Nola hadn't always liked the Capitol, but she had started to get used to it three years earlier. After winning the Hunger Games, a very different girl emerged from the arena than the one who had entered. Before, Nola liked to go unnoticed, she didn't like the attention, she preferred to stay in the shadows; but after dazzling the spectators and receiving support in large amounts of gifts in the arena, Nola had learned to make the most of herself, showing off, recognizing her worth and feeling that, if so many people liked her, it was for a reason.

It had taken her a while at first. She was sixteen years old, she had just killed three or four people —or even more, the first few days she had been so distracted she didn't even remember it— she had won the Hunger Games without ever having trained in her life, and, after that, she had been brutally thrown onto the stage, into the spotlight, into the flashbulbs of photographs, the leading questions of journalists, the interviews, the speeches on the Winners' Tour; and her life, having been turned into a constant spectacle, had been completely changed, thereby changing Nola herself.

Visits to the Capitol had been more frequent since her seventeenth birthday. Wealthier Districts always had an easier time catching a train and traveling directly to the Capitol, and Nola had been no exception. No one had warned her about what it meant to win being from District 2, pretty and young; maybe because no one had had the heart to tell her that her life was going to fall apart by the minute, that maybe she would have been better off dying in that arena.

The first time had been strange. Thank God her first companion had been a young man, somewhat strange, but nice to her. Nola didn't know what was supposed to happen, but seeing the suggestive gestures of the boy, with tan skin that looked fake, she understood that she was going to be used as a toy by Snow. There were times when it was better, and also worse, because Nola didn't feel like being there and yet she had to or everything she had would be affected; and alone as she lived, she couldn't allow herself to be thrown back into a life full of misfortune like the one she had before the Games.

So she had begun to take advantage of it. Despite being loaded to the gills and having a huge mansion to herself, she was attending dinners with exquisite and expensive menus in the Capitol, drinking bottles of champagne as if it were water, dazzling her companions to buy her exquisite, fine and tremendously elegant pieces of clothing, jewelry, shoes, accessories, even paying for some aesthetic treatments that, to tell the truth, the young Nola did not need. However, she had become so accustomed to the glittering makeup of the Capitol inhabitants that she sometimes caught herself wearing it.

It was late winter when she was returning from her latest excursion to the Capitol. She returned with two bags full of designer clothes, and this time she didn't return by train, but rather her latest flirt had hired a private plane just for her, which dropped her off at her own home plot. She waved to some of the victors who were in their gardens, taking advantage of the fact that the sun was beginning to melt the snow to enjoy the incipient warmth of March. Some of them understood where she was coming from, and without wanting to meddle in her affairs, simply nodded.

—The kids came home from school saying that there was a mandatory program on TV tonight— one of her neighbors, Dros she thought his name was, warned her—. With all this talk about District 12, they probably want to quell the rumors with messages of peace and unity.

Nola thanked him for the warning with a nod, but thought that the last thing Snow would do would be to encourage unity, but rather start with small warnings that would turn into terrible threats. The act of rebellion, conscious or unconscious on Katniss's part, had fanned a flame in the population that would be difficult to extinguish. The Victors of all the Districts had a privileged position, set apart from the rest of the citizens, and even so, they knew that Katniss Everdeen's gesture had provoked uprisings, strikes and other scandals in some Districts.

District 3 had stopped producing electronics. District 4, in charge of supplying fish and seafood to high-end restaurants in the Capitol, had also begun to run low on their materials. District 8, which produced the uniforms for all of Panem's peacekeepers, had been out of business for days. And to make matters worse, the message from the two from District 12 in District 11 had provoked uprisings, shootings and murders among its population, no matter how much they wanted to keep the rest of the Districts from seeing it.

In Districts 1 and 2, things were different. They were the darlings of the Capitol and its inhabitants, not quite being treated as upper class as they were, but they were clearly the most distinguished of all the other cities. They had hot water, electricity, a good market with sufficient supplies and most citizens had a house of their own for their families. They had a symbiotic relationship with the Capitol: District 2 provided them with showmanship and masonry, and, in return, the Capitol pampered and protected them.

So for them rebellion and uprisings did not exist. They had no complaints about Snow's management of them, for they had food to eat, a roof over their heads and a job that gave them money, so they were oblivious to anything that did not harm them. The vast majority of people in those two Districts did not pay attention to the revolution, thinking that they were crazy for trying those things, and only a tiny part of the citizens could empathize with the situation lived in the rest of the Districts. Even so, no one dared to lift a finger against the hand that fed them.

Nola took a bath, tired of thinking. She kept thinking at times about the conversation she'd had with Finnick and Haymitch a few weeks ago, and she kept thinking about how they could have been so stupid as to think she would just join them. No, Nola wasn't like that. Nola was acting in her own best interest, and what would it profit her to risk her life so that Katniss Everdeen's life would be safe? Nola was rich, young, famous, had a dream life, why would she want to throw it away for that suicide mission? It's not like she was going to get any kind of personal reward if they overthrew Snow's government and eliminated the system once and for all.

Yes, she could admit that she was even excited at the thought of seeing Snow drop dead at her feet. To get rid of that smell of poisoned roses and fresh blood, to wipe that elegant but mocking smile off his face, to take justice into her own hands to get revenge for all that he had forced her to do, but... What good would it do to her? The damage was done, and in part she felt she was compensated with everything she had received in return. Besides, who could guarantee that her life would continue to be just as well off after Snow's hypothetical death?

She wrapped the towel around her head to dry her hair, and after pouring herself the second glass of whiskey of the day, she sat down in front of the television, ready to watch a speech that would bring her nothing but made her curious: however, compulsory programs didn't usually bring anything good.

The TV came on automatically, and Nola almost laughed at the realization that they were being forced to watch it, whether they wanted to or not. She took a sip of her drink when she saw President Snow appear on stage, decked out in a smart black suit, and accompanied by a young boy wearing a white one. The anthem began to play, and Nola could almost imagine one of the Victors in adjoining houses rising to the sound, earning a grimace from the girl.

—On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their own violence, all the districts had to hold elections and vote for the tributes who would represent them.

Nola understood that they were going to announce what the third vassalage was about, although she already knew. Nevertheless, a tiny part inside her wished with all her might that the two men were wrong. That same tiny part hated the thought of having to return to the arena. She was too comfortable at home.

She was so absorbed and self-absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the horror it must have been for those people to choose which children would go to the Hunger Games, surely with a tragic outcome: death.

—On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, all the Districts sent twice as many tributes as usual.

Nola sipped again at Snow's words, who almost seemed to blame the Districts for making the decision to send two more tributes in addition to the statutory two. The girl remembered that this was the year Haymitch Abernathy had won, and raised the cup in his honor in her solitude.

—And now we come to our third Vassalage of Twenty-Five— the president began, but paused dramatically, as if he knew for certain that absolutely every citizen of Panem was glued to their screens. The boy in the white suit handed him an envelope, and Snow again created a tense atmosphere as he slowly opened it—. On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even their strongest members are no match for the power of the Capitol, the chosen tributes will be drawn from the group of Victors.

The blonde girl could almost notice the sepulchral silence that was suddenly in the Victors' Village. She heard in the distance the incipient crying of children, the occasional material falling and smashing to the ground, or, further on, loud curses. She stayed quiet and still on her couch, staring at a lost spot on the television, where Snow was still talking but she could no longer hear him, and she finished her whiskey in such a way that she didn't even feel like having another glass.

—Those sons of bitches— she mockingly whispered to herself—. Those sons of bitches were right.

She tried to handle the situation as calmly as she could. She knew that the chances of returning to participate were small, but they existed, after all, and until the reaping was over she wouldn't know if she would have to return or not. She toweled her hair out of her hair, letting the damp locks brush her face and give her short flashbacks of her time at her Games. She closed her eyes softly, trying to escape that world momentarily, but a knock on her door brought her out of her reverie.

She opened the door without stopping to think who might be behind it, and was not surprised when she saw a golden reflection of Enobaria's false fangs in front of her.

—You heard, didn't you? You just saw it as well as everyone else— Enobaria began, entering the house without Nola welcoming or inviting her. Nola didn't respond, but Enobaria understood that everyone had seen it—. What the hell does this mean? What do we Victors have to do with this?

—You heard the speech Snow gave. It's to remind us all, rebels and citizens alike, that even we won't be able to defeat the Capitol. It's a way of letting us know that maybe we're not as much like them as they sometimes want to show us. We are just another piece, Enobaria, it doesn't matter if you are done with the queen. The queen starts over and you are just a pawn, game after game.

The brunette woman sat on the couch, hiding her face in her hands and pushing her hair away from her face in frustration—. So what are we going to do now? Mentoring is one thing, but facing some of these people in the arena is a trip to certain death.

—That's exactly what he wants— Nola replied, remembering her conversation with the other two Victors—. You know what's going on in the Districts because of the girl from the 12th. There's no other female winner of the games in District 12. It's the only way to end her life without arousing too much suspicion. Coincidentally it's a Vassalage, it's always special, and on the occasion of the rebellion she's stirring up, it would be a sad accident and a tragedy if Katniss Everdeen were to die in her second Hunger Games in a row. After all, it's an ending that a lot of people would expect: she's a rookie, she's only seventeen, and everyone else is an experienced person who has probably been a mentor and will know their way around the arena— Nola concluded, nodding—. Katniss Everdeen will die, and with her any hope she might have raised in the population.

—My God— Enobaria sighed—. Why go to the trouble of possibly turning the people of the Capitol against him for trying to kill us? Why not just show an accident of the girl dying?

—People are stupid, but not that stupid. No one will believe that, after everything that's happened, after winning a fucking Hunger Games and the uprisings that have happened because of it, the girl dies accidentally. People will know that Snow will have had something to do with it, angry that a kid bothered to overthrow his system, and then the revolution will be unstoppable. It's a way to get rid of Victors, freeing up economic burdens for the Capitol, while having a near 100% chance of Katniss dying. If people see her die, then they'll understand that she wasn't the leader they needed, and the strikes and rebellions will stop because the only hope they had is gone.

—Well, what are we going to do?— Enobaria finally asked, after having been silent for a few minutes to assimilate Nola's words.

Nola snorted—. I don't know about you, but a week from now I'm going to be sitting on this damn couch, finishing the new bottle of champagne I bought today in the Capitol. Would you like to come and taste it while we see the reapings of the other Districts?— Seeing that there was no answer, Nola turned and rolled her eyes—. Do you really think you'll be the one? There are many of us, Enobaria, don't worry about it. Besides, you could always convince Iris to run for you— her former mentor gave her a reproachful look—. What? It's true. She's almost eighty years old, deaf in one ear, and will have black lungs from everything she gets into. It's not like she has her whole life ahead of her.

—You are insolent, has anyone ever told you that? I'm serious, I don't want to repeat that experience even though I volunteered the first time. I clearly don't have the same agility I had then, and I don't want to feel like a monkey again for Snow. Son of a bitch— the brunette mumbled through her teeth, then snorted. Then she huffed—. Knowing that drunk Haymitch, he's probably already looking for allies among his cronies to protect his boys.

—He already has— confirmed Nola, who looked at Enobaria when she raised an eyebrow—. He came to see me a couple of weeks ago with the Odair boy.

The expression on Enobaria's face changed to anger—. You already knew about this? And what the hell were you waiting for to tell me something?

—How do you think Finnick found out about it?

Enobaria understood instantly: —The same way you did.

—If we started spreading it around the Victors, in just one day everyone would be aware of the news, and we would risk big punishments and endanger the people who revealed it. The thing is, it seems that between Haymitch and Odair there is already an alliance, so those from District 12 will have District 4 in the arena. Who knows who else, maybe even District 11, now that they're so close with District 12. District 3, District 8....

—In short, it could be all but 1 and 2. We would fight all of them: four against twenty— Enobaria calculated quickly, but in the absence of an answer from Nola, she frowned—. Wait, what did you answer to his proposal?

—No, obviously. First of all, it's not in my plans to volunteer, unless I get elected directly. Second, participating in the Games and publicly supporting the District 12 alliance would be the end of my life, whether I make it out alive or not. If I am killed, it will be over; but if I survive and I am the only one, our District and the Capitol will know that I am a traitor.

Nola did not add anything else, and Enobaria did not force her to continue speaking, but she understood perfectly what was going through the younger girl's mind. She had been her mentor three years ago, she had prepared her day and night to succeed in the Games, and after her plan succeeded and Nola Bernacci was crowned winner they had become great friends. Enobaria had seen her grow up in a matter of weeks: she had taken under her wing a reserved and distracted little girl, and from the arena had emerged a determined girl. She was much more mature, and as time passed Enobaria proved that she had not been wrong in choosing her as a companion.

—However, you are tempted by the idea— Enobaria concluded for her in a soft voice—. You love the idea of skewering Snow on your sword as if he were an animal. Make him pay for everything he's done to us, what he's done to you.

Nola gave her a defiant look, and her eyes turned such a dark green that Enobaria was surprised—. This is not my fight. If they want to take on the Capitol and the president, that's their right to be stupid, but I won't do it. I won't die for Katniss Everdeen, nor will I volunteer for these Games.