The atmosphere in the training room is intense.

The room itself is huge. It has a climbing area, plenty of shooting ranges, dummies for practicing swords with, places to learn survival skills, and more weapons than I could ever imagine hanging up on stands.

All the tributes stand in the centre of it at the moment, listening to Atala, our trainer.

"In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead," she begins. "One of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days, particularly to what I'm about to say."

But I'm not paying attention, because the boy from District Two is looking at me again. We're all in the same outfits today, black shirts and bottoms with our district number on the sleeves, but yet I'm still bring hunted by his gaze. I can feel those blue eyes on me, and I'm fighting not to look straight at him.

"First, no fighting with the other tributes. There'll be plenty of time for that in the arena," Atala laughs. "There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training."

Haymitch said this would happen. He also said not to show off, or draw attention to myself.

"So don't start sticking knives in tables, sweetheart," he finished with.

"My advice is, don't ignore the survival skills," Atala goes on. "Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes. Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration; exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

As she sends this, I cast my gaze up to the area above the training room, where all the gamemakers sit, eating food, drinking wine and observing us. I don't know any of them except the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane. I don't know who I hate more, him or Snow. Snow keeps the games running, but Crane invents the arena, and the obstacles inside it.

After Atala's little speech is finished, we get set free to go and train.

Some people make beelines for certain things, but I am not one of them. I frown around the room. I know how to use knives, and could probably hit the target centres five times over, but Haymitch told me not to, and it's not like I'll be able to get hold of knives in the arena.

I watch as Marvel, the boy from One, spars with the boy from Seven with a spear. That boy from Two is welding a knife. The monkey bars are being used by the boy from Nine, who falls and clutches his shin, whimpering slightly. I see Jasper in the queue for them, his face unreadable.

Across the room, the girl from Five with red hair who I nicknamed Foxface, plays a mind game, matching symbols. My first impression of her is that she is deathly smart, as she is matching symbols faster than I can think.

People make fires across from her, but I know how to do that. I watch as two boys spar with black batons, the weapons making loud sounds as they bounce off each other.

But of course, the station I am pulled to is the knife one. I get over there eventually, my eyes skimming over all the different sizes of knives and all the different sharpnesses. My eyes flit to the target range, where three vertical blocks stand, a figure of a human with a target over where the heart would be lined out of them. My hands strain to throw knives right into the middle of those, but I know I can't.

I can, however, pretend to be bad.

I select my knife carefully, taking one that reminds me of my father's hunting knives and slowly turning it over in my hands.

After the turmoil I've been in for the past few days, it's nice to still have a knife to cling to. Granted, it's a Capitol knife, and not one of my father's, but it still feels... better, to have one with me.

I smirk slightly, raising it above my head, and aiming at the target, but slightly off so no one will know-

"Jason, where's my knife, huh?!"

"I didn't-"

"I PUT MY KNIFE RIGHT THERE-"

"Don't touch me-"

"I didn't touch your knife-"

I spin round quickly as I see a fight break out, just behind me. The boy from Two is shoving the boy from Six, both of them yelling. Officials are running over, trying to pull them apart, but the anger radiating off this boy is too much.

"You took my knife, you liar-!"

"I didn't touch your knife-"

"Yes you did! You took MY knife!"

I hear a scoff beside me, and turn to see the boy from Eleven, his eyes trained up above. I look up as well to see the tiny girl from Eleven, who reminds me of Prim, up in the rafters, a knife clutched in her hands. She wears a proud smile, and instantly, a surge of pride surfaces in me.

"YOU!"

And then, before I know it, the boy is turning on me.

It's only natural, I know. I'm at the knife station, and I even have one clutched in my hand. But that doesn't stop the fear bubbling in my stomach as he storms over to me.

"YOU took it!" He yells, as officials run after him. "Give it BACK!"

He's almost on me when the officials get a hold of him, but somehow I still can't function my body to move. Up close, I can see everything. He's about a head taller than me, his arms are muscly and there's a vein pulsing in his temple. His face is red and sweaty.

And his eyes are just as blue as ever.

And even though I'm small and skinny, and Haymitch told me not to make an impression, and this boy is about two seconds from knocking me out cold, I decide to play a very, very dangerous game.

I scoff, cocking my head and letting a smirk turn my mouth up. "Honey, if I took your knife it'd already be in the centre of the target."

For a second, no one reacts.

Then the boy yells at me, still writhing to get away. "You better watch yourself, Twelve! You don't know who you're messing with!"

Before I can reply, a whistle is blown, and Atala yells. "Everybody back in line!"

And everyone moves, but I'm still stuck there, standing in shock at what I just said.

What the hell did I just do?

Because if I wasn't sentenced to death before, then I sure am now.

☦︎☦︎☦︎

"Sweetheart, do you just do the opposite of everything I tell you?" Haymitch asks me at dinner later, whilst I neck down food beside Jasper, both our mentors sitting across from us and Effie at the head of the table.

I decide to play dumb, because even I can't explain my own actions.

"What do you mean?"

Andrew chuckles. "Sage, everyone knows what happened in the training room today. A girl from Twleve insulting a boy from Two? Unheard of."

I roll my eyes, muttering. "Well, I'll be dead in a week, anyway, so it's not like it matters..."

"What was that?" Haymitch asks, leaning closer.

I roll my eyes, stabbing a bit of pasta with unnecessary force and shoving it in my mouth.

"Well, sweetheart, one thing I can say for you is you keep things interesting," Haymitch shrugs. "But I have to admit, I wouldn't have expected even you to go head to head against a career."

"What's a career?" Jasper unhelpfully pipes up.

"The tributes from One, Two and Four," Andrew answers. "They train in a special academy until they're eighteen, and then they volunteer," he shrugs. "By that point, they're pretty lethal."

"But they don't recieve any special treatment," Effie smiles. "In fact, they stay in the exact same apartment as you do. And I don't think they let them have desert. And you can!"

I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something I regret.

"So, how good are they?" Jasper poses.

Haymitch shrugs. "Well, obviously they're pretty good, they win it almost every year, but... they can also be very arrogant. And arrogance can be a big problem."

Then he looks at me.

"I hear your knife talents go beyond sticking them in tables."

I sigh. I never actually told Haymitch I had any skills, he just said that if I did, I should keep them quiet. So I level my eyes at the lovely dish of roast potatoes, and say. "I'm alright."

"No, she's better than alright."

I drop my fork in surprise as I turn to Jasper Mellark, who has just spoken.

"My father buys her squirrels," he adds. "He says she hits them right in the eye every time."

I clench my fists as I look at him.

"You'd know all about me killing squirrels, wouldn't you?" I snap.

"Listen, just take the squirrel, because I don't have anything else, and I can't give you- ARGH!"

I try not to wince as this runs through my head before dropping my knife and fork, getting up, and leaving the room.

Stop thinking about it, stop it, stop it, stop it-

But deep down, I know the truth.

It lives inside me now. I can't.

☦︎☦︎☦︎

The next day, I watch the boy from Two decapitate three dummies with a sword at once from where I sit at the craft station, trying to make a bow from nothing. He looks just the same, if not more outraged, as yesterday, and I have no intentions of associating with him today.

It seems the careers' mentors have told them that they should show off, which is the opposite of what Haymitch said, because I turn to see Marvel thowing a spear right into the centre of a target at the shooting range. Glimmer uses a bow and does not hit the centre, but strikes the arrow close to it.

And then comes Clove, the girl from Two. Her speciality is knives, just like me, and I watch as she throws with her left and gets it in the centre, with her right and again, gets it centred, and then turns round, throwing the last one over her shoulder and getting it in the centre.

My stomach burns with jealousy as I watch her. I could do that.

Then I see Jasper, climbing up a net that's twisting and turning and grunting heavily, eventually slamming to the ground. The careers all turn to him, smirking and laughing, and I can't bring myself to feel an ounce of pity.

I turn my attention back to the bow I'm trying to make from wire and twine. It's not going well, and I have at least three cuts on my fingers from trying to put it together.

"Shame your partner isn't as smart as you."

The voice doesn't startle me, but I jump anyway, looking up to see the boy from Two, his intense blue gaze trailing over me.

Before I can stop myself, I say. "And you too, honey."

"The name's Cato, darling," he tells me. "Not 'honey'."

"Well, my name's Sage, not 'darling'," I snap back.

I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm going to be dead in a matter of days, and this boy could well be my murderer, yet I'm still talking with him.

"Sage..." Cato repeats, blue eyes boring into me. The sound of my name rolling off his tongue distracts me, and I look down, instantly regretting it.

He then changes track. "That was quite the first impression you made in the parade, wasn't it?"

I roll my eyes. "Well, we don't all have sponsors falling at our feet. Some of us have to work for them."

Cato's blue eyes flash with surprise, and I dare myself to look straight at them

"Well, now thanks to you, no one else has any attention," he tells me. "You know, you may have captured their hearts, darling, but that doesn't mean you have any proper talent."

Anger courses through me, and I find myself standing up, marching over to Cato.

"My name is Sage," I snarl. "And just because you haven't seen my talent, honey, doesn't mean I don't have any!"

We're close now, but I have to look up at him, my whole body shaking. Cato stares me down, as well, those fucking eyes almost making me give up, but I don't. I stare straight back at him.

"You need to watch yourself, darling," he warns me, his voice low and deep, a smirk plastered on his face. "There's not always going to be people around to protect you."

I scoff, maintaining the eye contact. "It costs to underestimate someone, honey."

"Well, I think I've got you estimated just right," he shoots back, as the whistle goes for lunch. "But I guess we'll have to wait and see what happens in the arena, darling."

And then he's gone, walking back across to his pack, laughing with them, and going to get lunch.

And I'm left standing in the middle of the training centre, shivering slightly, and hating myself for missing the heat of his body right next to mine.