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𝘈𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘣𝘰 - 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨

ˋ°•*⁀➷

Thalia tightened her grip on Finnian's hand as they were ushered forward by Lucian's cheery, exaggerated gestures. The train loomed before them, its sleek exterior gleaming under the sunlight, unlike any machine she had ever seen. 

It was almost too perfect, too shiny, a sharp contrast to the dust and decay of District 10.

"Come, come!" Lucian sang, practically skipping up the steps ahead of them. He turned back with a dazzling smile, waving them in like a showman unveiling his grandest act. "You'll be traveling in style, my dears! A taste of the Capitol's finest."

They hesitated at the threshold, Finnian pulling slightly against her grip. Thalia swallowed hard and led him inside, her feet heavy, her heart heavier. The moment they stepped through the door, they froze.

The train was a world of its own. The floor beneath their feet gleamed like polished gold, reflecting the light that spilled from an enormous chandelier above, its crystals catching and refracting a rainbow of colors across the walls. 

The ceiling was impossibly high for a train car, arched and painted with elaborate murals of the Capitol's skyline. Along one side stretched a table piled high with food, plates of steaming meats, fresh fruit glistening with dew, pastries dusted with powdered sugar. The smells alone made her dizzy.

Finnian clung tighter to her hand, his wide eyes scanning the scene. "Tallie," he whispered, his voice trembling. "What is this?"

Thalia didn't have an answer. Her chest tightened as she looked around, her stomach knotting at the sheer opulence. There were velvet couches arranged around a fireplace—yes, a fireplace—though she couldn't imagine how it functioned on a moving train. Vases overflowing with flowers sat on every surface, their sweet scent mingling with the aroma of the food.

It was too much. Too bright, too shiny, too... unnatural.

She thought of home, where every scrap of food was a victory, where their clothes were patched and repatched until they fell apart, and where people barely scraped by. And yet here, there were chandeliers on a train. Crystals. More food than anyone could possibly eat in a single meal.

Her throat tightened. It felt wrong, obscene, like stepping into a world that shouldn't exist when so many were starving. Her eyes drifted to Finnian's face, still pale and streaked with dried tears. This wasn't a gift. It was a trap wrapped in luxury.

Lucian spun on his heel, beaming at them as if expecting applause. "Welcome to the Capitol Express! Isn't it marvelous?" He gestured grandly to the food. "Please, help yourselves! You must be starving after such a big day."

Thalia didn't move. She couldn't. Instead, she tightened her grip on Finnian's hand, grounding herself against the storm of emotions rising inside her. This was what they wanted. To awe her. To strip her of her sense of self until she became a puppet for their games.

She wouldn't let them.

Lucian's expectant smile faltered slightly when Thalia didn't respond. "Oh, come now," he urged, his tone dripping with forced cheerfulness. "This is all for you. Enjoy it! Soon, you'll be dining with the Capitol's finest." He clapped his hands, and a group of attendants scurried in, their movements precise and almost robotic as they adjusted the table settings and poured drinks into crystal goblets.

Thalia glanced at Finnian, his small frame trembling beside her. He looked as overwhelmed as she felt, his wide eyes darting from the food to the chandelier to the plush velvet couches. She squeezed his hand again, drawing his attention back to her.

"It's okay," she murmured, though she didn't believe the words herself. "Just... stay close."

Lucian had already taken a seat at the table, gesturing for them to do the same. "Not too much for now, dinner will be served later. I wouldn't want you two filled up on the starters!" he said with a laugh, slicing into a steaming cut of meat with a knife that glinted under the chandelier's light.

Thalia hesitated before guiding Finnian to a chair. The cushions were so soft she sank into them, a stark contrast to the hard wooden benches back home. Finnian sat beside her, his small hands fidgeting in his lap as he avoided looking at the food.

The table was an extravagant spread of everything Thalia could imagine, and things she couldn't. Bowls of vibrant vegetables, bread still warm from the oven, desserts layered with delicate patterns and glistening glazes. It was beautiful, almost painfully so. Her stomach twisted at the sight.

She thought of the people in her district, her mother. She thought of the children who went to bed hungry, their stomachs aching as they prayed for rain or a lucky hunt. And here it all was, laid out like a joke, an insult to every sacrifice they'd ever made.

Lucian raised his goblet in a toast. "To our brave tributes! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Thalia barely registered the clink of his glass against Finnian's untouched one. Her fingers brushed the edge of a plate, and she flinched, pulling her hand back. This wasn't for her. It wasn't for Finnian. It was for the Capitol, for the cameras, for the audience eager to see their tributes fattened up for slaughter.

Finnian looked at her, his voice small. "Do we have to eat it?"

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "We should," she said finally, though the words tasted bitter. "You'll need your strength."

Her own voice sounded foreign, hollow. She picked up a fork and forced herself to take a bite of something sweet, the flavor rich and overwhelming. Finnian followed her lead, nibbling cautiously on a piece of bread.

Lucian smiled approvingly, leaning back in his chair. "See? Isn't this nice? You're already fitting into the Capitol life."

Thalia didn't respond. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the world outside blurred by. The train sped forward, carrying them farther and farther from the only home they'd ever known.

No, she thought. We're not fitting in. We're surviving.

ˋ°•*⁀➷

After eating what Lucian had deemed as a 'starter', Thalia and Finnian were stuffed. How could they not be? Scraps of food were all they had known, but here at the Capitol, the finest food was served just as an entree meal. 

It was bizarre. 

As expected, Lucian spoke and spoke none stop. Thalia wasn't exactly listening to the man ramble about the luxuries, how being on the train was a breath of fresh air after being in district 10.

Thalia sat back in her chair, trying to process the overwhelming sensations around her. The weight of the meal in her stomach felt foreign, almost wrong. How could they eat like this, knowing others were starving? The contrast was impossible to ignore.

She stared out the window, her mind racing. The Capitol was so far removed from District 10, so far removed from everything she'd ever known. It almost made her feel sick, thinking of how the people in her district struggled just to scrape by.

And yet, here they were. Luxuries piled high in front of them, enough food to feed an entire family for weeks, and it was all just for show. For the Capitol's entertainment.

She looked over at Finnian, still nibbling at his bread, his eyes wide as he took it all in. He wasn't fully aware of the weight of what was happening, but Thalia could feel it. The magnitude of it all was suffocating. They were pawns in a game, nothing more.

Lucian's voice droned on in the background, but Thalia wasn't listening. His words meant nothing to her. Every single part of this, every lavish detail, was just another reminder of how little the Capitol cared about the people they used. 

She'd seen the faces of the tributes who came before them. Some of them had smiled. Some of them had cried. But they all shared the same fate in the end.

The Capitol didn't care about them, about District 10, about anything beyond their own amusement. And Thalia? She had to keep her eyes on the prize. Her focus had to be on one thing and one thing only: Finnian.

She was here to make sure he made it out. No matter what.

Lucian stood up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor as he clapped his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Ah! I think it's time we finally meet your mentor," he said with a gleam in his eye, his voice filled with that same over-the-top energy. "The one and only Reed Thatcher! Surely you've heard of him. A legend in the Games, and now, your guide through all the chaos and drama that is about to unfold."

He adjusted his suit, as if readying himself for some grand production, and shot them both a smirk.

"I'll go fetch him," Lucian continued, his hands brushing off invisible lint from his jacket. "It's about time you three get acquainted. And trust me, you'll want to make a good impression on him. He's the key to your survival, after all."

With that, he turned and made his way toward the door, his heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Thalia watched him go, a sense of unease growing in her stomach. Her focus, her attention, everything was about to shift. 

She didn't know if she was ready for Reed Thatcher, but she had no choice. The reality of the Games was creeping closer, and she would need all the help she could get.

She glanced over at Finnian, who was still staring at the food laid out before them, his face full of wonder and confusion. Thalia could only hope that Reed was more than just a name to her brother. 

Because no matter how legendary or experienced he was, the truth was they needed more than advice. They needed a plan. A way to survive.

She had only met the man once, well, "met" was an overstatement. The victor was rarely seen anywhere other than the Victor's Village he lived in. The only time he was seen around District 10 was at the market, purchasing alcohol.

Thalia recalled the brief encounter, how his cold, calculating gaze had briefly flicked over her as he reached for a bottle from the shelf. It hadn't lasted more than a few seconds, but she hadn't forgotten it. 

His eyes, distant and emotionless, had told her everything she needed to know: Reed Thatcher wasn't someone who cared about anything outside of his own survival. He was a victor, hardened by the Games, and whatever humanity he might've had left was buried deep under layers of bitterness and experience.

Thalia wasn't sure if she could trust Reed Thatcher, or if he would even care about their survival. But right now, it didn't matter. She needed him. And she was going to need him to be more than just a mentor if she and Finnian were going to survive the Games.

The door to the train cart slid open with a loud hiss, and Lucian's voice preceded him, a melodic stream of words tinged with mock exasperation.

"Reed, darling, don't make me drag you all the way in here!"

A gruff, mumbled response followed, though it was too low for Thalia to catch. Seconds later, Lucian appeared, practically shoving a disheveled man through the door. Reed Thatcher stumbled slightly, but caught himself, his broad shoulders hunched and his expression a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion.

"There we are!" Lucian announced cheerfully, brushing his hands together as though he'd accomplished some grand feat. "Meet your mentor. Reed Thatcher, the victor of District 10!"

Reed shot Lucian a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he shuffled forward, his heavy boots thudding against the pristine floor. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair unkempt, and the faint smell of alcohol lingered around him.

Without acknowledging Thalia or Finnian, he slumped into the seat directly across from them, sprawling out as if the world itself had drained him of the will to sit upright. He let out a long, irritated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face before finally turning his bloodshot eyes toward the siblings.

"Well," he muttered, his voice gravelly and hoarse, "congratulations. Heard you volunteered—brave move, I guess. Don't know whether to admire it or think you're just stupid."

Thalia bristled slightly, her hand tightening around Finnian's, but she held her tongue. Reed didn't seem like the type who cared for pleasantries, and she wasn't sure if trying to force one would do more harm than good.

Lucian, however, didn't seem to notice the tension. "Reed will be guiding you through every twist and turn," he said with a grin. "Isn't that right, Reed?"

Reed grunted, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes as though he could will Lucian away.

Thalia glanced at Finnian, who was staring at Reed with a mix of awe and confusion. This was their mentor? The man who was supposed to prepare them for the horrors of the arena?

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Reed cracked one eye open, glancing lazily at the two of them before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was sharp despite the weariness that hung over him.

"So," he drawled, his voice rough and edged with sarcasm, "how were the Capitol's famous 'starters'? Bet you've never eaten anything like that before."

Thalia shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny but answered, "We're stuffed."

Reed let out a short, humorless laugh. "Stuffed? You two look like a stiff breeze could knock you over." He leaned back, shaking his head. "Better get used to it. They'll keep feeding you like kings until you fatten up."

Thalia frowned, her mouth tightening. The word "fatten" stuck in her mind like a splinter, and before she could stop herself, she muttered, "Just like pigs being sent to the slaughterhouse."

Finnian stiffened beside her, his small hands clenching into fists as he looked down at his lap. The tension in the room was palpable.

Realizing the weight of her words, Thalia quickly turned to Finnian. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice full of regret. "I didn't mean it like that."

Finnian nodded, but he didn't look up.

Reed let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Well," he said, breaking the silence, "at least one of you gets it. Might not like it, but you're not wrong. The Capitol doesn't feed you out of kindness. They're fattening you up for the show."

Thalia swallowed hard, her stomach churning despite the feast they'd just eaten. She couldn't tell if Reed was being cruel or simply honest. Either way, the truth hurt.

Lucian's voice boomed from across the train car, a sharp contrast to the quiet tension hanging between Thalia and Reed. "Finnian! Come here! You've got to see this buffet—cakes taller than you!"

Finnian's head snapped up, his nervous energy momentarily replaced with curiosity. He turned to Thalia, his eyes hesitant. "Can I go, Tallie?"

Thalia nodded, forcing a small smile. "Go on, Finn. I'll be right here." As soon as Finnian darted off, Thalia's expression hardened. She turned back to Reed, her voice low and steady. "How do I win?"

Reed snorted, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Wow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, you volunteered just to kill your brother, huh? That's rich."

Thalia's glare could have cut through steel. "No," she snapped, her voice firm but not loud enough for Finnian to hear. "I need to know how he can win."

Reed's smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of something Thalia couldn't quite place, pity, maybe, or resignation. His eyes drifted to Finnian, who was standing at the buffet with Lucian, his small hands hovering over an array of colorful pastries. The boy stumbled slightly as he reached for something, and Reed's gaze lingered, his face hardening with a grim understanding.

Thalia leaned forward, her voice sharp now. "I'm serious. I need to know."

Reed sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "You want the truth?" he said, his tone quieter but no less cutting. "The truth is, kids like him don't win. They don't even make it past the first day. He's merely a spectacle."

She knew he was right, the Capitol didn't hold back. It was their way of telling the districts that they were nothing more than entertainment, tools to show off, to mock, to strip of their dignity and their hope. Picking kids like Finnian, like her, was no accident. It was a calculated message.

By choosing disabled children, they weren't just sending a tribute to the Games—they were sending a statement. A reminder that no matter how hard the districts tried, no matter how many prayers or dreams they held onto, the Capitol's power was absolute. It was a cruel, public display. A way to say, "You're nothing but pawns in a game, and we decide who lives, who dies."

They wanted Finnian to be a spectacle, a way for the Capitol to show just how easy it was to destroy hope. They didn't care about his strength, his will to fight. They just cared about the image it created, of a frail, weak boy standing up to a world that would crush him.

"Then I'll make sure they don't get what they want," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes hardening. "They won't get a spectacle. They'll get a fight."

Reed studied her for a moment, a mix of disbelief and maybe even a hint of respect flickering in his eyes. "You're crazy," he muttered, but there was a strange tone to his voice now—something almost approving.

"Maybe," she replied, her jaw tightening. "But I won't let them make a mockery of him. Or me."

Reed studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if trying to figure her out. Finally, he leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. "Fine," he muttered. "You want advice? Stick close to him. Protect him when you can. But if it comes down to it..." His voice trailed off, his meaning clear.

Thalia didn't look away. "It won't come down to that," she said firmly, her hands curling into fists on her lap.

Reed let out a low chuckle, devoid of any real humor. "Sure," he muttered, shaking his head as he stabbed a piece of food with his fork. "Keep telling yourself that." He took a bite, his tone sharp and unrelenting. "Darlin', you and I both know District 10 kids don't stand a chance, especially not one who's disabled."

Thalia's jaw clenched, her nails digging into the palms of her hands beneath the table. She didn't respond right away; the weight of his words pressed down on her like a heavy blow, one she hadn't been prepared for. The sting of truth in them was undeniable, cutting deeper than she cared to admit.

"He's not weak," she said finally, her voice steady but low, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Reed shrugged, picking at the food on his plate without much interest. "Never said he was weak. Just said the odds ain't in his favor. You want to help him? Then stop pretending it'll be easy."

Thalia's glare was sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm not pretending anything," she hissed. "I know what this is. I know what's coming. But he's not going to die because some Capitol sickos think he should. Not while I'm still breathing."

Reed paused, his fork hovering midair. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something that almost looked like respect. "Big talk," he muttered, setting the fork down and leaning back in his chair. "But talk doesn't win Games, sweetheart."

Thalia opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of Finnian laughing across the room made her stop. She glanced over, watching as Lucian piled a ridiculous amount of food onto a plate for Finnian, who looked overwhelmed but happy, if only for a moment.

Her chest ached. "I don't care about me," she said, her voice quieter now, her eyes still on Finnian. "I don't care if I die in that arena. But he doesn't. He can't."

Reed followed her gaze, his expression softening ever so slightly as he watched Finnian wobble under the weight of the plate Lucian handed him. "You care too much," he said after a moment, his tone unusually serious. "That's dangerous in there."

Thalia turned back to him, her eyes blazing. "Then tell me how to make it not dangerous. Tell me what he has to do to survive."

Reed rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat and picking up his drink. "Training starts when we get off this train," he said lazily, swirling the liquid in his glass. "This train? It's for eating and drinking, kid. Take advantage of it while you can. It's the only luxury you'll get before the Capitol chews you up and spits you out."

Thalia narrowed her eyes at him, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "So what, we just sit here and gorge ourselves while time ticks away?"

Reed smirked, raising his glass in mock toast. "Exactly. No point in burning energy planning every little move when you're about to step into the lion's den. Rest, eat, and maybe enjoy a little of the Capitol's guilt-bribe hospitality while it lasts."

Thalia folded her arms, her jaw clenching. "Finnian doesn't have the luxury of time, and neither do I."

Reed sighed, setting his drink down with a loud clink. "Look, you want to keep that fire going? Fine. But don't kid yourself. You'll need more than determination to keep the kid alive. That arena's going to strip you both down to nothing, and all the fire in the world won't mean a damn thing if you can't outsmart, outfight, and outlast the rest of them."

His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, but Thalia refused to back down. "Then I guess we'll just have to do all of that," she said, her voice firm.

Reed studied her for a long moment, then chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he muttered. "Now eat something, or you're going to pass out before we even get to the Capitol."

Thalia frowned at the man, looking back at Finnian who was laughing at someone Lucian said. He deserved to be happy, to live a long life with his stupid mutt. The girl was filled with fear, yet, she was willing to put all of that aside for him.

Finnian needed to win.

"Reed," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

The man glanced at her over the rim of his glass, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I don't care what you think the odds are," Thalia continued, her tone sharpening. "You're going to help us. You've been through this. You survived. So, you're going to teach us everything you know, every trick, every strategy, every single thing that kept you alive."

Thalia knew she was being rude, but she didn't care. Reed had to do this every year, watch two children die, knowing he had trained them, only to see them fail. But that was his problem, not hers. She didn't need his pity, nor did she need him telling her that Finnian didn't stand a chance.

What she needed was for him to train them. To teach them everything he knew, because she had no idea what to expect. She wasn't strong. She could barely even wield a weapon, let alone fight her way through a battle. But Finnian... Finnian needed to survive. He was her only priority now.

Reed set his glass down slowly, his expression unreadable. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "And what makes you think I owe you that, huh?"

Thalia leaned forward, meeting his gaze with unflinching determination. "Because you were just like us once. A scared kid from District 10 with nothing but the clothes on your back and a whole lot of people waiting to see you die. Someone helped you, someone taught you. Now it's your turn to do the same."

For a moment, the two locked eyes, the air between them thick with tension. Reed's smirk faltered, replaced by something harder, almost bitter.

"Careful, kid," he said finally, his voice low. "You're starting to sound like you believe there's still a way out of this."

"There has to be," Thalia replied firmly, her voice unwavering. "Because he's going to make it out. I don't care what it takes."

Reed sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced at Finnian, who was now inspecting a platter of desserts with wide-eyed amazement, before shifting his gaze back to Thalia.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice laced with reluctant resolve. "We'll start tomorrow. But don't say I didn't warn you—this isn't going to be pretty."

Thalia nodded, her jaw set. "It doesn't have to be."

And it didn't. Thalia knew a bloody, cruel death awaited her in just a week. But it didn't matter, because her little brother who still got scared of the dark would survive. She was going to make sure of it.

ˋ°•*⁀➷