Chapter Two

Chapter Two / Lamb To The Slaughter

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Evelia had no idea who the boys chosen to represent District four were. She had never seen them before in her life, whether it was at the Academy or around the District.

As her name echoed through the square and she ascended the steps to the stage, Evelia made a conscious effort to wear a smile, trying her best to defy the Capitol's cruelty.

They wanted martyrs turned into muppets? They needed to try harder.

Yet, when her gaze found Mollie's tear-filled eyes in the crowd, her resolve wavered. The weight of the moment, the finality of leaving everything behind, stripped the smile from her lips.

They were ushered into the Justice Building, the four tributes separated into individual rooms. Locked away from the world outside, Evelia sat in silence, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She knew her mum would come, knew Mollie would come, to say their goodbyes. But in those moments of waiting, the reality of what lay ahead sank in deeper than ever before.

The room felt cold, something ironic in District Four. There was a little bookshelf to Evelia's left, and she walked towards it, curious. Perhaps she could borrow one of these books for the train ride, if they were interested enough.

But of course, they weren't. All these books were made under Snow's government, meaning the pages were full of propaganda. Great. A

The door swung open, and Evelia's mother entered, accompanied by a stern-faced Peacekeeper who stood guard at the threshold.

"You have three minutes," he stated curtly before closing the door behind him.

Evelia's mother approached, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. She reached out tentatively, her touch hesitant yet laden with a mother's unspoken sorrow. Evelia resisted the urge to pull away, her emotions a turbulent storm beneath a mask of stoic defiance.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," her mother murmured, voice breaking as she grasped Evelia's hands tightly.

Evelia's jaw clenched, a surge of anger rising within her like a tide. She yanked her hands free, stepping back with a sharp intake of breath.

"Stop lying mum," Evelia snapped, her tone laced with bitterness. "You knew this could happen. It's because of you. I know. "

Her mother recoiled as if struck, her expression a mix of hurt and guilt. "Evelia, I..."

"I don't care about what you have to say to me. You took those tesserae, and now you're facing the consequences. C'mon mother, don't tell me you believed they wouldn't be any?"

Her mother's silence told Evelia everything she needed to know. Evelia scoffed bitterly and turned away, pacing the small space as she struggled to contain the turmoil raging inside her.

"I'm sorry," her mother whispered.

"No, you're not. You're saying that because you got caught. If you really felt bad, you would've stopped your traffic a long time ago," Evelia snapped back.

Her mother remained silent, her eyes downcast with guilt.

Evelia glared at her. "Just go," she said, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "Go!"

Her mother nodded silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. With a final, agonising glance, she turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Evelia leaned on the desk, her nails digging into the wood as she struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but it was in vain. The tears flowed freely, and for once, she decided to let them fall, not to hold them back.

The weight of the impending Games, the resentment toward her mother, and the fear of what lay ahead all crashed down on her at once. The room seemed to close in around her, its walls a silent witness to her anguish.

In a few days, she wouldn't feel sadness anymore. She wouldn't feel anything at all.

Evelia sank to the floor, her tears soaking the rough fabric of her dress. She hugged her knees to her chest, allowing herself this moment of vulnerability. The Capitol's cruelty had taken so much from her already, but in these fleeting moments, she clung to her humanity—the raw, unfiltered emotions that defined her.

As the tears subsided, Evelia wiped her face with the back of her hand, her resolve slowly hardening once more. She knew the reality: she was going to die in the Games. The odds were stacked against her, and the Capitol's monstrous spectacle was designed to crush her spirit and her life. The thought of killing, of becoming a pawn in their twisted game, repulsed her.

Besides, the future that awaited her as a victor was one she couldn't bear to face—a life haunted by the horrors she would be forced to endure and commit, forever marked by the Capitol's blood-stained seal of approval. But more than that, she wasn't happy. She had never been happy. Her entire life had been a series of lonely, painful moments, punctuated by brief glimpses of something better that always slipped away. Everything had always felt out of control.

But there was something she could control; how she faced her end. She would enter the arena not as a helpless victim but with a quiet defiance burning in her heart. She would deny the Capitol the satisfaction of breaking her spirit.

"Eve?"

The blonde lifted her head. Mollie, with tears in her eyes, rushed towards her and hugged her tightly.

"Eve, oh Eve..." she sobbed.

Evelia returned her friend's embrace, her heart heavy.

"The others are trying to convince the mayor that you're not fit to participate in the Games," Mollie explained, her voice choked with emotion. "That's why they're not here."

"We both know that won't work," Evelia replied, a bitter edge to her words. "One can escape the games only if they're on their death bed. I am not. I have to go."

Mollie nodded, tears streaming down her soft face.

"You... you can win, Eve. You're smart. You know how to fight, I saw it at the Academy. Your maiming is great. Just... just hide until there's only one tribute left, and then fight them."

"It's not that simple," Evelia whispered.

Mollie's lips began to tremble, her desperation evident. "It's not, but you can do it! Look at last year's victor. Wiress or something. She did it, she hid in a corner of her arena and waited there. "

"It's different. Her arena was full of shiny surfaces that reflected everything. Wasn't that hard to hide once you understood the mechanism."

"Alright, but finding shelter can't be that hard if—"

"Mollie," Evelia interrupted gently, pulling back to look her friend in the eyes. The sadness in Mollie's gaze mirrored her own internal struggle, a reflection of the deep bond they shared.

Evelia wanted to tell her she wasn't planning on winning the Games. At least, it wasn't her main goal. She wanted to make people realise The Hunger Games should be abolished, as well as Snow's government. But she suspected cameras were hidden everywhere in the room; if Peacekeepers, Gamemakers, Judges... if anyone found out what she said, she'd be dead before she'd step foot in the arena. And she couldn't afford that.

"I'll be okay," Evelia eventually whispered. "I'll try my best to succeed."

She didn't say what she wanted to succeed. Deep down, she suspected Mollie already knew.

Without saying anything else, Mollie walked towards her best friend and hugged her.

The two friends remained locked in their embrace, finding a moment of solace amidst the looming darkness. Evelia knew that this farewell was as much for Mollie's sake as it was for her own. She had to leave something behind, a piece of herself that would live on in the hearts of those she cared about.

When the Peacekeeper finally returned to escort Mollie out, Evelia felt a strange sense of calm. She had faced the reality of her situation and made her peace with it. Somewhat. There were still two or three parts of her plan that didn't really fit her liking.

Oh well.

As the train barreled towards the Capitol, Evelia found an unexpected wave of relief wash over her, knowing that mere survival in the Games wasn't her sole mission.

Mags had ordered for dinner a giant bowl of boiled shellfish, a traditional district four meal.

Hardin Silverfall, the first boy tribute to have been called, licked his lips in hunger.

"Nice," he whispered.

Mags smiled at him. "I know. I ordered this because it's comforting. I think."

"It is," Haldin agreed.

Evelia was sitting between Delta O'connor and Griffin Mackere (the other boy tribute) and felt her stomach growl at the sight of the food.

She served herself a generous portion and snuffed at the stream. Smelled like home.

"Smells like hell!" Zephyria gasped, and Evelia resisted the urge to slap her.

"No one's forcing you to eat it, y'know," she instead replied. "In fact, no one's forcing you to stay with us."

Zephyria stared a few seconds at Evelia, clearly in shock, before violently standing up and leaving the restaurant car.

Well, that was quick.

"What's her problem?" Delta groaned.

"She has a broom stuck up her ass, that's her problem", Haldin quipped.

Griffin snorted as Evelia nearly choked on her food, frustration flaring at the emptiness of what she actually knew about her district mates. She had a fragment of information about Delta, a scrap, and that was all. Delta's parents were harbour engineers—tasked with designing, building, and maintaining the structures and systems that kept ships safe while docking, unloading, and navigating the port. Beyond that, Evelia knew nothing.

Delta's skill with a bow was the only other certainty; she'd seen it in the Academy, had felt the sharp edge of it in practice. Lethal, precise, terrifyingly competent. But that was where her knowledge ended.

Griffin and Haldin were ghosts before the Reaping. Evelia hadn't known they existed, hadn't noticed them in the endless churn of Four's sprawling Academy. It wasn't exactly unexpected; Four was one of Panem's largest districts, a place where the Academy divided students into six separate groups so the teachers wouldn't drown in numbers. Griffin and Haldin had never crossed her path, had never been in her group, and so they remained unknowable, shadows at the edges of her awareness.

"So," Griffin said, his mouth still full, "how do we do this?"

Mags offered him a small, patient smile as she took a spoonful of her food. When she swallowed, she set the spoon down beside her plate with a quiet finality that drew their attention.

"Well, I've mentored several times over the years," she said. "In the early Games, I didn't bother asking tributes what they wanted because the answer seemed so obvious. You want to live. But then I realised there are wants that reach further. Mine did. They were tied to my district partner. Protecting him."

The four tributes stared at her.

"So," Mags continued, "let me ask you this: what do you want?"

Evelia exchanged a puzzled glance with Delta. What did she want? A spark in the Capitol. A fracture in Snow's power. Something that could burn even if she didn't make it out. But she couldn't voice any of that. She needed to cloak her thoughts in something safer.

"I don't want to die in agony," Haldin said. "I... I need it to be quick."

Everyone nodded.

"I don't want people to misunderstand who I am," Delta said. "I want them to see me as I actually am, not as the Capitol's version of me."

"I want to stay true to my values. I don't want the arena to change me," Griffin said.

Then all eyes turned to Evelia. She bit her lower lip, searching for a way to shape the truth without exposing its edges.

"I want to make an impact," she said slowly. "I want to do something that matters outside the arena. Something that won't vanish when the Games are over."

It was true, even if it cast her in the shape of a Career hungry for spectacle. Better that than letting anyone glimpse the real danger of her intentions.

Mags watched her for a long moment. Evelia couldn't tell whether the woman understood the depth of what she was reaching for, or if she simply recognised the sound of someone who had already chosen a purpose larger than survival.

Silence followed with each tribute retreating into their own thoughts. Evelia felt the air tighten around them, not with fear yet, but with the acknowledgement that they had all revealed something they couldn't take back.

At last, Mags nodded, her features softening. "Good," she said. "Remember these answers when things turn ugly. Fear will be loud, and the arena will try to tear every promise out of you. If you want these things, you'll have to fight for them. None of it will come easily."

The next morning, the train hissed to a halt at the Capitol's station. Evelia felt her chest tighten, swallowed by the opulence that sprawled in every direction—bright lights glinting off polished surfaces, buildings that gleamed like they had been carved from the sky itself, and a hum of excitement that pressed against her eardrums. The Capitol made District Four feel like a faded memory, a country of sharp contrasts and glaring inequalities.

Evelia, Haldin, Delta, and Griffin huddled together instinctively, small creatures pressed against one another, aware that the predators were watching. A Peacekeeper approached, drawing out handcuffs then cuffed their hands and feet, binding them together as if mere distance could make them forget the lethal rules of this place. Evelia rolled her eyes. Who would be foolish enough to run? One hundred meters, and a Peacekeeper's bolt would end them in an instant.

"All right, everyone, let's go," Zephyria barked, stepping from the train. The group had waited, expectant, while she fussed over her makeup, only for her to emerge looking identical to yesterday.

Outside, the chill of early morning was brief, almost cruel, before the Peacekeepers shepherded them into a windowless van. Evelia had been in cars before (academy trips to the farthest corners of District Four) but never like this, never this sense of entrapment, the darkness pressing from all sides.

"What's going on?" Delta's voice was tight, carrying a tremor Evelia couldn't see but could feel. Darkness had always terrified her; the thought of it surrounding her in suffocating stillness made her stomach churn. She prayed the arena wouldn't consist of caves or shadowed corridors. She wouldn't survive long if it did.

Nobody answered. Evelia tried to force herself to focus, ignoring the anxiety gnawing at her insides, the van's motion rocking her stomach in tandem. She wanted to throw up, desperately, but even the thought of doing it on Zephyria gave her a small, private smirk.

The van doors opened with a clang, light flooding in sharply. Evelia blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust. A crowd had gathered, staring at her and the other tributes as though they were specimens in a cage.

"Why are these people here?" Delta whispered. "Don't they have jobs?"

"Free day in the Capitol," Griffin said flatly. "Maybe the Hunger Games are their holiday. They can watch until the victor is crowned."

"Lovely."

Ahead of them an enormous and imposing rose, its façade gilded with golden letters proclaiming "TRIBUTE CENTER".

"The hell is that?" Haldin muttered, stepping beside her. He turned to question Mags and Zephyria, but both women had vanished.

The Peacekeepers guided the District Four tributes through the building's doors, and the air hit them—a blend of floor cleaner, mildew, and something metallic beneath it. The hall stretched wide, twelve stations arrayed evenly across the polished floor. They moved to the one marked with the number four and sat at the table in the center.

Each station was a cage of sorts; four padded tables separated by flimsy curtains, white-coated assistants at each, belts bristling with grooming tools. Evelia felt animalistic under their precise attention.

Her eyes drifted across the hall to the Careers. The District One tributes were arrogant, untouchable. A tall blonde girl refused to sit, radiating power and disdain, her gaze sweeping over Evelia. When their eyes met, the girl's smile was confident. Evelia didn't smile back.

Station twelve remained empty, a curiosity Evelia noted before their occupants arrived—escorted by a short blonde man with a peculiar haircut. A small girl with two brown braids scowled at the world around her, a tall blonde man held her protectively. He met Evelia's gaze briefly, then she quickly looked away. A girl in lavender clung to herself as she glared at everyone, followed by a short boy with black hair.

Once everyone was seated, four Peacekeepers arrived, splitting the boys and girls into separate locker rooms. Evelia shared a soft smile with Haldin and Griffin before following the other girls.

Inside, they were told to strip. Hands cuffed, she could manage her lower half, but the zipper at her back remained stubborn. She tugged and twisted, fighting the restraints, until a Peacekeeper stepped forward and sliced through the fabric. The dress slid down her body, leaving her exposed.

"Did you really have to cut it?" Evelia snapped. "You could've just taken the cuffs off."

"I agree," the blonde girl from twelve chimed, fuming. "I loved my dress!"

"Shut up!" barked the Peacekeeper, then turned to Evelia. "Where's your token?"

"In my dress pocket," Evelia said, tense.

The Peacekeeper knelt, extracting a small golden object: a mockingjay pin, a gift from her father after a month spent in District Twelve for work.

"This is yours?" the district Twelve girl whispered, eyes wide.

Evelia nodded, the weight of it grounding her. "Gift from my dad."

The girl studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly, then the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile.

"I might be the one who gave it to him," she said.

Evelia blinked, caught off guard.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My parents own a sweet shop back in Twelve," the girl continued. "I remember a fisherman came in when I was four. My twin and I handled his order, and I gave him this pin. No offense, but I hated it. Thought it was horrendous."

Evelia's lips curved, a small, genuine smile breaking through her usual reserve.

"Not everyone has taste," she said.

The girl's smile widened, and she extended a hand.

"Maysilee Donner."

Evelia took it, shaking firmly.

"Evelia Vane."

The twenty-four girls were herded into a large, open room. Blue tiles gleamed under harsh lights, and showerheads were spaced methodically along the walls. Evelia shifted uneasily, every step making her feel more exposed. Nakedness pressed in from all sides, and though there were no boys around, the vulnerability weighed on her like a physical thing. She had never liked showing her body, and the sensation of being watched made her stomach twist.

The blonde girl from One wasted no time, moving with a confidence that seemed almost deliberate, as if she were a gift sent to intimidate. Every muscle stood out sharply, hard and honed, and Evelia immediately regretted skipping the Academy's gym sessions.

"What's your name?" Maysilee's voice cut through the murmurs of the other girls, aimed squarely at the blonde.

The girl regarded Maysilee with a slow, deliberate glance, one eyebrow arching in subtle challenge.

"Silka Sharp," she said.

Maysilee scoffed, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Silka... such a pretty name," she said, tone dripping with mockery. "Too bad it doesn't suit you."

The other girl from Twelve (the tiny one with the braids) let out a short laugh at Maysilee's words.

It didn't take Silka long to cross the distance. One moment she stood in the centre of the room, the next she was towering in front of Maysilee, all height and heavy muscle. Maysilee didn't flinch. She didn't even blink.

"What's your issue, Twelve?" Silka spat. "You think making fun of people will increase your odds?"

"No," Maysilee said. "I'm not stupid enough for that. I'm just saying out loud what everyone is thinking, Silka. That's all."

Silka's hand shot up, ready to strike, but Evelia moved before she could think. She grabbed Silka's arm and shoved her back, hard enough to make the taller girl stumble a step. Silka's eyes snapped to her, sharp and furious, then narrowed with recognition.

"I've seen you at the Academy," she said, breath tight. "You're from Four."

"That I am," Evelia hissed.

Silka didn't step back. She leaned in instead, shoulders tight and jaw locked, trying to use her height as her threat. Evelia didn't move. Yes, she wasn't built like Silka, but she'd grown up in a household where you sank only if you let yourself.

"What's your problem, then?" Silka growled. "Didn't know you were looking to start something. Chatting with an underdog is already pathetic enough, don't you think?" She pointed towards Maysilee.

"Good luck getting sponsors if you're openly criticising people based on their districts," Evelia spat. "Pick a fight with someone else, Silka. Preferably someone who cares."

A few girls shifted, the tension running through them like a silent pulse. Maysilee stayed exactly as she was—chin lifted, eyes sharp—but Evelia could feel how closely she tracked Silka's movements.

Silka's nostrils flared. "Stay out of my way."

Evelia didn't blink. "Then start by stopping giving me reasons to be in it."

For a heartbeat, Evelia thought Silka might swing anyway. Her hand twitched. Her breath hitched. But the doorway cracked with a Peacekeeper's shout—"Enough!"—and the moment broke. Silka shot her a last, venomous glare before melting back into the crowd.

"Cow," Maysilee muttered, then added louder, "Thanks."

Evelia shrugged. "Didn't do it for you."

"I know," Maysilee said, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth. "Still counts."

"I s'pose so."

The showerheads erupted without warning, drenching all twenty-four girls in scalding water. Gasps echoed across the tiled room as everyone flinched and stumbled, trying to dodge streams that offered no escape. After a minute the water sputtered out, and for a brief breath Evelia thought it was over... Until noxious soapy spray blasted down from above.

Her eyes burned instantly. She squeezed them shut, nearly slipping on the soaked tiles, and would have hit the floor if Delta hadn't caught her by the elbow.

"What's that?" Evelia asked, panic tightening her voice.

Delta shook her head, just as lost.

Then came another shift—the spray turning into a thick stream, coating every inch of skin in a stinging film. Maysilee coughed, clawing at her arms, and Evelia's stomach lurched. Relief only came when clean water rained down again, and all of them scrubbed frantically at whatever clung to their bodies until their skin turned raw and red.

Back in the locker room, each girl received a thin sheet of crepe paper to wrap around herself for modesty, then was directed back toward the district areas in the gym.

"This is Louella McCoy, by the way," Maysilee said in the corridor. Her eyes were red, still burning from the gas.

Evelia looked at the small girl, Louella, whose braids clung to her frail frame, and offered a gentle smile. "Hi. Erm, this is Delta O'Connor."

She reached behind her, grabbed Delta's arm, and introduced her properly to the girls from Twelve. Delta smiled and shook both their hands, her own eyes still rimmed with irritation.

Everyone was directed back to their stations, their cuffs locked to the chains with a cold finality. Evelia sat stiffly on the chair, her soaking wet hair sticking to her cheeks and falling into her eyes. Two Peacekeepers pulled the white curtains around her cubicle, shutting it off from the rest of the room. The sound of the metal rings scraping across the rail was the last thing she heard before she was fully cut off. She was now isolated.

Two teenagers stepped inside. For a second, Evelia thought they were other tributes as they seemed to be close enough to her age,but their faces were too polished, too untouched by anything real. She recognised the Capitol in them instantly.

The girl moved forward first. Her feathered honey-blonde hair curled neatly at the ends, arranged with a perfection that didn't shift even in the harsh fluorescent light. Her make-up was soft and bright: peach gloss, a light shimmer on her eyelids, everything controlled but deliberately gentle. She wore a short suede dress in warm amber, matching knee-high boots, every inch of her looking like someone who had never been cold or afraid. There was an easy brightness to her that didn't dim.

The boy followed, his presence sharper in the small space. His shaggy dark hair hung just past his ears, shadowing his eyes. He wore a fitted turtleneck tucked into high-waisted trousers, both in deep, earthy tones. A thin silver chain rested against his throat, catching the faintest slices of light with each step he took.

"Hello there," the girl said, smiling. "My name's Aglaia, and this is Himeron. We're your prep team."

"He's big enough to introduce himself alone, don't you think?" Evelia said, unable to stop herself.

Aglaia laughed lightly. "He is, but he's not much of a talker. Anyway, this is our last year at University, and our final work is to take care of a tribute. Design them, make them loved by the public, and make sure they get sponsors!"

Evelia blinked. So she was an assignment. A project. Something to polish up and turn in. The humiliation scraped at her like something sharp.

"So, erm... what's the plan? How am I gonna get dressed?"

"Oh," Aglaia said. Evelia could already tell she wouldn't get a single word out of Himeron. "That's your stylist's job, Hephaia. She's brilliant, no need to worry. Now, let's take care of you, shall we?"

Before she could touch Evelia, Himeron reached out and stopped her with a quick movement.

"We have to do the before shoots, Aglaia."

"Oh my!" she gasped. "You're right!"

She snatched a small camera off the table and circled Evelia, photographing her from head to toe. Each click sounded too loud in the closed space, pinning her in place as much as the cuffs did.

Then they shaved all the hair on her legs and armpits, the electric razor dragging cold and clinical against her skin, and applied a thin layer of cream that stung faintly as it settled.

"It's so dry!" Aglaia gasped. "How's it even possible."

"The sun and salty water, probably," Himeron said. "She's from Four."

Evelia didn't like the way they spoke about her as if she wasn't sitting right in front of them, but she kept her mouth shut. Aglaia started trimming her nails with quick practised motions while Himeron washed her hair, fingers moving through the strands with a steady rhythm.

"She's got natural highlights, look," he said. "Thanks to the sun."

Aglaia sighed sharply.

"Lucky. I spend millions at the hairdresser for my hair to stay this colour."

When they were finally done with Evelia, the prep team took the after shoots, the camera flashing in brief, harsh bursts, and then they left her alone. The curtain settled behind them, and Evelia exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. She tried to make the stillness feel like something she could hold. She kept turning her mockingjay pin between her fingers, the metal warm from her touch.

What were the odds that the very girl who had given that pin to her father years ago had been reaped for the exact same Games as Evelia? Close to zero. Yet here she was. And Evelia wanted her as an ally. She wanted Louella too. Louella was kind and so small, and Evelia felt a pull in her chest at the thought of keeping her safe from everything that was waiting in the arena.

She thought of Mr O'dair, fishing alone that morning. She knew he and his wife wanted a child, and Evelia hoped they would have one someday, though it hurt to know she'd never see the child grow up. Mr O'dair had told her he'd be thrilled to have Evelia take care of them. She never would.

Would he watch the parade? The Games? Or would he ignore them the way he always did?

Would her mother watch the Games? Could she sit through her daughter killing and maiming tributes, knowing she was the reason Evelia was in the arena at all? Evelia doubted it. Her mother was a goddamn coward.

After an hour or so, Peacekeepers dropped off two nut butter sandwiches with a banana. Evelia drew in a quiet breath the moment she saw the fruit; bananas were the most ordinary thing back in Four, almost sacred in their familiarity. The sight of one here felt strange and grounding at the same time. She ate the sandwiches quickly and savoured the fruit before drinking a small amount of water.

The Peacekeepers pulled the curtains back, and Evelia looked around. Everyone had been given the same prep. Her eyes landed on Delta, Griffin, and Haldin, all three looking strangely fresh, almost polished.

"That cream they used for our skin is so wholesome," Haldin gasped as they explained what had happened to them. "I feel like a baby, look at my skin, it's so soft! C'mon, touch it!"

Delta grimaced as Haldin stretched out his arm. "No need, we all had the same treatment."

Griffin laughed softly.

They watched the District 1 prep teams trotting after their tributes into the boys' locker room to prepare for the chariot procession. Peacekeepers unchained the District 1 tributes and took them inside; a few minutes later, the same routine repeated with District 2 and the girls' locker room. After half an hour, the District 1 tributes walked across the gym, almost Capitol-looking in green ball gowns and sparkling suits.

Silka looked ridiculous in that gown, and Evelia couldn't help the small snort that escaped her.

From the District 12 table, Maysilee called out loudly, "Looking good, Silka! I hope we all get to wear snot green!"

Laughter broke out across the room. Silka lunged forward, but a Peacekeeper drove a baton into her ribs to stop her. Silka glared at Maysilee and dragged her finger across her throat.

"Relax, Silka," Evelia said as the District One group passed by. "You can't have both brains and looks. Although, right now, you don't have either..."

"Oh, you both think you're so funny, don't you?" Silka snapped, looking between Maysilee and Evelia. "You'll see what awaits you in the arena. You're the firsts on my list."

"So scary," Evelia quipped. "I'm terrified, Silka."

Silka flipped her off and kept walking. Evelia glanced toward the District Twelve table again and met the eyes of the tall boy there, the one with the curly blonde hair. To her surprise, he smiled at her in an almost shy way, and after a few seconds, she allowed herself to smile back.

Peacekeepers arrived to escort District Three and Four to their lockers. The chains were removed, and they followed the Peacekeepers into the girls' locker room, the door shutting behind them.

In the room was the District Four stylist, Hephaia. She seemed to be around fifty years old, but Evelia knew that didn't mean anything. She might as well be eighty; with all those surgeries, it was almost impossible to know someone's real age in the Capitol.

Hephaia wore a sharp teal velvet coat with padded shoulders and a high collar, paired with shimmering fitted trousers. Every detail, from her pearl-white blouse to the glinting rings on her fingers, was polished, making her look uncanny.

"Hello, District Four," Hephaia said dramatically, throwing her arms in the air. "Quite funny, don't you think?"

Griffin frowned, brown locks falling over his forehead. "What is?"

"That this year, four tributes are reaped in every district, and you are from District Four!"

She started laughing hysterically. The four tributes exchanged awkward glances. So, this was their stylist? Some random woman whose age couldn't be guessed, laughing like a toddler at the unfunniest joke on the planet?

"Can you stop being weird, Hephy?" Zephyria gasped. Evelia jumped at the sound of the escort's voice; she hadn't heard her arrive in the lockers.

"Where were you?" Haldin asked.

"Speaking with my friend, Drusilla Sickle. She's the escort for that rathole that is Twelve," Zephyria said, her tone sharp and bitter. "Poor her."

"Twelve isn't a rathole," Evelia protested.

Zephyria glared at her. In front of them, Hephaia was still laughing."How would you know, Vane?"

"The only rathole in Panem is the Capitol, that's how."

Evelia's words seemed to snap Hephaia out of her trance. She stopped laughing at once, her expression sharpening into something abruptly serious.

"The Capitol," she repeated. "The Capitol will love you tonight, my darlings. My outfits are spectacular: never been used before!"

Then she marched to the clothes rack, grabbed four garment bags, and tossed them onto the table. She opened them one by one, revealing siren-like outfits.

Just like every. goddamn. year.

"You're kidding, right?" Delta said, voicing what everyone else was probably thinking.

"Are you?" Hephaia shot back. "Magno Stift helped me design these!"

"The stylist for Twelve?" Zephyria nearly choked. "You cannot be serious!"

"Yet I am," Hephaia said, entirely unbothered, glancing at her watch. "Well, time to get dressed, kiddos! Peep peep!"

Ten minutes later, Evelia found herself in a dress that seemed to rise from the depths of the ocean. The bodice clung to her, shifting between shades of teal and deep blue, threaded with silver that caught the light with every movement. A sheer panel curved along her waist, etched with faint, fluid lines that pulsed almost as if alive.

Layers of draped fabric swirled around her hips, each fold weighted with tiny glass droplets that glittered like trapped sea spray. The skirt fell in long, flowing waves of seafoam and midnight marine, moving with a quiet, deliberate rhythm, as though stirred by an unseen current. Silver jewelry traced her body, glinting against the fabric and skin alike.

It was beautiful. Evelia couldn't deny that. But the designs of District Four's tributes had remained the same for at least thirteen years. Delta was wearing the same dress, and the boys' outfits mirrored the pattern: loose shirts woven from the same shimmering fabric, white trousers, boots polished to match. They looked good—perfectly designed—but in the crowd, they would be swallowed, indistinct.

"Might as well go naked," Haldin muttered in the lift, attempting humour. No one laughed. Zephyria's elbow found him instead.

The small group stepped out of the tribute centre, their wrists still cuffed, and were pulled into a waiting van. Evelia wondered, not for the first time, if they would even manage to mount the chariots with those chains on.

The van eventually stopped. The doors were swung open by a Peacekeeper, revealing a cavernous stable. Concrete pillars rose to support a high, echoing roof, and handlers struggled to wrangle forty-eight costumed tributes into twelve chariots while harnessing the horses meant to pull them through the streets.

Evelia, Haldin, Delta, and Griffin were dragged to their assigned chariots, the clink of chains echoing in the open space. They settled in, hands busy passing sugar cubes to the horses, feeling the animals' flaring nostrils and warm breath. Horses were sacred in Four. No one could say exactly why; they simply were. Everyone treated them with reverence, as though they were divine, and hunting wild horses was forbidden, a sin no one dared commit.

Evelia raised her eyes just as the stable doors slammed open again. The District Twelve tributes arrived in a flurry, their usual chaotic energy sharp against the calm precision of Four. Maysilee's expression alone radiated fury, while the four of them wore their black miner outfits as if in defiance of the world.

Louella's eyes met Evelia's, a small, conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips. Evelia returned it, clutching a handful of sugar cubes before weaving through the crowd toward the newcomers.

"Chaotic prep?" she asked as she stopped in front of Louella.

The little girl groaned.

"Our stylist is an idiot."

Maysilee's voice cut in, sharp. "An idiot and a drug addict. He licks toads."

Evelia blinked, taken aback.

"He what now?"

"Licks toads."

"Right. Silly me," Evelia murmured, though her mind wasn't quite sure how to process that.

A snort sounded beside her. She turned to see the tall boy with wild, curly blonde hair, tousled like it had no regard for discipline.

"And who might you be?" she asked.

"Haymitch Abernathy. I heard you became friends with the girls from my district."

She smiled. "You can say that. Why, does it bother you?"

"Not in the slightest. Louella told me how you defended Maysilee from that District One girl. I'm not a fan of One myself. So I guess the enemies of my enemies are my friends."

He extended a hand, and Evelia shook it immediately. Then she picked up a sugar cube and offered it to him.

"Want one?"

Haymitch glanced at the cube, then back at her, before nodding and taking it. Evelia offered one to Maysilee, who declined with a small shake of her head, and then to Louella, who popped three in her mouth in quick succession.

Her eyes flicked around. Where was their second boy tribute? The smaller one, with the dark hair?

She found him, knuckle rolling a scrip coin so smoothly that for a second Evelia almost thought it was magic.

"What's his name?" she asked.

Haymitch followed her gaze.

"Wyatt. Wyatt Callow. Not much of a talker. He's probably said three words at most since we left Twelve."

Wyatt lifted his head at Haymitch's words and walked toward their small group.

"I'm not deaf," he said.

"Good," Haymitch replied.

"Sugar cube?" Evelia offered.

Louella giggled beside her. Wyatt accepted the cube and chewed it slowly.

"Hanging out with us will make your odds lower, y'know," he said at last.

"Why? 'Cause you lot are from Twelve?"

"Yeah."

Evelia scoffed.

"Don't care. Besides, the lowest districts are overlooked. Life's harsh there; you develop instincts, knowledge most of us don't even think about."

"Still, your odds are dropping. Went from four to one to nine to one."

Evelia blinked, startled. "What?"

"He's an oddsmaker," Maysilee explained, arms crossed. "Determines the odds for people in the Games, then his family takes the bets."

"Oh..." Evelia said slowly.

Louella added; "It's horrible. I don't trust Booker Boys, nor oddsmakers. My brother Cayson told me all about it."

Evelia nodded thoughtfully. Wyatt determining survival odds to help his family gamble—it was cruel. But no one chooses their parents. Perhaps he had no choice.

And as a tribute, it didn't matter anymore. Who they had been in the districts was gone. All that remained was who they would become. Evelia focused on the present. Wyatt was clever. That was what mattered.

"I think it's kind of cool that you can, y'know, figure stuff out so quickly," Evelia told him. "I wish I was even half as smart as you."

Wyatt shrugged, a faint ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "It's not really me. Just numbers. Patterns. Probabilities."

"Well, still. The numbers and patterns could be right under my nose and I wouldn't understand shit."

Louella shifted beside Evelia, a tremor running through her small frame, so quick and subtle most people wouldn't have noticed. Evelia did. Instinct pulled her closer. She lowered her voice until it barely carried beyond the girl's ear.

"Hey, girl," Evelia murmured, placing a gentle hand on Louella's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I don't like this," Louella whispered, her tiny voice tight. "I want to go home."

Evelia lowered herself to her knees in front of her and offered a soft smile. Children had always gravitated toward her. She'd never really understood why. Back in Four, kids from the primary school would run to her in the streets—hug her, chatter at her, press crumpled drawings into her hands before dashing back to class.

"I know you do," Evelia said, her voice warm. "But you know what? Once we're done with the parade, we're all getting a huge dinner. You'll sit with Haymitch. You two are close, right?"

Louella nodded, wiping at her eyes.

"See? It's okay. Haymitch is here. You're safe with him. He'll look after you."

Louella swallowed hard, a tear slipping down her cheek before she brushed it away. She squared her shoulders and nodded again, this time with a flicker of resolve.

"Will you be my ally in the arena?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Evelia didn't hesitate.

"'Course I will."

"Cool."

Louella's small hand slipped into Evelia's for a brief moment, squeezing once before letting go. The handlers were shouting again, calling tributes back to their districts, tightening the frantic buzz that pulsed through the stable. Horses snorted and stamped, metal clinked, someone cried out as a Peacekeeper shoved them too roughly toward a chariot.

Haymitch stepped forward. His gaze flicked between Louella, her cheeks still blotchy but her posture steadier, and Evelia, still kneeling on the dusty floor.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asked Louella quietly.

She nodded. "Better."

Evelia pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt from her knees. Haymitch gave her a small nod, something between gratitude and an unspoken softness he didn't bother to name.

Wyatt reappeared beside them, hands buried in his pockets, eyes darting from the restless horses to the Peacekeepers forcing the line into order. Maysilee stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Line up, Twelve!" a handler barked.

Maysilee muttered under her breath and stalked toward the chariot. Louella followed after her, glancing back at Haymitch and Evelia one last time. Haymitch lingered long enough to nudge Wyatt's shoulder.

"Try not to calculate us into the ground before we even start," he said.

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I'm not calculating anything. I'm waiting."

"For what?" Evelia asked.

"For the moment this whole place finally shuts up," he answered, deadpan.

Haymitch huffed a small laugh before heading off. Wyatt followed him without another word.

"Four! Let's go!" another handler snapped.

Evelia inhaled sharply, grounding herself. She turned back to her district, the metal cuffs around her wrists glinting beneath the stable lights as she moved. Haldin was already in the chariot, Delta fixing the fall of her dress, Griffin feeding their horse one last sugar cube.

Evelia climbed onto the platform, the horses tossing their heads, breath hot in the cool air. Leather harnesses strained. The stable doors shuddered.

A Peacekeeper reached them and uncuffed Evelia and Delta, then moved on to the boys. Evelia rotated her wrists slowly, relief pulsing through her at the sudden freedom.

The district One chariot rolled out, then Two, then Three. Then it was Four's turn.

As they emerged into the open, Evelia froze. The crowd stretched endlessly across the avenue, packed shoulder to shoulder, faces alight with anticipation. She had never seen so many people gathered for a single purpose.

Except the reaping, maybe, but that was different. The reaping was a forced ritual, parents and children dragged there to watch names pulled from glass bowls. Here, the crowd came willingly. They came to cheer for a parade that displayed the teenagers who would be dead before the week ended.

The contrast twisted something inside Evelia, sharp and nauseating. It made her sick.

Then a loud noise erupted from the back of the chariot line, something so sharp and explosive that Evelia jumped. She twisted around and, to her horror, saw the last chariots slamming into each other, horses rearing and thrashing as the line collapsed into chaos. Screams rippled through the air—some frightened, some strangely eager—while a siren wailed overhead and red lights spun in frantic circles. The entire procession lurched to a halt.

Evelia didn't think. She climbed down from her chariot, panic driving her steps as she edged forward. One of the chariots was completely destroyed. The one for District Twelve.

"Damn it," Haldin hissed, suddenly beside her. Without speaking, they both broke into a run.

District Six's chariot sat mangled just beside the wreck from Twelve. Evelia couldn't piece together how Twelve's chariot had ended up so far ahead in the line. Haldin rushed toward the tributes from Six while Evelia moved around the splintered wreckage of Twelve's.

Wyatt and Maysilee were trapped beneath the debris. Evelia dropped to her knees and hauled pieces of wood and metal aside until they crawled free, bruised and shaken but alive.

"What happened?" Evelia asked, breathless.

"Our horses..." Maysilee managed, still gasping. "I don't... I'm not sure..."

"Where's Haymitch?" Evelia pressed. "Louella?"

She turned—and froze.

They were a short distance away. Haymitch knelt in a spreading puddle of blood, Louella cradled against his chest. The little girl lay motionless on the pavement, eyes closed. One of her braids rested in the pool beneath her head, darkened by the blood leaking from the back of her skull, split open from the impact.

"Oh my..." Evelia whispered, her voice cracking.

Haymitch looked up at her, despair written across every line of his face, as if begging her to fix this, to make it untrue. But Evelia could only stare back. There was nothing anyone could do.

Louella McCoy was dead.

—

I'm not ready to see Louella die on screen guys I'm not ready I'm not ready at all. I have to reread sotr in order to rewrite this fic and GOD DAMNIT SUZANNE COLLINS SPARE US PLEASE

Maysilee Donner and Evelia Vane have officially met. The Silka enders. My queens. My divas. Maysilee I love you so much.

Wyatt the silly!!! Wyatt the most awkward and endearing boy!! I had to do some researches on booker boys in order to write the part about Evelia's odds dropping the second she started befriending the D12 tributes bc I don't know shit about it, and it took me an embarassing amount of time to understand it. I'm still not sure I do.

And Haymitch is here. Took him long enough