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    BREATH FOGGED in the air that morning, as Jupiter woke with heavy eyes and bruised knuckles. Winter was in full force now, a thin layer of snow coating the outside world and frosting up her windows as she pulled the blinds back. Her own reflection stared back at her in the misty glass, and she swiftly turned away.

    The TV was filling the house with noise as Jupiter trudged down the stairs, bag slung over her shoulder and coat enveloping her figure. Cassia didn't say anything and Mars must not have been home or still asleep, otherwise he would have made a fuss about her leaving before the sun was fully risen.

    That morning the Victor's Village was quiet as Jupiter passed through the courtyard and the statue in the centre of it, the shadow moving over her as she left. Someone's chimney was weeping smoke, and from the path Jupiter could see Lyme sitting in the garden, her eyes dully following the other Victor as she reached the exit.

    The Academy was on the other side of the District, and Jupiter had to wait for a domestic train to take her. Snow had collected in her dark curls by the time she had arrived at the station, which was empty except for the usual watch of Peacekeepers, who scanned her up and down and checked her duffel back meticulously.

    "Find anything?" It was a stupid thing to ask, but at this rate she would miss her train if they kept her much longer.

    One of the two Peacekeepers paused, raising his eyes to hers. "Where'd you get this stuff?" he asked. Jupiter furrowed her brows. "It's Capitol-grade gear."

    "The Academy?" she said, unsurely. She felt it best not to point out the obvious logo on the bag and equipment.

    The Peacekeepers both looked at her. Jupiter was on the verge of saying something else when finally they handed the bag back, the zipper still strung open. "Safe travels," the second one told her in a gravelly voice.

    Jupiter only gave them a wary glance as she heard the rush of the approaching train and hurried through the gate to make it. The train was semi-crowded, but manageable as Jupiter stayed standing, closing her bag properly and frowning down at it.

    At one point she had been taking the train almost everyday, bag even more loaded and her body far smaller in comparison to it. Not once had she been stopped and especially not so cautiously, as if she were carrying weapons. All her bag had was her training gear and a single non-lethal training knife.

    If she had attempted to bring her actual knife would it have been confiscated? Jupiter believed it would have, with the way the two guards were studying her. She wouldn't have minded that, she loathed the golden blade that was strung up on display in their home. It had never been washed, rusted blood still clinging to the edge of it.

    A symbol of strength, was what her mother had said.

    The Academy appeared through the window after some time, great walls reaching for the sky and the well-kept garden dusted in a thin layer of snow. Jupiter took it in as the train ground to stop, the Victor departing as one of the few for the station. Not much else was around except for the building, grounds and supply shops nearby.

    Jupiter waited, more patiently this time, as Peacekeepers also checked her bag on arrival. She found it odd, but didn't ask, as she accepted it back again and left the gate. The path from the station eventually opened out into a great, cobbled street leading into the courtyard and gardens. A statue that usually spit water was turned off for the winter, staring down at Jupiter as she passed it.

    The Academy was separate from the other schools in their District, a prestigious opportunity only those with legacy-baring or first-come-first-serve would be allowed to attend from age five. Jupiter had gotten in on her father's baring, nepotism at its finest, but at the time it had been an honour. Others tried out once they were twelve, to see if it was worth accepting any new blood before serious training began. More often than not, the classes stayed the same.

    "Welcome back," the receptionist greeted Jupiter as she strolled in.

    The Victor only shot her a look and continued through the regal hallways. She had always found that the closer people felt to the Capitol, the more they acted like the people from there. Too happy, too unassuming to the horrors around them. The grinning receptionist whose job it was to register people to a school training them up to kill or be killed was one of those people.

    Unlike town, Jupiter could not pass through the Academy without being recognised. Children and teenagers stopped and gestured to her, some whispered to each other, but none approached. Jupiter knew why and she hated it. This place had bred her and even still she was not fully welcome.

    Her face was framed in the hallways as one of their volunteers and thus alumni. It was wicked that only those who actually survived were counted as worthy of being displayed and honoured, others simply being bodies in a grave, a true tribute to the games and that was all.

    If she looked years down, she would see her father, too, young and glowing. His name would be printed in golden lettering, shining under the warm lighting and illuminating the curves of his face that Jupiter saw in her brother everyday.

    God, she hated it here.

    She made herself comfortable in one of the many gyms of the school, unpacking and changing into her gear before beginning her routine. Target boards, dummies, an absorbent floor and a punching bag were her opponents for the day, as she worked through the movements that had become imprinted on her over the years.

    It broke the routine of being home and in the cold, and in a weird way, it brought her closer to her father. He had continued training after he had won, staying fit and mobile during Jupiter's childhood, and she had had him as a teacher during her younger years.

    Jupiter had not wanted to be an instructor at the school. As a Victor, she was offered the position by default the day she returned home from winning, but she had denied it. She could stand the week she got to know the tributes before she sent them to die, she could not do a lifetime of training.

    The door to the training room opened abruptly, and Jupiter whipped around. Her shoulders deflated. "I'm here to hit stuff, Luce," she told her fellow-mentor sharply. After the 74th Games, Lucius hadn't put his name in again for mentor, and must have resumed working at the Academy.

    Lucius held his hands up defensively as he approached. "Go ahead," he said, watching as she laid out on a punching bag. The blows echoed through the room, her knuckles bracing through their wraps as she struck. Lucius moved again. "Enobaria–"

    "I don't care," Jupiter cut him off. She shot him a pointed look, moving away from the bag. Lucius did not say anything about the other, well-known Victor, and even took a step back from her as she passed him in favour of her water bottle.

    Jupiter knew he had something to say by the way he lingered, almost hovering over her shoulder. "You training to stay in shape?" he piped up.

    "Is that a hint?" the younger Victor said, snidely.

    Again, he looked wary. "No– no, I just... Will you be mentoring again this year?"

    "Yes, like always," Jupiter responded.

    Lucius nodded, hands wrung in front of him. "It's a Quell. Should be interesting."

    "What do you want?" Jupiter asked directly, voice flat.

    The man's eyes widened, as if he thought he had been slick. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The Academy is asking for your help," he told her.

    Jupiter scoffed, remembering the letters that Mars had shoved in her face. "You mean the Council?" she said, bitterly.

    The Academy was only the building and the classes, the instructors and the admission staff. The Council were the most esteemed fighters, made up of some Victors, some trainers, and some wealthy members of District 2 that dictated the annual tributes and performance grades.

    Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes," he replied indignantly. Jupiter assumed it was because he wasn't on the Council.

    "You can tell them 'no,'" she said simply.

    The routine had been broken and now the training room was no better than the kitchen at home, as Jupiter began to pack her bag back up and wipe down the training areas she had been using. Lucius watched her with gleaming eyes.

    "It's an honour," Lucius snapped.

    "I didn't ask for it," Jupiter replied, coolly.

    "Enobaria says you're a disgrace," the older Victor told her suddenly.

    Jupiter's face hardened but she didn't look at him. She didn't want to give him or Enobaria the satisfaction of getting under her skin. "Then why ask the disgrace for help?" she asked.

    "I– don't know," Lucius admitted, sounding less confident now.

    If Jupiter were crueller she would have laughed at him. But she wasn't her brother and she wasn't like the rest of them praying on weakness. She got to her feet, bag slung over her back. "Then don't talk to me about it," she told Lucius, the veil of a threat in her words.

    She moved, and Lucius moved. Jupiter paused, eyes scanning him quickly, and her fists begged to do what they were trained to. But Lucius didn't move further, he only kept her at arm's length, intimidating gaze faltering.

    He was afraid of her.

    Jupiter backed off, frowning. This wasn't what she had wanted for herself the day she had been told, sixteen and wide-eyed, that she was chosen as the female tribute for that year. That it was her responsibility to represent their District after years of training and preparation on the big screen and bring home glory.

    She had not asked for this when she had stepped into that arena and realised that the Academy only prepared them for a show, to win. Jupiter had realised that for herself, standing on guard for the Career pack of the 68th Hunger Games, that she was here to survive and she would not do that with high performance grades and a good show.

    The Victors of 2 both feared and hated her. After she had returned home from her arena, still covered in blood when she had been beamed up, the response had been mixed but apparent. Some treated her with ice, others with fear and distrust, but most acted like she was a traitor. Glad to ship her off every year to the Capitol, glad she had chosen not to work at the Academy, glad that she and her family liked the comfort of the house.

    They did not like Jupiter because she had conflicted their lessons. To win at all costs, but to follow the rules of the games, of being a Career. She had forced them to question where the line of violence was drawn, and they hated that and in turn her.

    Jupiter had never meant to turn into the pariah she had, she had only wanted to survive. Was that not what the Hunger Games were for? Unlocking the parts of the Districts no one wanted to face as punishment? She did not play her Games, she had won them out of force.

    She had not understood that at sixteen when she had returned home and claimed the house to the left of where she had grown up. She had not understood why the people who she had idolised and trained alongside, who had given her sponsors and tips before she had entered the arena the week before– she could not understand why they hated her.

    Jupiter did now, and she despised them right back for it.

    "This guy bothering you?" a voice came suddenly.

    And then there was Brutus– her male mentor for the year she had volunteered, who had revelled in her brutality. Was it worse to be condemned for wanting to survive, or to be treated like a prize for drawing blood? Jupiter did not know, all she had wanted was someone to understand.

    But sometimes the softness was welcome amongst the cold.

    Lucius jumped away from Jupiter as if she were on fire, as the older Victor who had mentored both of them entered the training room. Jupiter's eyes moved to him, softening from the glare she had been giving Lucius.

    "Yes, definitely," she told Brutus.

    Lucius blinked at her, before looking at the taller man. "Sorry. I was just going."

    And he fled the room, Jupiter watching him leave with his tail between his legs.

    Brutus scoffed at the display. "Good to see you here, kid," he told her, placing an affectionate hand on her shoulder. Jupiter only shrugged. "You leaving already?" he asked, taking notice of her bag and the sweat drying on her forehead.

    "Luce sort of killed the mood," she admitted.

    He sighed but didn't fight her on it. "You should visit more often," was all he said.

    She gave him a sad sort of look, one she hoped he'd understand. Not everyone applauded her violence the way he did, not everyone was proud of her having the guts to do what she had done. Because that was how he saw it, not the tragedy she did and not the act of disrespect that the others did.

    In a way, he was more District 2 than them. Maybe if her brother had been chosen as tribute instead of her, he would have become someone like Brutus, someone who did not care for the game and only the win.

    "I get it," Brutus said finally. He hooked an arm over her shoulder, using his other hand to mess up her hair. "I'll walk you out."

    From the angle she was held at, Jupiter could do nothing to avoid her father's staring Victor's portrait as she passed.

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this another short chapter just to introduce the academy and more of district 2's culture. jupiter's winning technique will continue to be hinted at for angst

also in the books parts of district 2 is pretty much still loyal to the capitol into mockingjay, so jupiter won't see many hints of rebellion up until everything explodes. things are odd and clearly shaken by katniss, but the rebellion doesn't really reach 2 in catching fire

anyway, our favourite man appears next chapter!!