This train moves so fast my eyes can't keep up with the scenery outside the glass windows. We hurl past another town, just a blur of mud and smoke. This is what an insect feels like before it hits the windshield. I've got to remind myself we're the ones inside the glass. We're the ones headed straight for the Capitol's greedy, gobbling mouth.
Effie's clack-clack-clack heels punch holes in my thinking, and she's talking so much her jaw might just up and fall off. "We finally have a year to shine!" she chirps, showing us the last of our rolling prison, the dining car with its polished wood and gleaming silver.
Her skirt is an orange monstrosity that should have its own warning sign. Katniss follows us like she expects the walls to start shooting arrows any second. She's got that wary look, like I just promised her a real nice puppy. I try to catch her eye, but she's too busy gawking at everything from the floor to the ceiling, waiting for it all to explode.
"And that concludes our tour!" Effie beams like she's just shown us the eighth wonder of the world. "Any questions?"
I'm about to make a crack about escape hatches when Haymitch stumbles in, flask already in hand. His eyes are bloodshot but focused enough to be dangerous.
"Well, well," he says, smiling as he raised his drink. "Congratulations on your death sentences."
"Thanks," I reply, slouching against the wall. "I've always wanted one of those."
Something flickers across Haymitch's face, not just annoyance, but real anger. Before I can blink, he's across the room, grabbing my collar and shoving me against the wall.
"You think this is a joke?" he hisses, his breath hot with whiskey. "You had one job. Stay alive. Stay out of the Games. And what do you do? Volunteer!"
I try to keep my face neutral, but his words sting more than I want to admit. "What was I supposed to do? Let them take Tam? He's twelve, Haymitch."
"And you're seventeen. Old enough to know better." He releases me with a disgusted shove. "This isn't just any Games—It's a Quarter Quell. Nail that into your empty brain. It'll be worse than anything you've prepared for."
"I know what it is," I say, straightening my shirt.
"No—you don't," Haymitch snarls. "These Games will be designed to break you in ways you can't imagine. I didn't tolerate your actions just for you to volunteer!" He jabs a finger at me with each word, "You stay put. You look away. And pretend you don't know the kid! Just like every year before!"
The words hit like stones. I feel my face flush with anger, with hurt. "And what? Watched another kid die while I saved my own skin?"
"Bingo!" Haymitch's laugh is hollow. "What did I say about being a hero? That's what'll get you killed."
"Better than living like a coward," I snap back.
His eyes narrow. "Living is living, kid. Dead is dead. But you've made your choice." He steps back, addressing both of us now. "So congratulations again. District Twelve's first volunteers. At least you'll make history before you make corpses."
"That's quite enough!" Effie interjects, her face flushed beneath her makeup. "Really, Haymitch, this is completely inappropriate!"
He waves her off, already turning to leave. "Truth hurts. Better they hear it now."
I'm still reeling from his words when Effie ushers us away, her voice higher than usual as she tries to paste over the cracks. "He doesn't mean it," she says, though we all know that's a lie. "He's just... concerned. Now, let me show you to your rooms. Dinner's in a few hours."
I catch Katniss watching me, her expression unreadable. Great. Now she thinks I'm either a fool or a dead man walking. Probably both.
=====
Back in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. Haymitch's words keep circling in my mind like vultures. A knock at the door interrupts my self-pity party. I open it, expecting Effie with some ridiculous Capitol etiquette lesson. Instead, I find Katniss, arms crossed, eyes sharp as flint.
"We need to talk," she says.
"By all means, come in," I say, stepping aside. "Make yourself at home in my last accommodations before death."
She doesn't acknowledge the joke. She stands near the door, keeping her distance, eyes scanning the room once before settling back on me.
"What's going on with Haymitch?" she asks, direct and to the point.
I tilt my head back, put on my best innocent face. "Oh, him? We're total BFFs. I'm getting that on a bracelet."
Katniss doesn't blink. "You know him."
"Is that a question?" I ask, sitting up. "Or a statement?"
She doesn't respond to that. "I want to know if I can trust him," she says.
"So, naturally, you're asking me? Bad choice, sweetheart." I throw out Haymitch's favorite endearment, partly because it suits her perfectly, and partly to see if I can crack that stone-faced facade. "Since you clearly don't even trust me, why would you suddenly start trusting my words?"
Her jaw tightens at the nickname. She glances at the walls, then back at me. Her voice drops. "Haymitch picked his favorite early."
"And you think it's me?" I ask. "Don't let the good looks fool you."
"You've been training with him." Not a question.
I whistle low. "Your arrows that sharp, too?"
She just stares, waiting.
"What do you want me to say? That we're secretly planning to overthrow the Capitol together?"
She takes half a step forward. "You have an arrangement."
"An arrangement?" I repeat, genuinely confused.
"The lazy boy. The drunk victor." She lists them off like facts. "Now both here."
Understanding dawns. She thinks we're conspiring against her.
"You've got it all wrong," I tell her.
"Do I?" Her eyes flash. "You get the sponsors. I get nothing."
"That's not how it works," I say, my own temper rising. "And you don't know anything about me and Haymitch."
"I know what they say," she counters. "You never work but always have enough. Best friends with our only victor."
Her words sting more than they should. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear in the Seam."
"Why not?"
I push off from the wall, closing the distance between us. "What you see is what I want you to see."
She doesn't back away. "And what else?"
For a moment, I consider telling her everything. But I can't, not when she's looking at me with such distrust.
"That I'm not your enemy," I say instead. "And neither is Haymitch."
"Prove it," she challenges.
"How?" I ask. "What would it take?"
She seems taken aback, as if she didn't expect that question. Her mouth opens, then closes.
A sharp knock interrupts us. "Dinner in five minutes!" Effie trills through the door.
Katniss steps back. "We'll see," she says, heading for the door. Nothing more.
=====
Dinner is a masterclass in discomfort. The table stretches between us like a no-man's land, piled with enough food to feed the Seam for a month. Effie chatters like a broken radio, all static and forced cheer. Haymitch drinks and glowers. Katniss eats methodically, eyes down but attention clearly focused on every interaction between Haymitch and me. I pick at my food, trying to look like I'm not walking a tightrope.
"The tablecloths are imported," Effie announces to nobody in particular. "From District Eight, I believe. Quite the craftsmanship."
"Fascinating," I mutter, stabbing a piece of meat. "I'll be sure to compliment them before they try to kill us."
Effie's smile freezes. Haymitch snorts into his drink.
"At least the food's good," I add, taking another bite. "Dying on a full stomach's better than the alternative."
"Must you be so morbid?" Effie sighs.
"Just keeping it real," I shrug. "We can't all live in a world of fancy tablecloths."
Katniss looks up at that, something almost like agreement flickering across her face before it hardens again.
"Well," Effie soldiers on, "I think we should discuss your presentation strategy. First impressions are crucial!"
"I was thinking casual indifference," I say. "Maybe with a touch of impending doom."
"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Katniss asks, her voice flat and hard.
"Only the funny parts," I reply, meeting her gaze.
"Right. Because this is all just hilarious." She sets her fork down with deliberate control. "You two seem pretty comfortable together."
The table goes silent. Haymitch raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
"What exactly are you getting at?" I ask carefully.
"It's obvious," she says, eyes narrowing. "You know each other. Well."
"Katniss, dear—" Effie begins, but Katniss cuts her off with a sharp look.
"I'm not stupid," she continues, turning to Haymitch. "You're supposed to mentor both of us. Not just your him."
Haymitch sets down his glass, studying her with narrowed eyes. "That's what I'm doing, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," she snaps. "And don't treat me like I'm blind."
"Support isn't a zero-sum game," he says, surprisingly articulate. "And you shouldn't be so quick to make enemies."
"Enemies?" She doesn't raise her voice, but her intensity fills the room. "I don't need enemies. I already have twenty-two of them waiting in the arena." She jerks her head toward me. "Maybe twenty-three."
Haymitch leans forward, something dangerous in his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know what I see," she says, unwavering.
"Do you?" Haymitch swirls his drink, contemplative. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively casual. "Those packages that showed up at your door after your father died. Ever wonder where they came from?"
Her face goes completely still, like a prey animal sensing danger. "What packages?"
"The food when you were starving," Haymitch says bluntly. "The medicine for your sister. They didn't appear by magic."
Her eyes flick to me, confusion momentarily replacing anger. "That's not—" She stops, recalculates. "What are you saying?"
Haymitch nods toward me. "Ask him."
I want to strangle Haymitch. I want to disappear. I want anything but to be pinned by her stare, with shock and suspicion.
"Is that true?" she asks, voice stripped of emotion.
I swallow hard, avoiding her eyes. "It wasn't a big deal."
Silence falls over the table. Effie looks between us, clearly lost. Haymitch watches with calculated interest.
"Why?" Katniss finally asks. Just that. Nothing more.
I risk meeting her gaze. "Someone had to."
"But why you?" she presses, face still unreadable.
"I knew what was happening. To your family. To others."
"Others?" One word, but loaded with questions.
I shrug, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "When I could."
"With what?" Her hands are flat on the table now, voice steady but insistent.
At this, Haymitch laughs. "Where do you think, sweetheart? Right out from under my nose."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "You stole from him."
"Borrowed," I correct. "He didn't need it anyway."
"And he just let you?" Disbelief edges into her voice.
"'Let' is a strong word," Haymitch interjects. "More like 'strategically ignored.'"
Katniss says nothing. Her face gives away nothing. She sits completely still for several long seconds before standing abruptly.
"Excuse me," she says stiffly. "I need some air."
Before anyone can respond, she's gone, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
"Well," Effie says after a moment, clearly flustered. "That was... something."
Haymitch gives me a look that's part apology, part challenge. "She needed to know."
"Did she?" I ask, anger simmering beneath the surface. "Or did you just want to throw me under the train?"
He shrugs, unrepentant. "Better she knows now than finds out in the arena." He takes another drink. "Besides, she'll come around."
"You don't know that," I say, pushing away from the table. "You don't know her at all."
=====
I find Katniss in the rear viewing car, staring out at the landscape rushing by in the darkness. She doesn't turn when I enter, but her shoulders tense slightly, acknowledging my presence.
"Don't," she says flatly without looking at me. One word, like a door closing.
I stay by the door, giving her space. "Don't what?"
She turns just enough that I can see the hard line of her jaw. "Whatever you came here to say."
"Then what should I say?"
Her eyes remain fixed on the darkness outside. "Why keep it a secret?"
"Would you have taken it if you knew it was from me?" I ask.
The silence stretches between us. Her stillness is answer enough.
"That's what I figured," I say.
"We don't take handouts," she says, voice tight.
"It wasn't charity," I tell her. "It was necessity."
"Necessity," she repeats, finally turning to face me. Her eyes narrow. "For who?"
I step further into the car. "For the district. For your family."
"That's not an answer," she says, crossing her arms. "Why would you care what happens to us?"
"Does it matter?" I ask. "Would knowing change anything?"
She studies me, really looks at me, like she's cataloging every detail of my face. "In the arena," she says after a long moment, "I need to know who I'm dealing with."
"I'm exactly who I've always been," I tell her.
"And who's that?" The question is direct, demanding.
"Someone who saw what needed doing and did it."
Her jaw tightens. "You're not telling me everything."
"No," I admit. "I'm not."
She holds my gaze, unflinching. "I don't like owing people."
"You don't owe me anything," I say firmly.
"That's not how it works," she says, her voice hard but quiet. "Not in the Seam." Did she forget that I'm from the Seam too?
"Then what does it mean where you come from?"
"It means I'm in your debt," she says, the words clearly difficult. "And I don't know how to repay something like that."
"There's nothing to repay," I insist.
"Then why do it at all?" The question is almost accusatory.
Before I can answer, Effie's voice trills from the corridor. "There you are! It's time for the reaping recaps!"
Katniss moves past me toward the door, stopping briefly. "We're not done with this," she says, the words carrying both warning and promise. Like I could escape a hunter like her.
I follow her back to the main car, where Haymitch and Effie have already settled in front of the screen.
District 1 pops up, and they've dressed their tributes in glitter that could blind an elephant. One girl beams like she's won the lottery. When she volunteered. "They really dug deep this year," I say. "Might even make it past breakfast."
The recaps jump to District 2. More of the same. "Shame they don't just put us out of our misery," I say, "and win by default."
"Too messy," Haymitch says. "Capitol likes a show." He pauses, takes a swig. "You ought to know."
We see District 4, their tributes look well-fed and about as nervous as I am when napping. We move to the middle Districts and Katniss watches closely. "They need help," she says. Her voice is flat, but the way her hands twist tells me how much it matters.
"Might just be a liability," Haymitch counters, but I know he sees it too. "Like all of you."
"The Capitol," I remind them, "loves liabilities. Especially the exploding kind."
The screen shows District 9, 10, showing strung-out kids all anxious and glaring at the cameras. Orphans, or kids who've got nothing to lose most likely. The kind the Capitol really likes to bet on, for irony's sake.
The video keeps going until District 11 is on. I lean forward, interested. This year's offerings are two older teenagers with long limbs and with actual muscle mass. The boy looks like he could be the brother of Thresh, and the girl—she's a little more like Katniss. Maybe even like me. Calculating. Tough. I make a mental note.
Then it's our turn. District 12. Primrose is called. Katniss lunging forward, voice breaking: "I volunteer as tribute!" The shocked silence. Tam's name. My own voice, steadier than I felt: "I volunteer."
"District Twelve's first volunteers," the announcer says. "Truly a historic moment! This year's Games will be legendary!"
I watch myself mount the stage, see the mask of indifference I'd perfected over years slip into place. I look almost bored, like this was inevitable. What a performance.
The broadcast shifts to the Capitol seal, and President Snow's face fills the screen. The room goes still as death.
"Citizens of Panem," he begins, voice smooth and cold as ice. "This year marks our third Quarter Quell, a reminder of the Capitol's power and the cost of rebellion."
He gestures, and an attendant brings forward an ornate wooden box. Snow opens it to reveal dozens of yellowed envelopes.
"As you know, each Quarter Quell is marked by a special set of rules, predetermined at the founding of the Games," Snow continues. "For the 75th Hunger Games..."
He selects an envelope marked with "75" and breaks the seal. The camera zooms in as he reads the card.
"To demonstrate that even in the darkest times, the Capitol's mercy shines through, this year's Games will permit more than one victor, provided they survive this year's arena."
Our eyes widen and our jaws drop. For a moment, no one moves, no one speaks. The possibility is too enormous to process immediately.
Effie recovers first, letting out a squeal that could shatter glass. "More than one victor!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together in rapid succession. "District Twelve could have two winners! Oh my goodness, this is such good news!"
I'm frozen, mind racing to catch up with what I've just heard. More than one victor. The words repeat in my head, but I still can't quite believe them.
Beside me, Katniss sits rigid, her expression stunned, lips slightly parted in disbelief. Her eyes, wide and startled, meet mine for a brief moment before darting away.
Haymitch lets out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Well, well," he says, his voice deceptively casual. "Looks like the Capitol's feeling generous this year."
"This changes everything," I manage to say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
"Everything!" Effie agrees enthusiastically. "The sponsors, the strategy, the training—oh, we have so much to discuss!"
Haymitch turns to Katniss, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Guess that alliance idea doesn't sound so bad now, does it, sweetheart?" He gestures between Katniss and me. "Seems like working together might be your ticket home after all. Both of you."
Katniss blinks, the implications finally sinking in. "We could both survive," she says slowly, testing the words.
"If you play it right," Haymitch agrees. "If you work together."
The look she gives me is complicated—surprise, confusion, thoughtful, and something almost like hope. It's the most unguarded I've seen her.
Snow's final words seem to hang in the air long after the broadcast ends: "May the odds be ever in your favor." The screen goes dark.
"Well," Haymitch says, clapping his hands together. "I think this calls for a drink. A real one." He looks between us, an unfamiliar light in his eyes. "We've got work to do, you two. But for tonight..." He raises an imaginary glass. "Here's to District Twelve's, possibly—first dual victors."
As we head to our rooms, Katniss falls into step beside me. We walk in silence for a moment, the revelation about the packages still hanging between us, now joined by this new, unexpected possibility.
"I still don't understand," she says finally, stopping outside her door. "Why go to all that trouble? For me? For others?"
I consider lying, consider deflecting. Instead, I give her the closest thing to truth I can manage. "Because someone should have," I say. "And no one else was going to."
She studies me, searching for deception, for ulterior motives. "Is that really all there is to it?"
"Isn't that enough?" I ask.
She doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "Thank you," she says, the words clearly difficult for her. "For my family. For Prim."
The sincerity catches me off guard. This is the real Katniss, not the defensive survivor I've watched from afar, not the suspicious tribute from dinner. Just a girl acknowledging a debt she never knew she had.
"You're welcome," I say simply.
She hesitates, then adds, "About what Haymitch said... about working together..."
"We can talk about it tomorrow," I tell her. "Get some sleep."
She nods, but doesn't move to go inside just yet. "Do you really think we could do it? Both make it out?"
I give her the most honest answer I can. "I think we have a better chance together than apart."
This seems to satisfy her, and she nods once more as she turns to open her door.
"Night, sweetheart," I say, unable to resist.
She almost smiles. Almost. "Goodnight, Ashton," she replies, the first time she's said my name.
It's not much, but as the train hurtles on toward the Capitol, toward the Games, toward whatever Snow has planned for us, it feels like the first real victory I've had all day.