The speech the Capitol has given me is simple. "Never has there been such a fantastic decade of the Hunger Games." Then I'm meant to pause for applause. "As a third-generation victor, it has been a pleasure to see how the Games have evolved into the glory and golden years of the 60s, and it is even more of a pleasure to be one of the lucky ten victors to call this decade my own. It will be hard to top, but I'm confident the next generation will be even stronger. With that in mind, I've been asked to give some advice to those little ones at home who are dreaming of being a tribute one day." This is where I plan to go off script. I'm meant to give some advice to the next generation of children who are sitting on their couches, dreaming of being a victor and tell them how wonderful it all is, how I'm going to hand the baton over to the next generation, and how I look forward to seeing the next decade of magnificent Games. But I've figured out how to flip the script into my own message.

"My advice is simple. The odds are never in our favour. Because as a victor, you will never be free from the Capitol." I assume that I'll have been shot dead by this point but if not, "The other districts are not your enemy. The enemy is right in front of you. You have a shot. Don't miss the target," and I'll point to the Panem flag behind me. If they didn't kill me already, I'm definitely dead then.

They make me up beautifully the next day, a perfect way for everyone to remember my last moments. They twist my hair behind my head into elaborate loops behind my head and give me a golden coatdress which will keep me nice and warm up on the stage. However, there's a circular cut out in the right shoulder, which I instantly recognize is meant to show off my new scar. Of course the Capitol wants to see it, and the stylists oblige their creepy curiosities and put the wound on display.

Despite the Capitol's best efforts, the scar is still big, red and angry. I don't doubt that at some point there'll be a close up on my shoulder and the crowd will gasp dramatically. But I hold my tongue at the distaste because there's really no need or use to put up a fight.

When they usher me behind the stage, I can already hear Johanna shrieking at some attendant. A few of them are trying to clam her down before she goes on stage. One of them is speaking into their headset frantically, "Okay, no speech for her. We're going to have to cut to a clip. I know it's not ideal. Well, even if she does the speech we gave her, she's going to swear so much it'll eat up our entire delay."

Delay? That's news to me. And a significant problem for my plan. They could potentially cut out everything I say. I walk up to the frazzled producer and ask, "Sorry, hi, quick question, how long is the delay? I'm a little nervous I'll mess up."

"Six seconds."

Six seconds. That's good to know. I thank her and move onto Johanna. She's already rolling her eyes at me. "Like you'll mess up. You're practically a public speaking robot."

"It's nice to see you too."

"Oh, yeah, sorry you got stabbed. But you got him, right?"

I nod. "Oh yeah. The person that attacked me is very dead."

Johanna narrow's her eyes at me, trying to sus through my carefully crafted sentence. "Sorry, about your mom too."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, I'm more upset about the shoulder..." I point to the hole in my coatdress.

Johanna snorts, and several Capitol attendants look at me in horror, but it doesn't matter anymore if they hear me tell the truth. They're going to hear much more of it from me later. "Wow, okay, yeah." A memory of Plutarch telling me about someone in Johanna's family being targeted strikes me, and I'm suddenly horrified that I've just made this joke to her. But I can't exactly apologize because I'm not supposed to know.

Finnick joins us, saving me from having to respond to the awkward situation I've created. "Figures I'd find you two together." He does a double take at my outfit and his eyes attach to the ugly red line on my shoulder. "I'd love to borrow that get up some day."

I look over his golden coat with a plunging V-neck that nearly goes all the way down to his belly button. Despite it being a thick-wool texture, it's hardly what you would call warm. "Only if you let me borrow that."

He quirks his head to the side with amusement, "Oh, honey, like you could pull this off."

I scoff and point to the circular hole by my shoulder. "Oh please, and you think you could pull this off?"

"Yes, I do." He turns to Johanna, "Hey, how come there's not a piece of your coat missing?"

"They tried. There was supposed to be a slit up the side, but I told them if they didn't sew it up, my dress wasn't going to be the only thing that was slit."

Finnick's eyes widen. "You are...very enthusiastic about fashion."

Johanna smirks. "Damn right I am. At least for this ceremony they're not making me dress up like a tree."

A stylist assistant stops dead in her tracks in front of us with a giant branch and leaf hair accessory and turns right back around to walk away.

Finnick nods in approval of Johanna. "You need to teach me your ways. Seriously."

"I don't know if you're ready for them, fish boy. My level is kind of advanced."

A frantic producer waddles over to us with her too high heels and looks us over, "Alright, the three of you are ready, odd number victors to the left, evens to the right. The producers will give you the greenlight to walk on stage and when you do smile and wave."

Johanna plasters a creepy and lifeless smile on her face, complete with a robotic wave, "like this?" I immediately copy her, throwing in a twitching eye for good measure and so does Finnick.

"I think so," he says through his smile.

The producer looks so defeated at our unseriousness, and mutters under her breath, "This is why I hate people from the districts," as she leaves.

We let out a collective, ooo as soon as she says it, all of us at least a little happy to have pissed her off. Soon, someone comes to usher me away since I'm in a different wing than the Finnick and Johanna. I'm about to go with them, but then I turn around and engulf them both in a hug.

I hear Johanna's muffled voice in my shoulder, "You we're going to separate sides of the stage and not separate sides of the world, right?"

"I know...I just...I missed you both." I let go of them before it gets too weird. Finnick nods, but I can see in his narrowed eyes that he's trying to figure out what that was about. But he'll know soon enough.

Once I'm on my side of the stage I at least have Cecelia to talk to as we wait to be called onstage, since Enobaria is wrapped up in a conversation with Gloss, and I really don't want one of my last conversations to be with him. They pass out in-ear monitors so we'll be able to hear what's going into the microphone as opposed to it being drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. I take a peek out to see the mass of Capitol citizens in the crowd, though something on the rooftops catches my eyes. "Are those snipers on the rooves?"

Otto buts into the conversation. "It's to keep us safe in case anyone tries to do anything to us."

Or in-case we try to do something.

They go through the list of names and it's no surprise that I can still hear the roar of the crowd over the monitors in my ears and the stage practically shakes. It's actually scary how much they love him here, although love probably isn't the right word for it. Obsessive infatuation is more like it. Augustus is on stage next, and then it's my turn.

"The Victor of the 68th Hunger Games, Octavia Jones!" I can feel the crowd's intensity as soon as I step out into their view. It's nowhere near the level for Finnick, but still, having thousands of Capitolian's shouting at you is a sobering feeling. Smile, Octavia. I tell myself. You only have to keep the mask up a little while longer. You're almost done. You can almost rest. I take my place beside Augustus and Johanna joins on my other side right after.

Ceasar of course is the Master of Ceremonies like he is at every important event here. "Look at these ten lovely faces. Aren't they gorgeous? Our ten victors of the Golden Decade everyone!" They erupt into applause. "Dare I say, the past decade of Games was the best we've ever had. We've had it all from underdogs to family legacies, heartthrobs to heartbreaking moments, and multiple records being shattered. Our arenas have been bigger and better, the fashion more outrageous and innovative than ever before. And most importantly, from all two-hundred and forty tributes, these ten courageous faces remain." I feel sick as the crowd applauds. The last thing I needed to be reminded of is all the people who had to die for me to be able to stand up here on this stage. "I give you, our victors."

Ceasar invites Ceclia to centre stage, where she plants herself in-front of the microphone to give her speech. There's a large teleprompter in front of her in case she loses her place, and there's two smaller ones off to the sides that tell the rest of us to react with the occasional laugh or clap. Her speech is mostly reminiscing on how much has happened in the last ten years, ending off with pictures from her wedding back in District 8. Otto goes on and on about District 2's deep connection to the Games, and Enobaria tells a story about how her fanged teeth have shaped her identity. Then Cashmere and Gloss deliver a joint speech on the Games and how important it is to their family. But Finnick's speech makes me feel ill once again because they make him flirt with the crowd for nearly five minutes straight. I pretty much tune out after that, trying to calm myself and plot out what to do about that pesky six second time delay. Sure, I can try to talk fast and hope my message will get through, but there's also the chance that they cut me off before a single soul outside of the live audience can see it.

Augustus finishes up his suck up speech and now it's my turn. I take a deep breath and walk up to the microphone. I've almost reached the podium when I allow my feet to tangle beneath me, one of the heels twisting to the side, and I trip forward. An "Oh shit," slips out of my mouth as I do. The crowd laughs nervously, and I apologize into the microphone.

The time needed to cover up should have eaten away at least a little bit of the delay, more if they decide to remove my trip all together. After a moment, I take a breath, and start to read the speech I practiced with Fallon last night off of the teleprompter. "Never has there been such a fantastic decade of the Hunger Games." I pause for applause. "As a third-generation victor, it has been a pleasure to see how the Games have evolved into the glory and golden years of the 60s, and it is even more of a pleasure to be one of the lucky ten victors to call this decade my own. It will be hard to top, but I'm confident the next generation will be even stronger. With that in mind, I've been asked to give some advice to those little ones at home who are dreaming of being a tribute one day. And to that, I say my advice is simple. The odds are never in your favour."

I see on one of the monitors Finnick's head jolts up and he presses his in-ear monitor to his ear. It's as if he's not believing what he's hearing because it's not lining up with the words in front of me, or maybe recognizing his own words from the night before. The crowd is tense as they wait for my next words, and I bet the snipers on the roof are just now realizing I should be in their scope. There's emotion in my voice as I squeak out the next few words, "Because as a victor..." You will never be free from the Capitol. But I can't say it.

Time seems to move so slowly. I see a flashes of green pass over me, maybe a figment of my imagination, maybe the Peacekeepers lining up the shot. I'll likely go clean through my head, the easiest shot to make sure I can't continue talking. I can't help but wonder if I know the person behind the scope. An old classmate maybe? In that case, they might take pleasure in this.

But then it hits me. I can't let Finnick and Johanna, and maybe even Enobaria and Cecelia for that matter, watch my brains get blown out. They already have enough nightmares. I can't do this to them.

A vision of what it would look like after floods my brain; my blood spatters on Finnick and Cashmere since they're standing right behind me. Johanna goes mental and gets herself shot. The Peacekeepers fight to drag Finnick backstage as he tries to reach my body that lies motionless in a pool of blood.

Finnick's just gotten his hope back. I can't do this to him. I can't do this to any of them. Because if I do this now, they'll take it out on the people behind me; and suddenly I realize why threats against the people around you have been such a powerful tool for Snow.

But I haven't technically said anything treasonous yet. There's still time to fix this. "Because as a victor, you must create their own odds." The crowd cheers. I'm backing off the proverbial edge. Slowly. "That's right. If you were like me, a kid watching the Games, wishing that was them one day, you have to create your own luck."

"There's not a single victor on this stage who didn't work their butt off to get here. It isn't a mistake that the ten of us overcame every trial our Games threw at us. We are victors in name, but most importantly, we are victors in spirit!" With the pause from the roaring applause, I connect it right back to where I left off on the teleprompter, trying to weave my own cover up as if I wasn't intent on getting myself killed mere seconds ago. I continue to blab on about passing the baton on to the next generation of tributes and victors, and every once and a while I try to peek at the monitors to check on Finnick.

When I'm done speaking, I return to my place in the line at the back of the stage and I can feel Finnick's eyes digging into me as the video for Johanna plays. He definitely has an idea about what I was going to do, and he seems less than happy about it.

I try to ignore him so we don't cause a scene, and focus on Caesar's exit speech, as he lines up the itinerary until midnight for the crowd. He makes a small joke about which one of us would win if we were all put in the same Games, and a couple of us, including myself, joking point a finger at ourselves.

I want to collapse onto the floor once I'm off stage and safe from the prying eyes of the thousands in the crowd. But Fallon greets me with her perky smile, "You were spectacular." She has to yell a bit to be heard. It's a bit hard to hear her even though we're backstage because the musical act's tunes are booming through the speakers. "I was nervous when you started adlibbing, but it was brilliant!"

If Fallon thinks it was good, I definitely succeeded in saying something entirely distasteful and disgusting that will probably make everyone from a district that's not 1, 2, or 4 hate me. I go to thank her, but a hand latches onto the back of my coat and starts to drag me away. I panic for a moment, thinking that it's a Peacekeeper that's come to kill me anyway, but I realize it's Finnick when the smell of salt hits my nose.

"Mr. Odair, where are you taking my victor?"

"Victor-only meeting," he says, his voice short.

"I wasn't aware that was on the itinerary..." Her voice disappears as we weave through the people backstage.

We pass by Johanna, who Finnick also grabs, and approach a door. "Johanna, keep guard please."

She scrunches her nose in distaste, "If this is some sort of weird sex, thing I'm not in."

Finnick shoots her a disapproving look and pulls me in through the door. It seems to be some sort of makeshift storage closet, since the entire stage is a temporary one made for the New Years bash. "What the hell Finnick!"

Finnick looks utterly done with me. "Me? What the hell were you doing?" He tries to lower his voice, because even though there's no way any microphone would be able to pick up anything other than the loud music, one never takes their chances in the Capitol. "'The odds are never in your favour'? Octavia, what were you thinking?"

"I fixed it—"

He kicks a box, and I flinch hard. He notices my reaction and takes a few deep breaths to calm down. "Look, I'm sorry. But that was reckless. Do you have a death wish or something?"

I can't help but feel a little bit like a child who's just been caught sneaking into the kitchen. "Maybe. Yes. A little bit."

He's not expecting that answer. He blinks at me. "I—get out."

I blink in surprise. "What?"

"Get out." His face is firm. He's angrier, more livid than I've ever seen him.

My feet firmly plant on the ground. If there's something I know how to do, it's the opposite of what I'm being told to do. "What?"

"You worried me sick for months. Months, Octavia. Everyone outside of 2 thought they did something to you. And then you turn out to be fine. But after all that worrying you come here and try to go out in a blaze of glory!"

"But I didn't! So why are you angry at me?"

"I know you're not used to it 2," I have to stop my blood from boiling at the nickname, "but when people actually care about you, they also care whether you live or die."

"I know that now." I look into his eyes, hoping he'll understand that I truly do regret everything. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't cut it for the Capitol, Octavia. They're not exactly known for being forgiving. And I—" He cuts himself off, searching for the right words. "I need to know that I'm not caring for someone who doesn't even care about themselves. I need someone who's going to stay."

"I wanted to make up for the things that I did wrong. I wanted to set things right, clear my conscience and bring in the tidal wave, but I didn't. I didn't do it because I realized I couldn't do that to you." I quickly add, "Or Johanna. Or anyone else for that matter. So I am going to stay. Even if I don't want to, even if it gets hard, I'll stay." I'm not entirely sure I understand what I'm saying, but I do know that the words have come straight from my heart; I've always wanted a family, but I think I'm starting to learn that a lot of hard work goes in to keeping one together.

He stares at me for a long time before saying, "I believe you."

A string of frantic knocks echoes on the door, letting us know that our time is very much up. I motion for Finnick to stay there and exit out the door so we don't both pop out of a supply closet at the same time.

"Heavansbee coming, eleven o'clock," Johanna whispers to me.

"Miss Mason, what a pleasure to see you. And Miss Jones, an excellent speech you gave out there. Perhaps even better than what I wrote for you."

I give a sheepish smile. "Thank you, sir."

"I was consulting with our schedules for tonight, and I realized we made an oversight. Our organizers neglected to account for the fact that you'd be exhausted from the rough few months you've had, so I'd like to offer you a train ride home immediately. We can have you back in 2 before midnight. What do you say?"

I'm a little shocked to say the least. I thought my save was good. There's no way they could know what I was about to say. Maybe he really does mean it, or maybe he even feels bad that everything happened to me after I helped him in the Capitol. But I can't leave to go home, even though I really, really want to. "I'd actually like to stay. For the party."

"You'd like to stay here?"

"Yes."

"In the Capitol?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright," his voice is full of confusion. Maybe he really is just trying to do something nice for me. Or maybe now he'll have to rethink whatever trap is waiting for me. "That won't be a problem. I just thought you might want some rest." He moves on to the door behind me and gently knocks on it. "And how's it going in there Mr. Odair?"

There's no response until Plutarch knocks a second time. A meek voice comes from the other side of the door "...good."

"I hope the three of you enjoy the festivities."With that Plutarch walks away, leaving me utterly confused. If I'm in trouble, helet me off the hook pretty easy. Or maybe he just bought into what I said. Eitherway, I won't question it. I fucked up. Finnick made that clear. But if I wantto show him I care, I need to stay. So that's what I decided to do: stay.

Please consider leaving comments on the chapter, I love reading through them! I am considering tagging those who comment on the previous chapter prior to the next one being published (i.e. this one before the next is released) in a shoutout section in the next chapter. What do you think?

No chapterly memes this time around because it was more of a serious one, but if you have suggestions, submit them to me!