The night passed by slowly, this would be one of my last nights and I wanted nothing more than to breathe fresh air and sit in a tree.

Instead, Martial and I spent the evening lying on our own respective couches with thick layers of healing cream and a heavy bandage wrapped around our faces. I had an ice pack resting on each arm and, from where I was lying, I could just about see Martial also struggling to move much.

This was a routine health revamp which Lys insisted on. The cream was used throughout the Capitol by nurses to heal wounds quicker and she was adamant to present a clean slate to the Capitol for the first day of the games.

It wasn't all too bad. Lys flitted between us, checking our stitches, slapping our tampering hands away and feeding us whenever we wanted to. It brought an unusual joy to Trix and Gia whenever they passed through, busy with mentor business, to see the Capitol escort resort to babysitting the tributes.

I went to bed early, fatigued from pushing myself in training and exhausted from the social advances of everyone on my team. Martial was studying the games, again, with Gia while Trix was out conferring about our tokens. It seems unusual for the meetings to be so late at night but I suppose time is of the essence.

But, as I lay in bed searching for sleep in the dark paint of the ceiling above me, a knock came from the doorway.

"Come in!" I sit up against the headboard as Trix lets herself into the room.

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Oh, good," she climbs onto the bed next to me, bumping me with her shoulder briefly, "what are you thinking about?"

"Who said I was thinking?" She arched her eyebrows, the faint light of the screen behind my headboard- a substitute for a window on which there was always a forest landscape- cast sharp shadows over her face. Tucking my knees up to my chest, and bend forward to lean my chin on them. "I'm starting to think I made a mistake volunteering..." I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat and glancing over at her, "did they pass my token?"

"They didn't," she sighed, squeezing my shoulder, "it would be too easy to weaponize in the arena. But," her voice rushed as dejection shot through me, "it can be sent in by sponsors. And, there are plenty of those funding you already."

It wasn't such a comfort as it might've been if the games weren't for the entertainment of those very sponsors. My heart was pounding in my chest. The capitol has the lighter now, there's no way they'd risk letting us sneak it into the arena. The hopelessness of my situation was dawning in my mind; I'm not strong, or tactical, or a team player, hell, I'm not even likeable. I left my mum crying in the justice building and, knowing her temperament, who's to say she's not still crying now? And Martial- I could've been rooting for my friend from home. But the rift of having to kill each other is tearing us apart and I barely know how to talk to him anymore. And despite everything, "I don't want to die."

My voice is small. A whisper of a revelation that might've been discovered when I first arrived but I'd never felt the urge to run from this all until now. I swear my heart stopped, leapt into my throat and stole the breath from me.

Pressing my forehead against my knees, I clutch at my shirt and count my breaths.

Trix sighs, moving her hand from my shoulder and around me to pull me close. She leans her cheek against mine and, occasionally, her jaw opens and shuts with wordless comfort. There's no way she can promise my survival, or anything comforting that would be true. Of all people, she knew that much. Instead, she grasped me closer and whispered back, "I know."

I don't remember falling asleep. I was shaken awake the next morning by Martial, already dressed and beckoning me to eat.

Our private sessions, in which we were ranked based on our skills to provide sponsors a guideline predicting who was most likely to become victor, were mid-morning. And, according to Lys' timetable as I stuffed my face full of eggs and toast, district one was about to begin their session.

I tried not to think about Sly or Gemma, or what skill they were showing off. Perhaps it was simply combat and archery, but they could be deceiving us as I'm doing to everyone else.

Martial and I were escorted to the waiting room outside the training centre by Gia and Trix who, interchangeably, gave advice that contradicted Lys' brief rundown before sending us on our way. In their absence, Martial tried to crack a joke at how Lys knew Capitol business the way our mentors knew tribute business, he tried to suggest how to find a middle ground between their advice.

None of them landed. I couldn't bring myself to fake a smile for him.

The tension in the room snapped as a voice over the intercom called Martial into the centre. I offered a weak 'good luck' as the doors swung shut on him.

Alone now, I lean forward, counting the little square tiles on the floor at my feet and, when I grew bored of that, I counted the ceiling tiles overhead. These sessions could be up to fifteen minutes long if necessary but there was no way of knowing how long it had been since he passed through the door.

I was walking along the benches when the door opened again and he sauntered out with a skip in his step. As the intercom called me into the room, he wished me luck before we left the room through opposite doors.

The training room felt barren with no one else here with me. There was a viewing area on the wall across from me, a large window behind which the gamemakers and other capitol officials were chatting idly and pouring drinks. Glancing around briefly, considering the climbing rope and net before dragging my gaze towards the wildlife area, I step towards the centre of the room.

"District two," I announce, clearing my throat and attracting their attention, "Terra Garrison." I could spot our instructor, Caeso Wyman, muttering to Atticus Coupe, the head gamemaker. He pointed to the climbing ropes but continued to talk and Coupe glanced over to the combat mats where a peacekeeper stood waiting in case I chose to duel.

Nodding briefly to myself, I approach the wildlife scene, crouching between the shrubbery on the platform and collecting an armful of dry leaves, moss and twigs and a handful of rocks. I situate them in the middle of the room as though to create a bonfire then move over to a small table with an array of muds and pastes and paintbrushes for those attuned to camouflage. I sniff one of the pots, repulsed at the stench emitting from it but taking it over to the pit nonetheless.

Spreading the paste onto the rocks surrounding the pit, I glance up at the gamemakers who are leaning forward and mumbling to each other.

As I begin to spread the paste in trails on the floor, surrounding myself except for an opening to the rope, a sly smile tugs at my lips at the prospect of this working. Wiping my fingers clean on one of the rocks, I take up a dry twig and some plywood, I strike a flame onto the plywood, chuck it onto the pit and watch the flame strike up.

Feeling the heat already on my face, I inhale blissfully and shut my eyes briefly. Taking up the last two clean rocks, I crouch by the paste and strike them once, twice, until a spark hits the paste and it lights up. Standing back, with a sniff as the odour reaches my nose once more, I watch the trail light up and fill the room with flames. The gamemakers are by the windows, watching the fire spread and grow.

Dipping my fingers into the paste one last time, I brush it through the fire and approach the ropes as the fire eats at the paste currently protecting my finger from harm.

The trail on the floor is slowly eating towards the ropes and I jump onto one, hauling myself up with one hand as the other spreads the fire onto the rope beneath me. I swing back, letting the fire on my fingers eat at the rope near my face. As I leap towards the netting the rope snaps and falls.

By this point, my hand has extinguished and I carry myself towards the other ropes and clutch to them as an alarm beeps somewhere in the room.

From this view, I can watch the fire threaten the rest of the equipment, the peacekeeper reaching for a lever on the wall, and the gamemakers talking animatedly.

The sprinklers overhead turn on, drenching me within seconds, and I lean back to feel the cold water on me before lowering myself to the ground. Standing in the centre of the room again, in front of the doused waste of what I had created, I wait for the sprinklers to turn off before giving my audience a nod and a smile.

"Are you insane?"

Lys was waiting for me at the elevator, the only person around.

"I'm beginning to think I might be."

"This isn't funny, intimidated the gamemakers, damaged capitol property, set fire to the building-"

"What are they going to do- kill me? I thought the idea was to be intimidating," I was still scrubbing at my fingernails with a tissue trying to get the stinking paste out from under them. Fortunately, the flames hadn't had the opportunity to latch onto my skin.

"The tributes, Terra," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Intimidate the tributes, woo the gamemakers."

"What, did you want me to go in there and make kissy faces at them? God forbid the killers they're raising can actually cause damage."

"Terra-"

"No. Your advice is terrible, Lys, when it comes to Caesar Flickerman and appearances then yes: you're the best person for advice. But, to win the games? To create allies? Gia and Trix know more about that than you ever will because you're safe in your sparkly trousers and pearly white teeth." I could feel the heat in my face as I stepped out of the elevator.

"Young lady," she called after me as the door to our floor slammed open too hard, attracting the attention of the mentors and Martial, "I am your esco-"

"My escort, exactly! What do you know about actually fighting in the games, Lysandra, what do you know about befriending people so that you might actually be able to kill them soon?" I was close to her now, she shut the door to avoid any eavesdropping but couldn't tear away from my glare. "You tell me how to win the games." Her mouth dropped open and there were tears in her eyes. I wonder if anyone below her rank has ever spoken to her like this? It wasn't likely.

"Terra," she began, soft and tentative as though trying to calm a wild animal. Hell, even her hands were coming up between us and I could feel my eyes being opened to the reality of the power dynamic here. Lysandra was Capitol-born and always would be. No matter how many district kids she met, they would all die young while she lived heartlessly.

"Don't," I said sharply, stepping away from her as reality kicked in. She was ready for me to die the second she met me, "don't pretend to care."

I had to escape to my room but, there, I could feel the walls closing in on me and even if I imagined hard enough I couldn't turn the screen over the bed into a real window. They removed all windows in the building to prevent any tributes or mentors from running away and delaying the games, but, they also restricted us from fresh air and there was nothing I needed right now except for a run through the streets to Two.

I could hear the announcement jingle down the hall and checked the time. The scores were announced before most ate dinner and, by the sounds of it, it was nearly dinnertime.

Emerging from the hovel of my room, fists clenched and bracing myself to see Lys again, I crept into the lounge. Gia looked up and waved me over. The only spare spaces were next to Lys or the small gap between Gia and Martial. Deciding to squeeze between the two, Martial offered me a small smile and leaned against me when he turned back to the TV.

Gia's arm was resting across the back of the sofa and she gave my shoulder a squeeze before relaxing again when Caesar Flickerman appeared on screen.

The score announcements were quick, repeated at intervals in the twenty four hours between the first announcement and the moment the tributes were put into the arena. As usual, it began in order and we were quick to come onto the screen.

The highest score a tribute could get was '12', but most years the highest scores would range between '7' and '9'. Sly scored '8' and Gemma scored '7', Martial also scored '7' and my score, while at a '6', was later proven to still be in the highest range. The highest score was Sly's and only Sly's while Mahi and Wade had also scored '7' and '6' respectively. The other tributes varied in scores, most earning a '4' or '5' with the boy from Three scoring '6'.

I glanced down at Martial when the boy's (Chip, apparently) score was announced to see him lower his brows at the new competition.

We ate dinner in silence. The foods vary from tender to greasy to sweet and to savoury. It was a buffet of anything we could desire and the painful awareness of tonight being our last in the Capitol seemed to sit on our shoulders.

Lys was the first to leave, bidding us goodnight without so much as a look in my direction. I was still chewing on a piece of cake and watched her leave.

"Should I apologise?" I could feel guilt clawing at me for having yelled, but my mind was telling me I did nothing wrong. Besides, she would hardly bring herself to apologise to a district kid.

"No," Gia said, not looking up from her bowl of ice cream, "save it for after the games so you can say 'I told you so' as well." Martial dropped his cutlery and we all looked up, the amused smirk on Gia's face dropping at the hurt expression on his face. As he stood silently, Gia tilted her head back and called his name as he left but was forced to watch him leave.

"I should've worded that better," she mumbled.

"I'll go to him," I offer, already scraping my chair back and following him. I grab his plate of half-eaten cake and knock gently on his door. There's a low grumble on the other side so I let myself in. "Hey," I offered the plate and he took it, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Glancing around, the room is a mirror image of my own but with more clothes on the floor. It looks lived in and the room even smells like him.

"It's not fair," he says, breaking the silence.

"I know."

"No," he says, an edge to his voice but the accusation in his words are for someone else, "you know a different kind of unfairness, Tez. Everyone speaks about you being the victor as though it's a sure thing, they say 'when' for you and 'if' for me. I know," his voice cracks and he shovels more cake into his mouth, "I know I said I will win, but I don't know anymore..."

"You'd have to kill me," I say almost half-heartedly, a smile on my lips which drops at his response.

"You'd kill me first."

I fall silent. With the games beginning tomorrow, I'd tried to distract myself from Martial eventually being my opponent. But, now, it was hard to tell what I would do. He's lingering, waiting for me to assure him otherwise. My instant response wouldn't be an assurance to him so I stay silent.

"Well," he says, fingering the crumbs on his plate, "we'll see, I suppose."