Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN / No Prayers for the Doomed

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Hello, hello! Before diving into this chapter, I'd like to ask you lot to pretty please vote for my chapters if you enjoyed reading them! It shows me how much my work is appreciated and gives me motivation to write. That's all hihi, happy reading <3

As far as Evelia knew, no one had ever scored a twelve in the past fifty Hunger Games. The highest score had always held at eleven. A twelve did not belong to reality. It lingered on the edge of it, something people spoke about only to push tributes harder in those private sessions.

For long seconds, no one spoke.

"How the fuck did you do it?" Haldin let out.

Evelia turned to him, her expression blank with confusion, as though the question had been asked in a language she did not understand.

"I just— I don't understand," she said. "I didn't do anything."

"Surely you did, since you scored a twelve," Delta replied.

"No." The word came out sharper than she intended. "They spat on my uncle's memory, then asked me to take my jacket off so they could look at my body. I said no and left. That's it."

"They did what?" Mags breathed, the shock in her voice rising, but it was cut clean by the sound of Caesar Flickerman on the monitor.

A sharp, startled exclamation burst from him, loud enough to snap every head towards the screen. His face was lit with something close to disbelief before it shifted, breaking open into laughter that rang loudly.

"Oh, ladies and gentlemen, this is a surprise. From District Twelve, Haymitch Abernathy... with a score of one."

The room reacted all at once. Jaws dropped. Someone swore under their breath.

Evelia had known Haymitch hadn't taken the session seriously; he had told her himself that he planned to act like a rascal.

So of course, she had not expected brilliance. She had not expected him to walk into the arena with a nine.

But a one? That did not make sense either. No one had ever gotten a one. She could barely recall anyone scoring a two. Even threes were rare, handed out only to the most hopeless cases, the ones no one expected to last more than a few minutes in the arena, like little Lou Lou.

Understanding came quickly, and it came cold.

This obviously had nothing to do with training. President Coriolanus Snow had made a decision.

He had given Haymitch a one to make him pay. With such a low score, sponsors would look elsewhere. No gifts would come when he needed them. If he failed to get to his allies, he would enter the arena with nothing and no one.

And with Evelia's twelve came a target painted on her back by the President himself.

Every Career tribute would already have her name in their mouths before the Games even began. They would hunt her down, make an example of her before she had the chance to become anything more than a threat.

Especially Silka.

Silka, who was six feet tall without the heels and could throw an axe clean into a dummy's heart from fifteen feet. Silka, who had already decided Evelia was a problem the moment they crossed paths in the showers.

Evelia's score was nothing but another reason handed to Silka on a silver plate and Evelia knew that Silka would not hesitate to make sure she was dead within hours of the Games beginning.

"Well, you two found each other well," Delta commented once Haymitch's score disappeared from the monitor.

Evelia lifted her head, her expression tightening. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know," Delta went on, almost amused. "You got a twelve and he got a one. Total opposites. And opposites attract."

"What are you even talking about?" Evelia sighed as she dropped her head into her hands.

Mags moved closer and rested a gentle hand on Evelia's shoulder. Evelia looked up at her, meeting her mentor's gaze, those soft brown eyes steady with warmth and something deeper, something grounding.

"First of all," Mags said, "I need each one of you to know that I'm very proud of you. You've been remarkable during these three days of training, and your efforts were rewarded with your scores."

"Thank you, Mags," the four tributes answered together.

"Of course. And Evelia, I know you're worried about your score being so high, but it isn't all bad. Yes, the Careers will be looking for you in the arena, but you are clever, and you are capable. You can take care of yourself out there, I know you can. And you won't be alone. You have your allies."

Her hand squeezed Evelia's shoulder lightly before she continued.

"You've also become distinctive, both of you. You and Haymitch. People will be talking about those scores. With forty-eight tributes, being recognised matters."

Well, Mags wasn't all wrong. Evelia and Haymitch could balance each other in the arena, if they survived the bloodbath. She could share her sponsors with him (no doubt she would get many) and he could hide her. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't nothing either.

And although they had both become rather large risks in the plan that was meant to drown the arena, she was sure Beetee would figure something out. He probably was the smartest man in Panem. He would find something.

"Yeah," Evelia breathed, a flicker of hope breaking through the tension in her chest. "Yeah, alright."

"One last thing," Mags said. "No matter what happens during your interview, don't answer any requests to have a close-up on your body. Or anything like that. I'm saying this to all four of you," she added, her gaze moving over Delta, Haldin, and Griffin as she lifted a finger for emphasis. "The Gamemakers tried to trick Evelia tonight, but it could have been any of you. So be careful. Don't agree to those demands."

"Why?" Haldin asked, frowning. "What would they do to us?"

Mags gave him a sad tired smile as her hand moved lightly along his back.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," she said softly. "Just do as I tell you, and you'll be fine."

A pause.

"Now go. Shower, and get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

Everyone wished Mags a good night before drifting out of the living room one by one, their voices fading into the corridor until the space fell quiet again.

Evelia went to the bathroom and lingered in the bath far longer than she should have, the water slowly cooling around her as her thoughts circled back, again and again, to her score.

It did not take long for the conclusion to settle in.

Allies would be a risk.

The realisation hurt more than she expected it to. Evelia loved the Newcomers. She had grown used to their presence, to the rhythm of their voices, to the strange, fragile comfort of not being alone in all of this. And she had grown fond of her district partners.

To have them beside her in the arena would be reassuring.

It would also be selfish.

Snow would not ignore her. He would not allow her to become a problem. He'd send mutts after her, help the Careers find her, trap her into deadly trials.

She could not drag the others into that. Which meant she would be alone.

Still, it would not be forever.

At some point, she'd cross paths with Haymitch and Ampert. The plan depended on it. But the thought came with its own uncertainty, threading unease through whatever hope remained. This year, there were forty-eight tributes. The arena would be larger, wider, built to hold more, to stretch them thin. It was entirely possible they could spend days circling the same ground without ever finding each other.

She would have to speak to Beetee again. Work out the details. Understand the margins of it, the likelihoods, the timing.

Wyatt would know the odds.

The thought lingered just enough to pull at the corner of her mouth as she stepped out of the bath, water slipping from her skin onto the tiles. The air felt cooler now, sharper against her damp shoulders. She quickly dried her body and put her pajamas on before brushing her hair and teeth, then smoothed a thin layer of cream over her face.

When she left the bathroom, the corridor was empty.

The kitchen lights were still on.

She crossed into it, drawn more by habit than anything else, and reached for a glass. The faint sound of chewing made her pause. Griffin stood by the counter, an apple in hand, the crisp bite echoing softly in the quiet. He looked up when he saw her, his expression easing into a small smile.

"Oh, hi, Eve. You alright?"

Evelia nodded, already turning to the sink as she set the glass beneath the tap. "Just thirsty."

Griffin nodded, taking another bite of his apple as Evelia filled her glass. The tap ran a little too loudly in the stillness, an uneven rush that seemed to echo off the walls, so she turned it off quickly.

"Whole thing's a bit mad, isn't it?" he said after a moment. "The scores, I mean."

Evelia let out a small breath, something caught between a sigh and a laugh. "That's one way to put it."

"I mean, a twelve?" He shook his head, a faint grin pulling at his mouth. "Didn't even know that was allowed."

"Neither did I," she muttered, lifting the glass to her lips.

"You did well, though," he added, softer now. "Really well."

Evelia lowered the glass slightly, her fingers tightening around it. "I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, you said that." He gave a small shrug. "Still counts. That's one way to make an impact in the Capitol."

Evelia frowned, her gaze dropping for a second. Was he referring to her wish for the arena? How she wanted to make something that wouldn't vanish when the Games would be over? Rumours about her being a rebel had followed her for years back in Four. It wouldn't be surprising if he had put two and two together, if he had decided there was more behind her than she let on.

Griffin took another bite of his apple, chewing slowly, like he was weighing his next words.

"Honestly," he went on, glancing at her again, "your score's... it's explosive."

Evelia's head lifted. "Explosive?"

"Yeah." He nodded, more certain now, as if the word had settled into place. "Explosive."

The word landed wrong.

Her thoughts sharpened instantly, turning over themselves, searching for meaning. He knew about the plan. He had to know. There was no other explanation. Why choose that word, of all words, when explosives sat at the centre of everything she was planning, when the destruction of the arena depended on it?

Was he trying to stop her?

Was he about to say more?

For a brief, suspended moment, she could almost see it unfolding —  his voice shifting, calling her out, the cameras catching every second, Peacekeepers already moving before she could even react.

But he didn't.

He just smiled at her.

"It's a good thing, Eve."

Nothing more.

He tossed the apple core into the bin, the dull thud breaking the tension, and straightened.

"Night."

And then he was gone, leaving the kitchen as quietly as he had filled it.

Evelia forced herself to stay calm as she finished her glass, If someone was watching (and there was always the chance someone was) she gave them nothing to look at.

She set the glass down, turned, and left the kitchen without a word.

Mags had left her a sleeping pill, resting neatly by Evelia's bedside. Evelia hesitated only a second before taking it, swallowing it dry as she slipped beneath the covers.

Delta's voice filled the space for a while. Evelia answered when she could, though her thoughts moved slower now, her body finally giving in to something it had been resisting for days.

Eventually, her eyes burned, then drifted shut. Sleep took her quickly after that, pulling her under in a way it hadn't in over a week.

She dreamed of home that night. Of her father.

The streets seemed narrower than she remembered, the walls leaning in closer, or perhaps she was simply smaller again, her steps quicker, made to match his without falling behind.

He walked beside her, a stack of folded papers tucked inside a small bag he had taken from his wife. She had dozens of them; surely she wouldn't notice if he borrowed one for two hours.

Every now and then, his free hand brushed his daughter's shoulder, as though he needed to make sure she was still there. He was smiling. He had always been smiling — people said that about him, as though kindness had been something he carried as naturally as breath.

"Papa," little Evelia said, slipping her hand into his. "Can we get ice cream, please?"

"Later, goldie," he whispered. "After we're done with this little task. Remember, we're pirates. No one can see what we're doing."

Little Evelia giggled, nodding eagerly, her small hand still wrapped in her father's. She watched him as he moved through the district, hiding flyers here and there — under doors, beneath benches, inside bags people had left unattended. Sometimes he pressed them directly into someone's hand, so quickly it almost felt like it had never happened at all.

"Why do we have to hide the papers?" Evelia asked after a while. "It's not bad to give papers to people, is it?"

"These papers are special, sweetheart. They carry the truth, and not everyone is ready to hear the truth," he answered. "And some people would rather stay silent."

Evelia frowned, trying to make sense of it.

"What truth?"

"That the man who is leading our country is evil," he whispered. "Very evil. We have to fight him."

"Coriolanus Snow?" Evelia asked.

"Yes, him."

"At school, they're saying he saved us, papa. That it's thanks to him we're alive."

Her father looked down at her and smiled, but there was something gentler in it now, something that settled rather than shone.

"See, goldie, that's a lie. And that's why I'm giving away these papers. Because he shouldn't be lying to us. Lying is bad."

Although Evelia didn't know what the president was lying about, or why he would do such a thing, she believed her father. Her father didn't hate anyone. If he hated the president, it was for a reason.

"Lying is bad," she echoed softly.

They reached the edge of the square, where the buildings parted just enough for the sea to appear in the distance, a thin line of grey-blue beneath the sky. After some determined bargaining on Evelia's part, they stepped into Graea's ice cream shop and bought ice creams before stepping back outside.

It was still early, but the sun had already begun to settle against Evelia's skin, and she grimaced as she pushed her pink sunglasses back onto her nose.

"Mama said we need to buy sunscreen," she told her father. "Remember? And a chocolate cake."

Her father laughed as he ran a hand through her blonde hair.

"She didn't say anything about a chocolate cake. What did we say about lying, goldie?"

"Sorry, papa."

Her dad simply smiled at her before walking towards the square's fountain. Evelia studied it from behind her sunglasses, her head tilting slightly as she took it in.

In the centre stood the president. Again.

She had noticed his face was everywhere in the district, watching from walls, from posters, from places that didn't seem to need watching at all, and she found it strange in a way she couldn't explain. Evelia herself had never felt the need to cover her room in pictures of her own face, so she didn't understand why he did.

Besides, her dad had told her that before this statue, there had been another man. A powerful man with a trident, who loved the ocean and horses. The president had destroyed it after he came to power.

It didn't feel right. Evelia felt bad for the trident man, and for the people who had built him, their work gone just like that.

"You've done well today," her dad said, his voice warm as it pulled her back.

She straightened at once, something bright and steady settling in her chest.

"Tomorrow," he added, more softly now, "you stay close to your mama, alright? No wandering."

"It's reaping day tomorrow," she said. "Why? Where are you going? We have to be there together. It's mandatory, papa."

"Yes. The reaping."

She didn't understand the change in his voice, only that it shifted something in the air between them, something she could feel without being able to name.

"I'll be there," he said. "I promise. I just have something to do first, but I'll come find you."

Evelia nodded without hesitation, trusting him completely, the way she always had.

Then she slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress, her fingers closing around the mockingjay pin she kept there. She pulled it out carefully and placed it in his palm, pressing his fingers closed around it.

"So it can help you do what you have to do tomorrow," she whispered. "It'll be your lucky charm, papa."

He looked down at the pin resting in his hand, turning it slightly between his fingers as though it were something fragile, something that might slip away if he wasn't careful.

For a moment, he didn't speak. Then his hand closed around it.

"Thank you, goldie," he said.

Evelia beamed, satisfied, already certain it would work. Lucky things always did, as long as you believed in them enough.

He slipped the pin into the inside pocket of his coat, his fingers lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

"Come on," he added after a moment, his tone lighter again, easier. "Let's get you home before your mama starts wondering where we've disappeared to."

She nodded, finishing the last of her ice cream as she fell back into step beside him, her hand finding his again without thinking.

The familiar streets stretched out ahead of them, yet something in the way her father walked had shifted, almost too slight to notice. His grip around her fingers was a little tighter now, not enough to hurt, just enough to be felt. His gaze moved more often, catching on corners, on passing faces, on details Evelia never thought to look at.

She kept talking as they walked, drifting from one thought to another, about school, about the sea, about some nice fishes she had seen the other day.

When they reached their door, he stopped.

Evelia didn't notice at first. She was still speaking, completely caught inside her story, until the silence answered her instead and she realised he hadn't followed.

She turned, looking up at him.

He was watching her.

Not the way he usually did, distracted or amused or half-listening, but fully, his attention fixed on her as if he were trying to hold on to something exactly as it was. As if this was the last time he was seeing her.

"Papa?" she asked.

He smiled again, but it came slower this time.

"Nothing," he said gently. "Go on. Inside. Peep peep!"

She pushed the door open and stepped into the familiar warmth of home, already calling out for her mother as she crossed the threshold.

Behind her, he lingered in the doorway. For a brief moment, his composure slipped, and tears gathered in his eyes. He blinked them away quickly, drawing in a steady breath just as his wife appeared, her blonde hair catching lightly in the breeze.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. "What did you two do?"

He smiled at her as he shook his head.

"Pirate secrets," he said. "We got an ice cream."

She laughed softly and stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Come on," she said. "I've got you a nice suit for the reaping."

His smile disappeared.

Mags had been kind enough to let everyone sleep in that morning. When Evelia woke and checked the clock, it read eleven.

"Damn," Delta gasped, stretching her arms above her head. "Last time I woke up this late was New Year's. After Kelp's stupid party."

She groaned as she pushed herself out of bed, casting a look over at Evelia. "You went to that party, didn't you? I think I saw you."

"Yeah. My best friend Mollie forced me to. There was someone she wanted to see."

That someone was Maritte Davy, a girl from the Academy. Brilliant and ruthless, always at the top of their rankings, the kind of person no one managed to outrun for long. She would have volunteered (despite not even being eighteen) if it hadn't been for her sister being sick. She had been the only one reckless enough to even consider volunteering for a Quarter Quell. Even in Four, where strength was expected and loyalty often assumed, people were not very fond of the Capitol, career district or not.

Mollie had wanted to see her. They had something between them, something that remained secret, because two girls liking each other wasn't allowed in Panem. It had always unsettled Evelia, the way love could be forbidden while killing children in an arena was turned into a celebration.

So they met where no one was meant to look. At parties. In the furthest corners of District Four. Anywhere the cameras didn't linger.

Evelia had gone with her because Mollie had insisted.

"It'd be our first party together, c'mon!" she had said, her excitement impossible to resist. "We'll wear matching dresses and everything, and go swim in the sea at midnight with everyone."

"Mollie," Delta said as Evelia pulled the curtains open, letting the daylight spill into the room. "I spoke to her that night. That girl is a fire."

That drew a laugh from Evelia. "Tell me about it."

The light settled slowly across the floorboards, pushing the last traces of sleep from the room. Evelia cracked her fingers as she turned back to Delta, whose curls had completely lost their shape, falling in every direction. It looked as though she had fought her pillow and lost, a sight that pulled a small smile from Evelia before she could stop it.

"That entire party was a disaster," Delta said with a sigh. "Peacekeepers stumbling into the house before midnight. Tell me about a New Year."

"We did party next to O'Dair's house," Evelia pointed out, leaning slightly against the wall. "The old man hates noise."

"Well, you could've told us," Delta shot back. "You spend all your mornings with him, fishing by the port. I see you two. And besides, he's not even old, is he? He's like fifty."

"Yeah, that's old," Evelia said without hesitation, earning a laugh from Delta. "I tried to warn Kelp, but he told me to fuck off. So, yeah."

"Oh."

Evelia's gaze dropped, settling somewhere on the floor as she shifted her weight slightly, the earlier ease slipping away without much resistance.

"Well, it wasn't the first time he's been a jerk to me," she added after a moment. "Nothing you don't already know. Pretty sure everyone's glad I'm entering the arena tomorrow."

Delta didn't counter Evelia's words. That would have meant lying, and Delta O'Connor wasn't a liar.

Between her father's actions and her mother's words, Evelia's reputation had taken root deep within the district, fixed there in a way that felt impossible to undo. People disliked her. They said she had ruined her family's image, as though it had ever truly belonged to her in the first place.

A few resented her for being a rebel. Most judged her through her mother, assuming Evelia must be the same. A Snow loyalist. Between both, there was no space left for anything else, no space for her to be seen differently, no space to change their minds.

She was trapped. And the more she thought about it, the more the arena began to feel like the only way out. A horrible thought. A pathetic one, really, to look at a place built for death and imagine freedom waiting inside it.

She forced herself not to linger on it.

The thought alone made something twist inside her chest, sharp and ugly, and she refused to pull at it any further. Refused to examine what it meant about her, or about the life she had been living before this.

Most of all, she refused to say it aloud. She didn't want anyone's pity.

"Well, Four can go to hell," Delta said sharply, pulling Evelia back to the present. "They don't know you, so their judgement doesn't mean anything. It doesn't define you. Your family doesn't define you either."

"I know one or two people back home who might disagree," Evelia muttered.

"Well, fuck them. Is it that stuck-up Boann and her little followers giving you the most trouble?"

"Among other people."

"Well," Delta said, a smirk slowly appearing on her face, "during New Year's, Boann was flirting with Kelp. A lot. Apparently she's been obsessed with him for months, ever since that school trip at the oyster farm."

Evelia snorted despite herself.

"Anyway," Delta continued, clearly enjoying this now, "she tried to kiss him at some point, but she'd had way too much nepenthe to drink and ended up throwing up on him instead."

"What?" Evelia gasped, horrified. "Gross!"

"Yeah," Delta laughed. "So she can judge all she wants, but she's no better than anyone else. Truly. Her and her entire friend group are a walking embarrassment."

Evelia smiled at Delta.

She found herself wondering why Delta was trying so hard to cheer her up. Back home, they had barely been friends at all. They hardly acknowledged each other outside of polite familiarity. Sometimes Delta came by the restaurant with her parents for lunch, and Evelia would serve their table, but that was the extent of it. A few passing words, nothing more.

Yet here she was, trying to make Evelia feel better.  And Evelia appreciated it more than she could properly put into words.

In a place like this, where every hour carried the weight of what was coming, having someone from home to lean on felt unexpectedly precious. Familiarity became something softer here, something warmer. Safer.

It was nice to have a friend.

Between Delta standing firmly at her side, Griffin being tangled up in Beetee's plan, and Haldin looking ready to fight half the arena if it meant keeping them alive, Evelia began to realise just how well surrounded she truly was.

Not by allies alone, but by people who cared whether she made it through this alive.

Then she remembered she was supposed to stay away from them in the arena.

The thought hit so suddenly she physically felt something inside her chest crack a little.

Evelia looked away at once, shaking the feeling off before Delta could notice anything in her expression. She pushed herself to move, disappearing into the bathroom to get dressed before joining the others for breakfast.

Their tokens rested on the table, freshly inspected by Peacekeepers and declared harmless.

Evelia's gaze drifted towards Griffin as he slipped his necklace back on, the oyster pearl settling against his chest. For a second, she could have sworn the pearl looked different somehow.

But that was impossible. She was overthinking now. She had to be.

"Question," Evelia said, nudging Haldin lightly with her elbow.

"No," he answered immediately, though the smile tugging at his mouth encouraged her to ignore the response entirely.

"What's that piece of wood? Where's it from?"

"A mast, Miss Vane," Haldin replied with a smirk. "A mast from a boat I'm fairly sure the Capitol would hate."

"Why's that?" Griffin asked.

He shot Evelia a quick smile afterwards, and some of the tension inside her eased. He truly didn't seem like someone about to ruin Beetee's plan. Then again, Beetee would never have trusted him if he were.

"It's from the Driftwake."

Evelia's eyes widened.

The Driftwake was infamous in District Four, though the Capitol despised even the mention of it. During the Dark Days, the ship had smuggled food, medicine, and messages across Panem's coasts to the rebels. People used to say the rebellion had breathed through that boat. That it had kept entire districts alive.

"How did you even get that?" Delta gasped, leaning closer to inspect it.

"My grandpa was the captain," Haldin said. "When the Capitol bombed the Driftwake, he survived long enough to pull pieces of it from the ocean. Left them to my dad before the Capitol executed him."

His expression barely changed as he said it.

"Anyway," he added a moment later, lighter now, "I only brought it because it's a gift from my dad. Might help ground me in the arena."

Evelia understood immediately why he phrased it that way. It was destined for the cameras, so nobody could accuse him of being what his grandpa had been before him. A rebel.

Yet he was. Evelia knew it. Which meant that at least three out of the four tributes from District Four were rebels. And she wouldn't have been surprised if Delta hated the Capitol too.

The thought pulled a small smile from her before she could stop it.

"Nice," Griffin said, looking the piece of wood over with genuine interest. "Really nice."

"I knew you'd like it, you nerd," Haldin laughed.

Griffin laughed too, reaching over to shove a hand through Haldin's brown hair until it fell into complete disarray.

"Hey—"

Haldin immediately tried to retaliate, but the difference in size between them made the effort mostly useless. Griffin was older by three years and broader because of it, and after a few failed attempts at pushing him away, Haldin gave up with an annoyed sound and jabbed two fingers into Griffin's ribs instead.

Griffin gasped sharply, jerking back at once.

"You little shit," Griffin laughed.

Haldin looked entirely too pleased with himself afterwards, a grin spreading across his face as he started wiggling his eyebrows in triumph.

Evelia snorted softly at the sight before kicking him lightly behind the knee. Haldin stumbled immediately, losing his balance and grabbing onto Delta at the last second to stop himself from crashing to the floor.

Delta let out an offended gasp as Haldin nearly dragged her down with him.

"Haldin!"

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry, Miss O'Connor! Please forgive me!" Haldin said, pressing a hand to his chest as he faked a cry of despair.

Delta rolled her eyes, shoving him off her while Griffin laughed into his cup.

The moment lasted only seconds before Zephyria appeared in the doorway, and yelled at them to go to the living room to start the interview prep. The easy atmosphere dissolved almost immediately.

Although their scores had been excellent, Zephyria still seemed irritated, restless in a way she was trying — and failing — to conceal. Most of it was directed at Evelia.

Between the stunt she had pulled during the chariot parade (helping the District Twelve tributes with Louella, speaking directly to the crowd) and what had happened during her private session, Evelia had managed to unsettle more than one person in the Capitol.

Zephyria insisted it could affect Delta, Griffin, and Haldin too, but none of them were stupid enough to believe that was what truly worried her.

She was terrified it would affect her.

Her reputation. Her position. The way the Capitol perceived her.

She was the escort for a Career district, after all. If she failed at making her tributes look charming and lovable, then she risked losing status entirely. One bad year could send her somewhere the Capitol cared less about. District Eight. District Ten.

And to someone like Zephyria, that possibility seemed to frighten her more than the Games themselves.

She immediately launched into an explanation of how the interviews would work that year. Since there were twice as many tributes for the Quarter Quell, each interview had been shortened from three minutes to two. After every four districts, Caesar Flickerman would take a short break to resume the interviews and introduced tributes before continuing.

Considering most Capitol people spent these events drunk out of their minds or so high they looked ready to float into the ceiling, Evelia honestly thought the breaks were a rather good idea.

Zephyria, however, seemed horrified by the entire thing.

"One minute less is a lot," she insisted, pouring herself a glass of champagne. "A lot can happen in a minute."

She took a sip before continuing.

"I always tell tributes to know exactly what image they want to project before speaking with Caesar," she explained. "Never go in there blind. Never. He'll obliterate you, this little—"

She cut herself off with visible effort, shaking her head.

"This little redneck with teeth so white you can practically see your reflection in them."

"You have the same teeth," Haldin pointed out immediately.

"Haldin, please," Mags said as she stepped into the room. "Zephyria is right. You need to be more concise this year, and that's difficult. Caesar asks questions quickly. Sometimes he'll deliberately try to destabilise you, especially if he senses uncertainty."

The room quieted slightly.

"That's why you need a guiding thread for the interview," Mags explained. "Something you can always return to through your answers. A familiar place. It helps you regain control of the conversation while building a clear image of yourself for the audience."

Zephyria nodded eagerly at that, immediately reclaiming control of the conversation.

"Exactly. Capitol audiences are simple people," she said, waving her champagne glass vaguely through the air. "You give them one clear thing to hold onto and they'll cling to it for dear life. Sweet girl. Funny boy. Mysterious tribute. Tragic tribute. You understand?"

"Violent prick," Haldin suggested.

"Absolutely not," Zephyria snapped.

"Charming violent prick?"

"Haldin."

He lifted his hands in surrender while Griffin tried and failed to hide a laugh behind his cup.

Mags ignored both of them entirely.

"The important thing is consistency," she said calmly. "If Caesar pulls you somewhere uncomfortable, you return to your thread. Don't let him control the pace completely. So, let's figure out what yours are."

She moved towards the couch where her tributes sat watching her with wide eyes, strangely attentive now. Something about the sight might remind one of bear cubs watching their mother while she hunted, eager to one day get to her level.

"Haldin," Mags began.

He straightened slightly.

"You're an endearing boy. Smiley. Funny. That's rare in tributes, because most of them try so hard to appear serious and lethal all the time. I think a lot of people in the audience will appreciate your ease."

"Why, thank you," Haldin grinned. "So my thread is making jokes?"

"No, dear," Mags corrected gently. "Your thread could be your ease. Your ability to remain relaxed. But don't push it too far, or people will start seeing you as arrogant."

"Sir, yes, sir," Haldin answered.

Mags moved on to Griffin next.

"Your brain is an advantage," she said simply.

Griffin shifted a little in his seat, as though unsure whether that was praise or pressure.

"Wyatt from Twelve is also clever," Mags continued, "but in a different way. Wyatt is numbers-smart. Patterns, calculations, odds. You are words-smart. You understand language. History. You can connect events to situations most people wouldn't think to link. And you have a way with words that not many people have." She paused. "That is something the audience will like."

Griffin let out a quiet breath, glancing down at his hands as if considering how much of that was a gift and how much was a risk.

"So my thread is... talking?" he asked, half-joking.

"Not quite," Mags replied. "Your thread is clarity. The ability to explain, to make sense of things. But like with Haldin, you must be careful. Intelligence can become intimidating if it isn't grounded."

Mags then moved on to Delta.

Delta straightened instinctively, like she was bracing for impact without quite knowing why. Her curls were still slightly uncontained from earlier, but her expression had shifted into something more attentive, more focused.

"Delta," Mags said at last.

Delta lifted her chin slightly. "Yes?"

"You are steady," Mags continued. "People will read you as grounded. Someone who does not waste energy on what does not matter."

Delta let out a short breath, somewhere between a scoff and agreement. "That sounds like a polite way of saying I'm boring."

"It is not," Mags replied calmly. "It is useful. Especially in a Quarter Quell arena. As I have explained earlier, people are used to arrogant tributes, especially the Careers. Those who show off. You, dearest, know your worth. You master a bow like no one else. You can analyse your environment and people, and adapt yourself."

Delta's gaze flicked briefly to Evelia, then back again.

"And my thread?"

"Reliability," Mags said. "You are someone people can imagine standing next to in a crisis and not letting go. This will be useful if you or Caesar mention the Newcomers."

Delta absorbed that, her jaw tightening slightly, as if she wasn't sure whether to like it or reject it outright.

"Just don't make yourself invisible," Mags added after a beat. "Being steady is not the same as being forgotten."

Finally, Mags moved to Evelia.

The shift in the room was immediate. Evelia felt it before Mags even spoke, like the air itself had tightened around her name.

"Evelia. You are... harder to place," Mags admitted at last.

That drew a faint, impatient sound from Zephyria, but Mags didn't react to it.

"You have moments where you appear very open," Mags continued. "Very direct. You have many allies. You act when others freeze. That can be read as bravery, even leadership."

A pause.

"But," she added more carefully, "you also have moments where you are... unpredictable. Not in a reckless sense. In an emotional one. The Capitol does not always know what to do with that. And you are not the first Vane to be interviewed. Caesar's father, Lucky, interviewed your uncle years ago. That interview was not well received. So there is already a pattern people think they recognise. A small idea of you before you even speak."

"By 'small idea' you mean rude girl who spat on the crowd and somehow scored a twelve?" Zephyria cut in sharply. "And who has been spending time with the rascal from Twelve who scored a one? Is that what you mean, Mags? Because I do not see how we recover this disaster."

Her eyes snapped to Evelia.

"You did this to yourself, girl. You should find a way out of it alone. Why should we help you?"

"Because it's your job, Zephyria?" Evelia shot back before she could stop herself.

The words landed hard in the room.

Something hot and sharp rose in her chest immediately after, anger and something closer to exhaustion than fear. The more Zephyria spoke, the more Evelia could feel that familiar edge creeping in, the same one that had followed her since the chariot parade. For a split second, she imagined what it would feel like to hit her, just like Maysilee did with Drusilla.

She swallowed the thought down as quickly as it had appeared.

Mags hushed Zephyria with a firm look before turning her attention back to Evelia.

"Evelia," she said again, softer this time, "what do you want them to believe about you?"

The question settled heavily in the space between them.

Evelia felt, for a moment, as though the room had slipped away entirely. Her mind drifted without permission, pulled backwards to the morning of the reaping, on Mr O'Dair's boat.

"That's why I'm not getting sponsors," she had said. "No one's interested in a girl who can't even smile for her own mother, let alone a camera."

"Sponsors don't care about smiles. They care about stories," he had answered.

"I don't have one."

"Ye've got plenty. Ye just don't want 'em to hear it. And if ye don't... make one up. Just remember... the Capitol don't save good people. They save people who can be sold."

"I'm not planning on being sold."

"No. But ye might need to be seen."

She needed to be seen.

She already had a strong foundation; the highest score in training had captured the Capitol's attention whether she wanted it or not. Now all she had to do was strip away the prejudice attached to her name, because even if it was entirely true, it would become dangerous in the arena.

The rebellious girl from Four. The niece of the Vane who had left a bitter taste in Capitol mouths years ago... that story had already been written for her. So she would write another one instead.

But who could Evelia be?

Her mind drifted back to the crowd during the chariot parade, to the Capitol voices shouting questions about her age, to the men calling after her with drunken smiles, asking her to spend a night with them before she entered the arena. To the Gamemakers letting their eyes linger too long during her private session, interested less in her skills than in the body standing in front of them.

Perhaps she could use that interest against them.

Not by giving them what they wanted. Never that.

But she could play along just enough.

She could smile. Tease. Act softer than she was. Prettier. Simpler. Let them believe they understood her, let them think she was harmless enough to underestimate.

It would protect Beetee's plan too.

Just like Haymitch had done during his private session, she would become someone the Capitol would never suspect of being capable of destroying an arena from the inside out. Now that attention had settled on both of them, every move mattered. One mistake and she would go down, dragging Haymitch down beside her simply through association.

And she refused to let that happen.

Somewhere along the way, Evelia had grown used to the boy from District Twelve.

The boy who sang terribly off-key songs to frightened children just to make them smile for a few seconds longer. The boy who stepped in without hesitation whenever something felt wrong. The boy who somehow always knew what to say to quiet the noise in her head, even when she didn't fully understand it herself.

The boy she had trusted far too quickly for it to make any sense.

If she could not bring herself to protect her own life properly, then she would protect Haymitch's.

To the Capitol, Evelia's thread would be fake sweetness.

To herself, though, her thread would be Haymitch.

Something solid to mentally return to whenever the performance became too much. A reminder of why she was doing any of this in the first place.

When Evelia finally explained her idea aloud, Mags immediately shook her head.

"No," she started at once, disapproval already settling into her expression, but before she could continue, Zephyria let out an almost delighted gasp.

"Now we're talking!" she exclaimed, sitting up straighter with a grin so wide the light caught against her impossibly white teeth. "Finally, something interesting."

She pointed dramatically at Evelia with her champagne glass.

"You're not quite the lost cause I thought you were, are you, Vane?"

Mags still didn't look convinced.

"I don't like it," she said. "This is dangerous."

"Oh, come on," Zephyria groaned. "It's perfect. The Capitol already finds her attractive, and now she wants to lean into it without making it vulgar? That's marketable."

Evelia visibly stiffened at the word.

Marketable. This was a word one usually used to speak of an object. Now, it was describing Evelia.

Mags noticed immediately.

"That is not what concerns me," she said. "Evelia, the problem with performances like this is that they are difficult to control once the audience becomes attached to them."

"I know," Evelia answered.

"Do you?" Mags asked gently. "Because the Capitol does not simply admire girls they find charming. They consume them. They push and push until there is nothing left untouched."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Zephyria rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. She's not marrying them! She's flirting for two minutes on a stage."

"She's sixteen," Mags replied sharply enough to make even Zephyria quiet down.

Evelia swallowed hard, her arms crossing instinctively over herself.

"I can handle it," she said after a moment.

Mags studied her carefully, like she was trying to determine whether Evelia believed that or merely wanted to.

"And what happens," Mags asked softly, "when Caesar pushes too far? When he asks something designed to embarrass you? Corner you?"

Evelia thought of Haymitch. Of the way he never let Capitol people see the parts of himself that mattered most.

"I'll play along," she said at last. "I can answer back if he goes too far."

Zephyria clapped her hands together immediately.

"Yes! Exactly! Boundaries with allure. Mysterious. Dangerous enough to stay interesting."

"Horrifying sentence," Haldin muttered under his breath.

Delta glanced at Evelia, concern written plainly across her face.

"You sure about that?" she murmured quietly, low enough that only Evelia could hear. "There are other options, Evelia."

"I'm sure," Evelia whispered back at once. "Don't worry. I've got this."

The words came easily, steadier than she actually felt.

Across from them, Griffin sent her a look that carried the same concern, though he kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. Evelia appreciated that more than she could explain. She didn't want anyone trying to stop her now that she had finally chosen a direction.

At the front of the room, Zephyria was already pacing excitedly, ideas spilling from her faster than anyone could properly follow while she emptied her second glass of champagne.

"Alright," she announced brightly, clapping her hands together. "This morning, we practise your interviews. Then this afternoon, your prep teams and Hephaia will come take care of you. It'll be great, don't you worry!"

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the room and turned towards them.

For a moment, she simply looked at the four tributes with shining, delighted eyes, like an artist staring at a masterpiece only she could already see completed.

"District Four," she declared, "Panem is about to love you."

—

no Haymitch content, I am sooo sorryyyy!!! but we get to see more of Evelia's perspective of him, which is rather sweet. she's just a 16 year old girl in love!! her thread is him <3

I just wanted to explore Delta, Haldin and Griffin's characters more, because they're all so important and I do NOT want them to be perceived as side characters , because they're not. I mean, Griffin is a part of Beetee's plan now. so yeah.

fun fact about Griffin: in the first draft of this book, he died before entering the arena (right before the chariot race actually), because he rebelled himself. peacekeepers took him away and killed him. I didn't think of replacing him like Suzanne did with Louella, though, but my boy's been a rebel and he's gonna get more credit in this version of the book!!!!

also, Evelia makes me laugh so much. "I'm not special, nothing special about me"... girl, you're a CAREER who's super smart, has THIRTY-FIVE ALLIES, is a TRAINED KILLER... dude, have some self-confidence. idk. you're a goat.

anyway, next chapter will be out pretty soon, so hang on, because it's the last before the arena...