FRUSTRATED, PENT-UP, AND STORMY, Coriolanus worked hard to keep his posture straight, and his expression neutral. It was the best he could do, because reaching for anything close to pleasant would be akin to Tantalus grabbing a fruit or drink. Impossible. 

He found himself in the training room again, where Soma had kicked him in the head. Strangely, he found no desire to get her back. Maybe he knew his presence was enough, the sheer bloodiness of his existence was revenge itself. 

He stripped off his suit jacket and shirt, the cold air hitting his skin around his undershirt. He stepped into the sawdust ring, wrapping his hands tight with bandages. 

His legs braced, hands loose before him, Coriolanus took a deep breath in. 

As his fist collided with the swinging sandbag, a memory hit him. 

Soma's head on his chest, her hair loose and hanging over the both of them like a blanket. Coriolanus' pale fingers playing with the ends, weaving the strands between his hands. 

"I'm being sent to Four," she says quietly. 

Coriolanus feels his heart stutter, and knows she heard it too.

"For two years," she continues. He cannot see her face, but he feels something hot and wet seep into his skin. She's crying. "They're taking me out of the game, Coriolanus." 

She sits up and stares at him, her eyes red and furious. "They're sidelining me. Father think I'm making too many waves, and Ma won't say a thing. Make them stop, Coryo." 

"Me?" he laughed. "What can I do?" 

"Just ask them!" she cried. "Please. I can't leave, not right now. Things are changing. I have to be here." 

"Why not ask Sejanus to help you. He's your brother." 

"You think they listen to Sejanus? Have you been hiding under a rock, Coryo? Nobody listens to Sejanus, not even me. He's useless, and he gets himself in trouble with all his stupid rebel talk. I need to stay, I need to control him, and I need to fix everything." 

"You're sixteen, Soma." 

"And you're seventeen. One year makes such a difference, doesn't it." 

"Quit that," he sat up, glaring at her. "Just go to Four and get it over with. I'm doing the same." 

She stared at him. "You won't even try." 

"You can't have everything you want, Soma," he said coldly. "Cut your losses." 

Soma drew away from him, as if his skin was acid. "Fine." 

She was gone in an instant, cold air swirling against Coryo's chest. 

He has grown too comfortable with her. They are slipping back into their old ways, their familiar banter, and he cannot allow this. Soma Plinth had drove him to distraction, and here she was, doing it again. 

With a cry, he sank his fist into the swinging sandbag, feeling the sting of his knuckles splitting. The bag swung wildly, flying under the shadowy light of the training room, to reveal Soma herself. She was dressed in short, flowy pants and a tight black top. 

"Ah, animal magnetism," she said dryly. 

He stiffened. "What do you want." 

"Goodness, Coryo, so hostile." She looked at him strangely, tilting her head and squinting her eyes. The sandbag swung between them, blocking his sight of her for a heartbeat. "Are you running a fever? You look warm. Snow melts in the heat, you know." 

He ignored her, focusing on the swinging bag instead. He wound up, struck out again, sending the bag careening into the air again. 

Soma walked around him, the tap of her kitten-heel slippers echoing in time with his punches. New shoes, he supposed, since she had left them at his office. He had thrown them away, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

"Your suit is in your closet, and I've only a few things left by means of party activities. I was wondering how you'd feel about a mock-Hunger Games. A little draw, a little ball pit perhaps. It'd be fun, wouldn't it?" 

He caught the sandbag, turning to stare at her. "You want to play at murder?" 

"You choreograph murder," she returned. "Don't look at me as if I'm the horrible one. I think they'll have fun." 

"The Hunger Games is no--" 

"No game?" 

They stared at each other, she defiant, he fuming. 

"Just leave me, Soma," he said finally. He turned away from her. 

She laughed. "See, I would, but we're about to be engaged. And you've enlisted me as one of your mentors. Additionally, we live in the same house, and I would like to work out as well." 

He struck the sandbag again, harder this time. His knuckles reddened with pain. 

Soma walked past him, humming a sea shanty, to the stick dummy to Coriolanus' left. It had rotating arms that spun wildly and uncontrollably. Coriolanus never liked the stick dummy. 

"Stop staring," she called, not looking backwards, settling into a stance before the dummy. 

Coriolanus glared, turning back to the sandbag. "I wasn't." 

She responded with a cry, lunging at the dummy, and striking fast. Whhr-tck! Whhhrrr-tck-tck! The sounds of the spinning limbs smacking into Soma's arms filled the room. She grunted and shouted, her arms blurring, leg occasionally hiking up for a well-placed kick. 

Coriolanus slammed his elbow into the sandbag. Thmp! It swung away, then back again, and he let out a shout as he drove his fist into the meat of the bag. 

Whhrr-tck!

Thump-thump-thump.

Whrrr-tck-tck-tak!

Thump-th-thump!

He hated the harmony of them. Soma ducked as he threw a punch, he blocked as she fired off quick jabs. They fought different battles, but they were fighting each other nonetheless. He wanted nothing more than to throw off their two-step, he'd do anything to keep her from moving with him, as if they belonged together or something--

The sandbag swung past his distracted arms and nailed him in the face. Blinding pain sent Coriolanus staggering backwards, landing on his ass once again in the sawdust. 

Soma turned, startled, and the swinging dummy caught her in the stomach. She cried out, collapsing, heaving for air. 

The two of them groaned on the ground, twitching in pain. 

Between pained gasps, Soma laughed. 

"I VOLUNTEER!" Mags cried, throwing her hand high, her flaming curls tossing in the sea wind. They stood gathered around the Square, all of them, the citizens of District Four blinking blearily in the afternoon sun. Most were barefoot or half-clothed, ready to dive into the ocean in a heartbeat. Some still held half-finished nets, tired of waiting around to see another child slaughtered. 

People turned at that, though. Nets dropped to the floor. Mag's mother cried out, reaching for her. 

Mags fought away, swallowing back her sobs. It was so hot, her blood boiling in her chest, sweat slinking down her temple in time with the tears down her cheeks. "I volunteer," she called again, making her way to the stage. 

She had applied for so many tesserae, that new system the Capitol had set in place. People could get more food, more materials, for their families the more they entered their name into the Reaping lottery. Mags had done it nearly twenty times. She hadn't been called. 

So she volunteered. 

Before anyone --or her own screaming heart-- could change her mind, Mags climbed the stage and took the Capitol girl's hand. 

District Four stared back at her, silent, despairing. 

Without any pomp, Mags turned, and walked away with the Peacekeepers. Her shoulders shook, her legs trembling, but she refused to make a single sound. The sobs built in her throat fought, hard, pressing against her sealed lips. 

"MAGS! I LOVE YOU." 

Caspian's voice, howling over the sound of the sea. 

Mags let out a single, shaky gasp.

Then the yawning mouth of the Peacekeeper's train swallowed her whole.