, with only a selection of plastic tops and sleeping bags to use, before they settle for the night taking the usual watch shift pattern.

Day ten plays out similarly, with a grumpy alliance waking in the mid to late morning, eating the few non-perishables they have left in their packs as a small attempt at breakfast before splitting into pairs – not districts this time, thankfully – to scour the arena for the remaining tributes. There's very little for the camera to focus on, and Satin knows that it's likely flickering between the walking groups and the tributes they might be nearing. When it's her turn to walk the lengths around the sandstone, she has to cross her fingers that herself and Bastian don't pass any of the hideaways because she'd rather not have to be their cause of death. She's cursing the group for sending her with Bastian because he spends half their shift walking slowly to conserve his energy, forcing her to hold onto his hand or his bicep as a form of ‘protection’ for her, and making her sit closer than she'd like in their rest period. She has to make a hasty excuse so as not to be pulled into his lap. Although it does confirm her suspicions that they're all getting tired, cranky, and are physically weakening each day.

On their second lap of the sandstone, Bastian spots a group of small animals sheltering themselves in one of the small rock crevices. He points at them. “Perfect. They’re easy pickings for tonight’s dinner.”

Satin follows his finger to the outcrop and has to squint for a moment until she sees the animals for herself. They’re a grayish-brown, slightly chunky beneath their fur, have thick, bushy tails and Satin recognises them immediately. This is only then helped when seven small heads pop up to gaze at the approaching humans and Satin can see the black mask-like rings around their eyes.

A gasp leaves her and she all but clings to Bastian before he can get any closer to the animals. “No!”

“What?” He questions her. “They’re just raccoons, and there’s plenty of meat on them even if we can’t grab them all.”

Sadness grasps Satin by the shoulders and forces itself down her chest, pressuring her to make a choice and fast. When she looks at that tiny nursery of raccoons, her mind replays a few of her childhood memories in quick succession, and it’s as if the raccoons grow human faces before her eyes. Herself, as a six year old little girl, in the smallest of the group. Marvel and Jupiter, her best friends of a decade, in the two that are playfully jumping all over each other. Cashmere and Gloss in the pair equal in size that are staring at the little one. Then, the mother raccoon has her own mother’s face, looking between her babies and the intruders in apprehension. Her eyes are playing tricks on her in a cruel representation of her mental state and Satin knows then that she’s going to stop her ally from hunting those precious animals even if it means she has to go without food for a longer period. Bastian is staring at her expectantly. She turns to him. “What if they’re mutts?”

“I can take seven raccoon mutts.” He boasts, puffing his chest out to either look tough or impress her; she can’t quite tell which.

“What if they have… I don’t know… rabies?”

It’s an horrific statement to leave her mouth because she knows that those innocent animals, whether created by the Capitol or not, aren’t infected with rabies. They don’t appear sick or injured or lethargic, and are standing and walking without any confusion, nor are they aggressive or running towards them with friendliness. She feels horrible, almost guilty for even suggesting such a thing.

Bastian snorts. “The Capitol wouldn’t allow rabies, especially not in the arena. Besides, I’m not even sure it’s a real thing.”

“Oh… right!” She replies cheerily as though his words were of comfort to her. Rabies is definitely a real thing, she’s heard stories of it being common in some of the outer districts, and she wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to purposely inflict rabies on the tributes during the Games as another sick punishment for daring to be of a lower class. Because the Capitol certainly doesn’t have a rabies problem, absolutely not. “But what if they bite?”

The boy snorts again. “If you’re scared then I can protect you from the big bad raccoons.”

“I’m not scared of them.” Satin assures him with a big smile. “They’re cute!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“They’re tiny, they’re just babies.” She stares at them through her coos. But she knows that isn’t going to change his mind, he doesn’t care, so she has to try another technique. “They won’t give us much food. Maybe they can lead us to the bigger animals?”

Raccoons don’t lead humans or other animals towards the bigger predators, Satin knows that, but it might be able to move Bastian along.

“And how would they do that, gorgeous? I don’t speak raccoon.”

“I do!”

The boy from Two looks at Satin like she’s sprouted another head. “You speak… raccoon?”

“I’ll prove it by asking them to lead us to the coyotes that have to be around here somewhere.”

Satin knows that her siblings are probably face palming in the mentor viewing area right about now as she edges closer to the rock formation where the seven pairs of eyes blink and dart. Without bothering to look back at her ally, Satin crouches, folding herself down to the earth in a well-practiced motion so that she doesn’t tower over the creatures. Her movements are slow and soft and her voice is gentle, whispered. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.”

The raccoons freeze at the sound, and part of Satin wishes that they’d bolt. But they don’t, their bodies only press closer into the stone hollow. One gives her a defensive warning chitter but Satin doesn’t flinch. She lowers her gaze and softens her posture, letting the animals see her hands unfurling as she edges closer.

“I’m not like him, I promise. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

It’s double edged and she hopes that the cameras have broadcast that statement to the nation because despite how her current goal might hurt her chances at some of her sponsors in the long run, she isn’t planning on needing them much longer. She’d rather they see that she’s got depth to her personality, unlike her allies. She hopes that her parents are watching. That they know that the Games haven’t completely corrupted their youngest daughter. That the Capitol hasn't changed her. She’s still their Satin.

The largest of the raccoons shifts forward an inch with its nose twitching in a test. Moments pass in silence, and Satin can feel Bastian’s incredulous gaze. But he thankfully doesn’t move, and neither does she, for sudden movements can scare away the skittish creatures. When the animal edges forward, Satin lifts her hand slowly with her palm open. “See? It’s just me. There’s no danger, I swear.”

The raccoon creeps closer and its wet nose brushes against her skin as it sniffers at her fingers. Satin exhales as the animal chitters again and then before she knows it, the others slip out of their shelter one by one. The small one that had her facial features a mere ten minutes ago, waddles clumsily across the stone and she feels protective of it as it paws curiously at the hem of her sleeve before curling up beside her thighs. They nuzzle into her as she strokes their backs gently, soothing and comforting them.

“You weren’t kidding…” Bastian’s confusion trails off as she steps closer to the girl surrounded by raccoons.

His footsteps rumble the stone beneath, startling a handful of the younger, smaller raccoons. The tiny creatures look up at Satin and then back at Bastian. They growl and screech, a sign that they’re going to get aggressive because they don’t like them. They don’t trust him and they sense him as dangerous. A threat. And they’re right. Satin looks down at the animals, rubbing soft circles into their fur with both her hands before leaning closer to the mother raccoon and whispering for her to go, to run, to save herself and her babies.

As if understanding her, the mother makes a communicative chittering sound and nudges a few of her babies until they’re all skittering away past their former hideout and into the nearby wilderness with a whine. They’re heading towards the very few trees that Satin is able to see. She watches them disappear fondly before she turns to ally and throws her hands onto the ground. “You scared them off! I was just getting to the part where they would tell me where the coyote is.”

“No need, darling.” Bastian purrs smugly. “There’s one behind you.”

Satin has never jumped up so fast, rushing to her feet and turning around whilst gripping the spear strapped to her back. But there’s nothing there. She releases her weapon and slaps Bastian on the arm. Hard. “You scared me!”

He chuckles out an apology before telling her that they should start moving again since she managed to converse with the possible food source and they need to find another one before they return to camp on the off chance that the others haven’t managed to hunt anything either. They need something to eat tonight after several days of no real food.

After another lap of the sandstone paths, they veer towards the sparse treeline, and Satin hopes that the raccoons have gotten themselves to safety.

“Coyote.” Bastian perks up as he alerts them both to its appearance.

But, similar to the story of the boy who cried wolf, Satin doesn't believe him. She just shakes her head and continues walking until Bastian grabs her and yanks her backwards. For a second, she thinks he’s attacking her, that this is where she dies, but he pulls her behind his frame – though her head peeks out over the top – and points at the trees where Satin thinks the raccoons are. There, staring at them from the base of a tree, is a coyote, only a few feet away. Satin lets out a gasp. “Kill it!”

There’s a serious chance of two things: one, that the coyote is an extra strong, genetically engineered muttation that can overpower them, or two, that it lives in a pack that isn't far behind. Either way, they die if they don’t kill it quickly and retreat back to their temporary base.

The boy from Two only has hand-to-hand short range weapons and so he’s left with no choice but to meet the animal halfway. The coyote starts to run circles around the boy, jumping up and scratching; it’s a miracle that Bastian isn’t bitten as he lands each hit. At least this has confirmed it isn’t a mutt. He keeps fighting and as Satin watches the animal’s teeth graze the boy’s lower leg, she knows she’s going to have to help. He then calls out to her to do something.

She has longer range and loses a knife to the wilderness when the wild dog moves out of the projectile’s motion. Bastian grumbles and he’s beginning to piss Satin off with how little faith he has in her abilities. Her usually long patience is starting to be stretched thin. She’d much rather avoid showing her competence with spears but also there’s very little else she can do, and so she draws her arm back, aims whilst anticipating movement and then launches the spear. It hits the coyote through its open mouth as it moves to bite, knocking it off its hind legs and onto its back, dead.

Bastian raises his gaze to hers in shock and he mutters what sounds like ‘damn’ under his breath before asking, “how did you do that?”

With practiced aim and skill, Satin thinks, hoping that Caesar is now replaying the moment over and over again in analysis to prove that she’s just as skilled as the others in her alliance, as worthy of a winner. But she forces out a fake, high-pitched giggle and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and says, “I got lucky.”

Unbelievably, Bastian buys the excuse, picks the coyote off the floor and starts to walk alongside Satin on the way back to their camp. Once they’ve reached the place they’ve chosen to sleep for another night, on a slight incline incase it rains again, the other pairing of Victoria and Calamari have already returned from their trip and the girl from Four is spinning a mountain goat on a large stick over the fire, ignoring the boys who seem irritated and antsy from spending time alone with each other.

“Guess who’s back?” Bastian announces his arrival at their camp, capturing everyone’s attention with the coyote that he swings over his head by one of its back paws. “And guess who’s brought food?”

Technically I did, Satin says to herself but she allows the boy to take credit for the kill with a roll of her eyes so as not to start an argument.

“Nice one!” Murray jumps at the chance to praise the boy’s effort and fill the awkward silence between the group. “We can cook it without the mountain goat, that way we won’t grow hungry.”

To Bastian’s displeasure, the boy from Four snatches the coyote from his hand and immediately gets to work skinning it and cutting into smaller pieces, using all his gained experience from fish work in Four to move faster than the others could have. After a short while, he passes skewered chunks to Calamari for her to roast over their fire, and everyone crowds their heat source as dusk starts to make itself known to them.

As they share around the cooked meat, allowing themselves to feel their satiated hunger for the first time in a while as well as pride at having sorted their own food without the help of sponsors, Calamari leans closer to Satin and whispers, “You killed the coyote, didn’t you?”

Satin nods shyly, pointing to the bloodied tip of the discarded spear that she’s yet to claim back from Bastian.

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

The blonde fakes a disinterested shrug, staring into the burning fire ahead of them. “I don’t need to. If Bastian wants to look dumb to Panem then he can. We’ll show him, right?”

Satin is almost worried because that’s the smartest thing she’s said since stepping into the arena and Calamari is good enough at putting together context clues to be able to see through the act. But the girl smiles at her in return, and she opens her mouth to reply.

A cannon booms.

All hell breaks loose as if the alliance is on edge. Several of them abandon their meal to start on the others, accusing them of eliminating a tribute without telling the others.

“It has to have been you.” Victoria accuses Murray almost instantaneously.

“It wasn’t us.” Silino argues. “I’ve been with Murray at camp all day apart from our laps this morning. He didn’t kill anyone.”

“And even if I did, it’s been too long by now. The cannon would have fired earlier!” It’s not a convincing defence at all, and it makes him look guilty so he shoots the accusation straight back. “Maybe it was you guys.”

Calamari shakes her head. “Why would we lie about that, Murray? Victoria didn’t kill anything other than the mountain goat and neither did I.”

“Bastian’s been awfully quiet…” Silino says.

“There’s no need to fight my case.”

“Because you did it?”

“No, moron, because I didn’t.” Bastian snaps, moving his hand towards his sword and keeping it there threateningly.

Muray balks, afraid of angering the tributes from Two. "Sorry man, just if it wasn't you, why wouldn't you say that?”

"I just said. There's no need. I didn't kill anyone.” Bastian's tone is snappy again as he addresses the only person who won't seem to let the argument fizzle out. "Satin will back me up, won’t you baby?”

Despite the nauseous feeling in her stomach at the pet name he insists on giving her — and how she's going to explain this to her boyfriend once she's home — Satin smiles sweetly at her ally. “We didn't see any other tributes, promise.”

"I believe you.” Murray says, which would have likely caused another argument about why Satin's word is the only one he trusts if the others san didn't speak up.

Silino is the voice of reason. "There's no point arguing about it. If none of us are owning up to it then what can we do other than trust each other?"

"I agree," Calamari adds, surprising Satin since the girl has made a habit of disagreeing with Silino since the first day of training.

"You're all forgetting that tributes die of things like infection and dehydration, too. Remember what the head trainer told us?"

“That's boring.”

“Doesn't mean it doesn't happen.”

Victoria huffs loudly, slumping back into a seated position beneath a large blanket. “Point taken. Let's just finish our food before someone or something takes it.”

That night, after finishing the meat from the two animals with some edible plants and no plan for the upcoming arena days, their sleep shifts start earlier than normal, before the rapid fall of darkness. As usual, Satin is the only one awake for the tribute to the fallen, where the face of the gin from Three appears, a girl who has not been seen since the blood bath, at least not by satin anyway, which almost cements the certainty in her mind that she's a victim of infection or the elements. Tired, and with no way of telling the time, Satin wakes Victoria for her shift before subconsciously sliding underneath the blanket beside her district partner for protection and allowing steep to take her under.

───────────── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ────────────

The morning of day eleven starts in a haze of dust and heat that has Satin feel groggy as she opens her eyes to find the sandstone cliffs bleeding pale gold beneath an already merciless sun. Blankets are hastily kicked from their bodies as they start to sweat, messing up their semicircle of belonging, sleeping bags are unzipped faster than any other movement they’ve done in the past nearly two weeks, wanting to cool off and breaking their camp as quickly as possible.

Breakfast is muted, with no fire or meat to cook, the six of them have to pick from what their rations have left to offer; oat bars wrapped in irritating crackling foil, jerky torn in strips and dried fruit that tastes more like dust. Everyone is starting to feel tired from the new onset of heat, and it shows in how little conversation they engage in, only occasional short remarks about where they’re headed today or what they want to do.

When they brush the last crumbs from their hands and mouth, Silino orders them to pack, wanting to stop by the river as a reprieve from the building heat. The group are well practiced by now at rolling their sleeping bags, folding their tarps and shaking blankets free of dust before clipping and stuffing into the depths of their backpacks.

Satin packs with more discipline than the others from years of meticulously packing her ballet bag, pressing her stuff neatly so that she knows where to find it later, before she pulls the pack over her shoulders. The heat blares at the back of their necks, forcing them to move faster and slicking their shoulders with sweat as they tie their thick jackets to their pack’s straps.

By midday, the sun blazes down onto their heads, exposed arms and necks, and Satin is getting seriously worried about her scalp starting to burn. They’re all feeling like they’re been walking for ages, as they follow their leader on the winding paths of orange sandstone, unnaturally filled with dips and inclines.

As they walk downwards yet again, the path gives way to a narrower track shaded by thick foliage that is filled with chirping birds and chittering animals. They feel an increase in pace, to which some of the allies struggle to keep up with but Satin has no trouble despite her confusion. Though, as she lifts her gaze from the floor, she is immediately met with the sight of shimmering ribbon of water; shallow but fast-flowing, and threading silver between banks tufted with the first sign of grass beside the plain that holds the cornucopia.

The relief is immediate and soon, the others catch up in the race to water. All hardness disappears from their bodies, from expression to posture, as they clamber down to the bank. Their boots splash water up exposed legs once cargos are rolled up and laughter rings out. The sound is so rare in the arena that it’s strange and out of place. They all dip their hands into the cool current and start to fling arcs of water at one another. Bastian shoves Victoria into the shallows, and she emerges dripping wet with her hair plastered to her face, surprisingly not angry but grinning with feral delight. Murray dunks his head entirely and scrubs his dirt from his temples as the river carries it away. The six of them use the stream as a reprieve from the now harsh midday sun, removing layers of their clothing and washing dirt from their body as they try to get as clean as possible. Satin washes her face and hair, thankful to have something other than her ration of water, then removes her boots and socks and submerges her feet before stepping back out to dry off and replacing them with one of the spare pairs in the front pocket of her pack.

A glance a few feet up the bank has an idea forming in Satin’s head, and she checks on the others before slipping a few paces north, unnoticed. Among the sparse grass, she spots the slender stalks that the trainer had mentioned to avoid. Hemlock. Despite the heat and the discomfort it brings her, Satin slides a pair of gloves over her hands and crouches so that she can carefully pinch fragments free and rub them between her fingers until they crumble into fine dust. When she has enough to cause some issues but not kill, she tucks into her palm, movements shielded by the bend of her body.

She moves among them, pretending to adjust her shoes behind the pile of bags haphazardly dumped on the riverbank, and one by one, unscrews the caps and brushes her hand over her allies’ water bottle. Small traces of hemlock dust are sprinkled into each bottle. The portions are too tiny to kill them outright, but enough to weaken their strength and focus just enough to keep them under her thumb until tomorrow, when she needs them all to act on her behalf.

Her own bottle is untouched.

By the time her five allies pulled themselves from the river, she’s already sabotaged them and is pretending to sunbathe on the left bank. She watches from the corner of her eye as they take large gulps to wash the ache from their throat and feel nothing beyond the sharp coolness of water. And thankfully no one suggests using the river to fill their bottles any further, another example of the odds working in Satin’s favour.

Eventually, they move on to where the sandstone flattens out into an expanse of jagged plains that are wide enough for the alliance to see anyone approaching long before they get too close, and they lay their packs out once more, rolling out tarps and blankets to protect them from the heated earth. It’s still warm and as they unfurl their sleeping bags, they can already tell that they’re unlikely to need them overnight if the air stays as muggy as it is. Shadows grow across the rocks as the day comes to the beginning of the end, and they’ve barely finished setting up camp and deciding that they don’t need a fire when the weariness starts to settle. It’s as if the sun has crawled inside their bones.

Usually they would make light conversation as the Twos sharpen their blades, but Satin can tell that they feel slower and heavier as they sprawl across their blankets and bags. Bastian lays flat on his back and his chest heaves as though the afternoon had been Gamemakers manufactured to be twice as long. He drags a hand over his face and mutters. “My legs are like lead.”

Calamari tries to make a comment regarding how the scorching midday heat they experienced will do that, especially after they’ve begun to get accustomed to the bite of the wind the previous days, but her words slur slightly and her voice lacks its usual bite when talking to one of the boys.

Her district partner is evidently feeling the effects of either the faint trace of poison or some form of heatstroke because he tugs his blanket over his legs and sighs. “Sun’s a killer. We have plenty of stuff like this at home, all we can do is rest and drink plenty of water.”

Satin has to bite back a smile, thanking Murray for once, because the more they drink, the more believable her story of running to get water will sound tomorrow. That way she can enact the plan. Besides, with how much they all drank earlier, there is very little in their bottles, so they’re going to expect her to head off soon.

“What about food?”

“Yeah, we’ve got enough in our packs for tonight.” Victoria says, absent-mindedly plucking at a frayed strap of her pack and trying to cut it with the tip of her cracked nail. An abnormal flush is still clinging to her skin from the river. She glances at her backpack behind her. “I’ll go hunting tomorrow, I’m not going to be able to catch anything like this, so neither will you lot.”

Silino shifts. He looks irritated but too argue to argue. “Fine. It’s not like the others will have much left. How many are they, Satin? Six?”

“Five.” Satin falsely corrects. There are seven more tributes; the five of her allies to deal with and then two outliers, one of which is the large boy from Eight who is highly vengeful and who she is still yet to see any trace of despite the mentors warning them that he’ll be trailing them closely. “But you’re right, they won’t be able to get anything if Victoria and Bastian can’t. And it’s dark. Tomorrow we can have fresh water and food.”

That seems to perk everyone up momentarily, and Satin feels a quick spurt of fear as they all look at her, as if preparing themselves mentally for tomorrow’s events. But it fades quickly when no one mentions anything and she twirls a strand of damp hair around her finger and feigns nonchalance while her gaze flicks between them, faking a yawn.

“Then it’s settled.” Silino agrees, allowing himself to relax. “We’ll stay here for the night, there’s no point moving now. And we’ll keep our usual sleep schedule.”

“Fine by me,” Bastian says at least, slumping even further down. “But tomorrow we’ve got to move early. I don’t want to waste another whole day sitting down.”

No one has the energy to press further, and soon after, all five of Satin’s allies are asleep, leaving her to watch the empty tribute to the fallen; hum to herself to pass a bit of time and wonder about what her friends and family are doing right now. Are they watching? Are they proud of me? Are they, especially Cashmere and Gloss, nervous for tomorrow? And if a few of the bottles accidentally get knocked over whilst she’s moving to wake Victoria and get comfortable for her sleep at the end of her watch then she’s not going to be held responsible in the morning. They’ll never know.

Besides, who cares if they’re angry at her? She isn’t planning on them living to see another sunset.