President Snow sits up from his chair and walks up to the mic. He's on a large stage way above us. “Citizens of the Capitol… and loyal districts of Panem,” he begins, his voice echoing across the avenue. “Tonight, we gather once again beneath the shining lights of the Capitol to celebrate a tradition that binds our great nation together.” Here we go. The long monologue of Snow saying how the Games are some great thing, and how brave we are for doing this even though we didn't get a choice. “The Hunger Games remind us of our shared history and the struggles we have overcome, and the unity that keeps Panem strong. From each district, two brave tributes have come forward to represent their homes. They stand before us not only as competitors, but as symbols of courage, sacrifice, and opportunity. Within the arena, they will face trials of strength, wit, and endurance. Some will fall. One will rise. And that victor will return home crowned with glory, bringing honor and prosperity to their district. Let the Games remind us that peace is precious… and unity is our greatest strength. Happy Hunger Games… and may the odds be ever in your favor.” I hate that line. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” It’s basically saying may you not die while trying to be killed. I glance at Logan and see him beaming at Snow. Oh my gosh. Of course he supports Snow. I slightly scowl at him and watch as Districts 12 and 11’s chariots ride back away from the stage. The cheering is deafening. Capitol citizens scream and wave sparkling banners as the chariots begin rolling away from the massive stage. Confetti floats down from somewhere above us, catching in my hair and on the fabric of my dress. Our horses shift impatiently, their metal harnesses clinking softly. “Well,” Logan mutters beside me, sounding amused, “that was inspiring.” I glance at him. “Inspiring?” He shrugs. “Sure. Makes the whole thing sound heroic.” “Yeah,” I say flatly. “Heroic.” The chariot jolts slightly as it begins moving again, joining the slow procession down the wide Capitol avenue. Logan raises a hand and waves dramatically at the crowd like he’s already won. “Try smiling,” he murmurs to me. “Sponsors love confidence.” “I am smiling.” “Not like that,” he says. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.” “Give it time,” I mutter. He snorts. Ahead of us, massive iron doors stand open. One by one, the chariots roll through them. Inside is a huge hall-high ceilings, bright lights, and rows of chariots already lined up along the walls. As soon as we stop, attendants hurry forward to help guide the horses away. Logan jumps down first, landing easily. I gather the fabric of my dress and step down after him. The moment my feet hit the floor, I see them. Mara. Celestine. They’re standing off to the side with the other mentors and chaperones, watching the tributes climb down from their chariots. Celestine rushes forward first. “Oh my goodness, you two looked fantastic!” she gushes, clasping her hands together. “The crowd loved you!” Logan smirks. “Of course they did.” Mara walks over more slowly, her expression harder to read. She studies both of us carefully. “Well,” she says finally, “you didn’t fall off the chariot.” “That’s the bar?” Logan asks. “For now,” Mara replies calmly. I glance around the enormous room. Tributes from every district are scattered across the hall, surrounded by stylists, mentors, and Capitol staff. Some look excited. Others look like they might throw up. The energy in the room is strange. Part celebration. Part dread. Mara takes a small drink from her silver flask before looking at us again. “Enjoy the attention while it lasts,” she says. “Why?” Logan asks. Mara’s dark eyes flick between us. “Because tomorrow,” she says quietly, “you start learning how to stay alive.” The room suddenly feels a lot colder. And for the first time tonight, the reality of what’s coming settles heavily in my chest. The parade is over. The Games are getting closer. And soon, smiling for cameras won’t matter anymore.
