When Martial and I returned to our floor, Martial with stitches on his nose and a wet rag in hand and me with stitches on my forehead and a bloody wet rag in hand, we braced ourselves for a reprimanding from at least one of the women.

We passed over the threshold into the lounge where Lys was sitting waiting, hands wringing as she stared at the tablet in her lap. She looked up on hearing the door open and stifled a yell with her shaking hand upon seeing us. Her green eyes were brighter today, glitter in her contact lenses as well as at her hairline, and scanning our appearances.

Two doors slammed down the bedroom corridor and I saw Martial sigh and shut his eyes as our mentors rushed into the room.

"Oh fu-" Trix faltered at the top of the few steps, mouth agape as she looked between us.

"What did you kill someone already?" Gia yelled, stomping down the steps, taking our rags and dragging them down our faces with a heavy sigh. "Did you break your nose?" she grabbed Martial's chin roughly, turning his face to study the purple bruising blossoming on his face with a tut. He steps back when she lets go, watching as she grabs my face with as much force and little worry about my pained hiss. "Are those bite marks? What the hell happened?" Gia looked back at Lys, who undoubtedly had a full report and some sort of footage from the training hall on that tablet of hers.

No one ever truly knew what information escorts had but they always seemed to know everything.

"It was my fault," Martial began, but I nudged him.

"No, it-"

"Sh!" Gia held up a finger in our direction, watching Lys expectantly. Our escort shrugged, scrolling on her tablet.

"It seems as though Terra was just doing what we asked," Lys sighed, passing the tablet into Trix's outstretched hand and pinching her brow. She shut her eyes as Trix scrolled through whatever was on the tablet.

"I thought you didn't go to the academy?" Looking up from the tablet, Trix narrows her eyes on me. I shrugged, unsure what else to say since she already knew the truth. "How on earth did you best both of them?" I shrugged, glancing up at Martial, who seemed reluctant to admit his mistake. "I suppose it is obvious this one was pulling his punches," she motions briefly to the boy beside me, who earned a disapproving look from Gia. Lys stood and retreated towards the hall where the stylists had their own studios. "But Sly's record is squeaky clean, he's one of the best in his year."

Gia takes the tablet and, when she turns, I can see a series of grainy images clearly taken from a hidden camera.

"I'm not trained," I say, remembering Sly's impressed voice when he observed my fighting, "but it doesn't mean I can't defend myself."

"I'll admit, I am impressed," Gia said with a smug smile as she switched off the tablet, "let's hope he doesn't take it to heart. We don't want the pack to fall apart already."

"They'll be fine," Trix says, eyes flicking to Martial before extending her hand to me. "Come on, Terra, I want to talk to you before Nero robs you for the rest of the afternoon."

I sit on the counter in my bathroom, Trix standing between my legs as she carefully drags another wet rag around the stitches on my forehead.

"He really took a chunk out, huh," she narrows her eyes, focusing on removing every last patch of dried blood from my face. I shrug, wincing as she catches the stitches.

"It was my fault, I headbutted him."

Her head dips as her shoulders shake with laughter. When she looks up to concentrate again, she shakes her head slightly but the smile lingers on her face and I realise this is the first time I have seen any joy on her face.

"Do you think I made a mistake?" I tug at my fingers, eyes downcast, and she stops briefly. The rag rests on my face and I risk looking up to see her distant expression. "Should I have let him win? Or at least tried to fight normally?"

"Uh," her eyes searched the room, looking anywhere but at me for a moment before she settled on unwrapping my hands of their bloody tape instead, "why don't you tell me what happened?"

"He started talking. Technically, he had won. And he-" his words were starting to settle on my consciousness now, "he said he would save me until last to kill me; something about being resilient but weak," I shook my head, trying to recall his reasoning but I knew I shouldn't mention Trix's games. It was an unspoken rule of thumb not to discuss a victor's games with them unless they offered to. "I think he was trying to scare me but I figured I could still beat him. Not how he would beat someone, but as well as I could."

She couldn't help but laugh when I recounted what happened after that. The thought of the boy, hardly two years younger than her, humbled by a face full of blood was amusing. Especially since she had won the games a year before her last reaping, it was clear there was something bitter in her about the tributes at the age she had been. She muttered some praise, leaning across the counter for the first aid kit she'd scavenged from somewhere and dug out a wipe that stung when it made contact with the raw wound.

I could see myself in the reflection of her glasses, a red blotch on my forehead and a permanent frown on my face.

I try to smile. She looks false.

Crumpling the wipe and tossing it into the sink, Trix leans against the wall adjacent to me and crosses her arms, watching me briefly. In her short-sleeved top I can make out the definition of muscles that are well out of practice. I imagine she maintains them enough for image upkeep to the Capitol, having completed her victory tour a little under a year ago before last year's victor won the games.

"Can I impart some advice to you, Terra?" She looks nervous.

"Sure," I try to smile again, something comforting, but it feels wrong.

"You only die once-"

"Isn't the saying-"

"Just listen to me." She gave me a sharp look. The same look Martial would give Flo if she was being unreasonable. "I have lived many lives. Both before the games and after the games. You get to be you, and then you have to be a tribute, then a killer and- and if you become a victor then you must be you and a victor and something else entirely. Your family won't understand the victor but they won't know how to handle you. Luxury doesn't come with peace of mind, peace doesn't come with privacy and freedom doesn't come without grief." She approaches me, smoothing down my hair with tears in her eyes and suddenly I see her for who she really is. Trix's skin hasn't been thickened by time and age like Gia, who seemed to thirst for the games and their violence. The nineteen-year-old in front of me was just what she seemed to be. A child like me.

It also became obvious, as it should have been yesterday as soon as I was reaped (was it really yesterday?) that we were her first tributes.

"I understand," I whisper to her even though I don't entirely understand whether her advice was a warning or not. She breathes out, her breath shaky and catching in her throat when she breathes in. She draws me in for a hug, squashing my body tightly against hers and I let myself be embraced.

Maybe it was because she needed this or that I had been yearning for a soft touch since I stepped foot in this godforsaken place, but it felt good either way.

A knock at my bedroom door interrupted us and she pulled away, sniffling and blinking back tears. "Remember," she says, pressing a finger under her eyes to clear her tears, "when you're talking to Caesar, be a tribute. Don't be too emotional, don't be too cold, try to banter but if that doesn't work just be relatable. Give the sponsors something to sympathise about, give them something to root for." She retreats from the bathroom to admit the prep team and Nero. Looking over her shoulder when I appear in the doorway, she smiles briefly, "I'll see you just before."

Nero must be going for the tough-as-nails-covered-in-blood look this year because My second dress had the same marble pattern as that from the parade. I suppressed a yawn as we walked the halls of the tribute centre to the arena where the interviews were held.

I was allowed to keep the kitten heels this time around. My skirt skimmed the ground and my prep team had to show me how to walk properly to avoid tripping on it. The bodice was fitted, but not as tight as before, the material a soft white silk marbled with blood red. The lace shawl they had thrown around my shoulders was a similar deep red and my eye makeup was white with red jewels scattered around the edge of my eyebrows. It felt foolish, a breeze on my legs from having to kick out my feet when I walk, the tickle of the material on the itchy stubble already growing back, the gems glued to my face.

I felt like a child playing dress up but when Nero made me practice an indifferent look, a confident look and a playful grin in the mirror I could barely recognise myself. And, for a split second, I imagined Artemis in my place. Watched her smile back at me. But, at the end of it all, the girl in the mirror was still me.

Part of being a career was that we weren't allowed to look innocent or young or pure.

The Capitol expected us to be bred killers, perfect in and out of the games. And, even if I was merely fifteen, Panem could easily be looking at a young woman around Trix's age. The thought made me sick.

Backstage, Martial was standing around with his stylist, Gia, Trix and Lys. Looking me over, Lys nodded approvingly, watching the screen beside her as Caesar interviewed Sly on stage. Martial's outfit was dissimilar to mine. As our second appearance to the public, it only made sense to begin selling us as separate tributes. His suit was plain, a mixture of blacks and greys, and his face was thick with makeup to hide the bruise on his nose. They hadn't been able to cover his stitches unlike the fringe on the wig they'd opted for that covered my forehead.

"You okay?" He asked, coming to stand beside me as Gemma bounced onto the stage after Caesar introduced her.

"Yeah," I muttered, glancing at the stairs where Sly now appeared with his mentor and escort. He nodded to us as he passed, avoiding my eyes unfaltering unlike his escort, he lingered to talk to Lys.

"He's in much better shape than me," Martial observed, poking at his nose until his stylist slapped his hand away. In truth, Sly's nose had always looked slightly crooked so the damage done looked minimal. I crossed my arms against my body as Gemma and Caesar's laughter came through the speakers. Her time was coming to a close and Martial wiped his hands on his trousers. Trix called his name and waved him over to her and Gia.

I watched as she ran through the process of what was about to happen, tips on how to rile up the crowd. "You've got a little sister right? Make sure you bring her up, they love stories about kids as much as they love seeing them kill each other." Martial's hands were shaking and he pushed his shoulders back, jutting his chin out with each minute nod.

But, despite his anxiety, he was a pro on stage. Sure, he stumbled over his words to begin with but Caesar seemed to put him at ease immediately.

I watched as they laughed together, listened to Martial's anecdote about Flo, wrinkled my nose when the camera panned to an audience member in white face paint dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. A hand landed on my shoulder and I looked up at Trix, my body jerking at the shock.

"Any words of wisdom?" I ask her, uncrossing my arms and dragging my eyes back to the screen.

"Caesar's job is to market you to sponsors. He's on your team as long as you play nicely." She looks down at me and purses her lips. "Make them like you," she kept talking but I could hear my father back in the justice building. He'd said the same thing, asked me to 'try' as though I was an unlikable person. "I know you won't cry," Trix continued, her hand squeezed my shoulder, "but they're incredible at reading body language and if they so much as think you're lying to them they'll abandon you."

"Why would I lie?" I narrow my eyes as Martial stands from his seat, "I have nothing to hide."

"Yeah, okay," she chuckles, patting my shoulder and guiding me towards the stairs where Martial appeared from behind a curtain with flushed cheeks. He paused briefly to look at me but pushed past, lowering his head as he rejoined Gia. "Knock 'em dead," Trix said, as Caesar introduced me with an animated voice.

I took the stairs one at a time, lifting my skirt for ease of movement and dropped it as I passed through the curtain.

The second I stepped into the spotlight the roar of the crowd washed over me aggressively and I fought to remain composed. My eyes had landed immediately on Caesar, who was clapping along with the crowd and smiling in my direction. I remained focused on him, beelining for the two armchairs in the centre of the stage with my chin high and face fixed with a slight smile.

He spread his arms wide and I let him hug me, squeezing back long enough to gain an 'awe' from the crowd, before sitting down. It was only when I situated myself comfortably in the black armchair did I look out at the crowd.

Some of them waved at me, most cheering, and I offered a small wave back and felt my smile falter. Covering it by pursing my lips, I looked over at Caesar as he sat down.

"Wow! Just, wow! Look at that dress!" He motioned to the dress, the skirt bunched around my legs in the seat and the crowd erupted into another applause. "Nero has outdone himself this year, wow!" I nod in thanks and force the small smile back onto my face, fixing my fringe over my forehead before placing my hands in the bundle of material in my lap. "So, Terra," he leaned onto the arm of his chair, hands clasped together, white teeth bared and bright against arguably too much tan on his face, "we're all wondering. At fifteen, what made you volunteer for that little girl?"

Okay, so we're starting with sympathy. Make them like you.

Well, what do people like? They like humour, they like righteousness. They like to be right.

"Well, as you said, Caesar, I am fifteen and she's twelve. It only seemed fair." There was minimal response, a few agreeing hums rippled through the crowd. Was logic not working?

"Yes, indeed, did you know her?"

The easy answer was yes. But not in a way they would care, and, if I claimed to be close then they would interview the family during the games. The wrong answer was no.

"I knew her enough. She's the younger sister of Martial's friend." I kept a smile on my face, fighting the urge to itch at my neck where the wig cap was glued down.

"And, Martial, your fellow tribute, you're close, yes?" Caesar's eyes were twinkling, every colour under the rainbow seemed to be watching closely, digging for something good.

"He's my best friend," I admitted quietly. Martial hadn't disclosed this information in his interview and the revelation elicited a gasp from the crowd. There were excited mumbles in parts and I looked out at the crowd to see large groups leaning across each other to gossip. "We grew up together." My chest swelled with pride when the noise swelled, the crowd becoming more excitable.

It wasn't fear, or some scandalous idea to put friends against each other. Most tributes knew their district partner. But we were careers, we were forecast to make it to the last seven, which meant sponsors were looking for a performance from us and if Martial and I had to kill each other our friendship would surely make the games more interesting.

Caesar's light eyebrows drew together and he propped his chin on his hand in a mock display of the crowd, waiting for more gossip.

"And how did you feel when he was reaped, knowing you wouldn't have to go into the games together if you hadn't volunteered?" More bait to help me bring the crowd in. I smiled sadly, made a display of thinking and twiddling my hand.

"It was a comfort," I start, silencing the crowd, "knowing he's here with me..." I let the silent question of whether I could kill him linger in the air. Caesar shifts as my interview time runs short. He's waiting for a 'but'. I won't let them have all the answers that quickly. The seconds were ticking by and Caesar took the hint to bring the interview to a close.

"Touching, truly," he said, sitting up straight and buttoning his jacket, "well, we're about out of time, Terra, and there's one last question to ask. Do you think you can win the games?"

This question is asked to everyone, the answer is always the same. It has to be else no one would see hope in you to sponsor you. I look out at the crowd and raise my chin. I've been trying to keep a smile the entire time, but when I let it spread into a confident one it comes naturally. I nod briefly at the crowd and look back at Caesar.

"Hell yeah." The crowd began cheering and clapping as Caesar helped me to my feet, introducing me to the crowd once more before assisting me to the curtain. He patted my back comfortingly as I passed through the curtain and the thick material muffled the crowd.

Clinging to the bannister, I lean into the wall and shut my eyes. I wait for the pounding in my head to disappear, the thrumming in my chest to calm down, and, when I open my eyes, Nero is waiting at the bottom of the stairs with his hand extended.

"You were marvellous," he tells me, assisting me down the stairs and out of the way of the district Three tributes.

I catch the eye of the male tribute, who nods as he buttons his jacket cuffs made out of some kind of miniature circuit board.

My head is reeling and I tilt my head towards Nero. "You think so?" I ask him, my breath catching in my throat, the stitches in my head seemingly have a pulse of their own. "I was trying so hard not to mess with this thing," I say, playing with the fringe of the wig.

"Well, the restless confidence was really a show I didn't think you were capable of." He said as we came to the foyer where Lys and Trix were waiting by the elevator.

"There she is, our star!" Lys called out, dragging me into a hug as the elevator opened. "You were wonderful, I wouldn't be surprised if you don't have sponsors rooting for you from day one."

"Yes, that's if you score highly with the gamemakers in two days' time." Trix seemed on edge, fidgeting with her glasses as the elevator ascended to the second floor. "In the meantime, I recommend you go to bed after dinner," we stepped out of the elevator, "it's been a long day, you must be tired."