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Morning rolled around too quickly for Daphne's liking, despite the nightmare she'd had of Caelum and her dancing under the pale moonlight. She'd turned away from his beautiful face for a moment, and when she'd looked back, there had been a knife protruding from his sternum, his dead eyes staring straight. Blood had covered her hands, dripping down her arms and splashing onto the floor.

She'd woken up in a cold sweat, taking a moment to recollect herself. She noticed a glass of water by her bedside that hadn't been there when she fell asleep last night, and she had no recollection of asking for one. Maybe one of the Avoxes pitied her.

Daphne hadn't had the energy last night to explore her penthouse of a room before she collapsed onto the unnaturally plush bed, dressed in the silk pajamas she'd found hanging in her closet last night.

After returning from the Banquet, Theia and Iskra had escorted them to the tenth floor of the Tribute Tower. Every floor was designed like a house; with separate rooms for the tributes, mentors and stylists and places for dining and relaxing. Except this was bigger, more luxurious than any house in District Ten.

In Daphne's room alone, she had her own private bathroom with an even fancier shower than the one on the train. There was a personal food dispenser, where all one had to do was vaguely mutter something they were craving and it appears. It was the same thing with the closet; there were a few outfits already present, but all you had to do was type in whatever item of clothing you wanted and there it was.

Daphne trotted downstairs after putting on a gray blouse and some trousers, only to find everyone already up and halfway into breakfast.

"'Morning, sleepyhead," Theron greeted her, flicking a piece of cinnamon toast from Caelum's plate and watching it bounce off the side of Daphne's face. Azalea giggled into her milk.

"Hey, I was going to eat that," Caelum pouted, forking a hunk of potato into his mouth. Iskra rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with all of them.

They spent the better part of the meal discussing strategies. Daphne began to form a tentative plan in her head to survive the bloodbath, since she at least wanted to get past the first night. She could get her hands on some knives–or make them, if she had to–and maybe then she would stand a sliver of a chance.

"Listen, this is your first day of training," Theia said after a bit. She looked at Daphne and Caelum specifically. "This is pretty much common sense, but don't head straight to your preferred weapons. Keep the other tributes wondering what your strengths are." She dug her fork into an omelet.

"Learn how to tie a knot, catch prey, climb a tree. Try a variety of weapons, you never know what the cornucopia will supply. Remember that one year where there were only maces to beat each other to death with?"

"Pay attention to other tributes' strengths as well." Iskra added in her usual low monotone. "You may have the smarts to know not to flaunt your talents, but I can assure you that others will not."

Daphne began to wonder if she'd ever have a peaceful meal again in her short life.

She found herself soon down in the Training Center, standing in a rigid circle with the other tributes. It felt strangely crowded, but then again, the room had been designed only to hold twenty-four tributes. Now, there were forty-eight.

Everybody, including Daphne, wore a gray tank top with black, geometric designs along the sides that pair well with the tight-fitting but stretchy pants. District numbers were pasted on the back of the tank tops, making it painstakingly clear who was who.

The head trainer, a muscled monstrosity of a man named Brand, began barking out the rules and regulations of the Training Center. He listed out different stations, some for survival, some for fighting techniques. Daphne's eyes immediately drifted towards the knife throwing station, the glint of fresh blades just waiting to be tested out.

No. She tore her gaze away. I can't show them that knives are the only weapons I have even a vague idea of how to wield.

A brief glance around the gathered tributes told her that the majority of other girls in the room were thankfully around her size, except for the scrawny tribute from District Eight. She was the smallest here, even smaller than the youngest tribute, a thirteen-year-old from District Eleven. Daphne frowned as she realized that Azalea stood slightly taller than herself.

Caelum and Theron were both on the taller side, Caelum only beaten by the Careers. He would be quite intimidating if he bulked up like they did, Daphne realized. Instead, he was a lithe butcher's apprentice who spent his time getting lost in books rather than combat training.

Daphne tried not to linger on how absolutely huge the Careers were compared to the more underfed tributes of the outlier districts. She tried not to let it terrify her as much as it did.

Brand soon released them to whichever station they pleased. The Careers immediately headed to the most demanding stations, determined to show off and strike fear into the rest of the tributes. Daphne noticed that one boy from District Four seemed incredibly fluent with a spear, while another tribute from District Two looked quite pleased shooting an arrow straight through a dummy's eye from almost thirty feet.

The silver-eyed girl from District One, whom Daphne had spilled her food on last night, took to the knife throwing station. Daphne watched with a morbid fascination as she flung the blades, moving with perfect posture and a fluid grace. The girl turned, as if sensing Daphne's stare, and flashed her a wicked smile dripping with poison. Daphne fought to stifle a shudder. She was better with those knives than Daphne ever could be.

"Hey," Azalea's voice halted Daphne's bristling. Daphne turned, and Azalea gave her a tentative smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You wanna go learn how to make a fire?"

"Are you stupid?" Daphne said, the words out before she could stop them. "If you make a fire in the arena, you're basically asking to be found and brutally murdered."

Hurt flashed across Azalea's golden eyes, and a coil of guilt formed in Daphne's stomach.

"Sorry," Daphne muttered. "That was a bit blunt. Why don't we try to figure out how to climb a tree?"

Daphne regretted her suggestion immediately as she and Azalea approached the tree-climbing station. The District Eleven tributes made it look easy. Daphne discovered as she heaved herself onto a third branch, muscles trembling and sweat already beading her brow, that tree-climbing required a lot more strength than she'd thought. She began to wonder why none of them had ever bothered to try climbing that plum tree on the hill back home. Maybe if they had, she wouldn't look like such an idiot right now.

Daphne was going to miss that plum tree. She'd left that morning without knowing that that would've been the last time she ever sat underneath its familiar branches.

Daphne stepped on a fourth level branch, reaching for another to haul herself up. Azalea was two branches ahead of her. There was a faint crack, and at first, she was about to shout a warning to Azalea when her own branch fell away from her foot.

An embarrassing yelp tore from her throat as she tumbled to the ground, landing awkwardly on her side. Despite the mats lining the floor designed to cushion falls, pain exploded through her elbow. Before she could try and pull herself into a sitting position, there was another crack, and Azalea came plummeting down beside her. Azalea grunted in surprise and pain as she struck the mat.

They took one glance at each other and suddenly, Daphne felt a smile spreading across her face. A chuckle escaped her lips. Azalea followed suit with a laugh of her own. For a second, Daphne was taken back to the days before their falling-out, when they'd laugh about the littlest, stupidest things. This must've been the first time they'd been pleasant with each other in a year.

After a couple more missteps and a nearly-broken neck, they decided that maybe tree-climbing wasn't for them. Daphne glanced back at the station reluctantly as they left, chewing her lip.

She remembered there was a tribute long ago who slept atop trees to keep safe at night. She'd always thought it was a smart move, but now, it was a smart move that she wasn't sure she'd be able to pull off.

She and Azalea found themselves at the trapping station next, occupied by only three other tributes. The boy from District Six who reminded Daphne hauntingly of Aedon was there.

"Don't step there," He cautioned as Daphne approached, her foot freezing where it hovered above the ground. That's when she noticed the crisscrossing tripwires nearly invisible a step ahead of her. An elaborate system of strings woven together in a precise and deadly pattern beheld her, the wires each attached to a series of crossbows.

"If you step on that, you'll get a bolt through your eye." The boy said. Even his voice sounded somewhat like Aedon's, although deprived of the warmth that usually came whenever her brother spoke. At Daphne's side, Azalea's face slowly drained of color.

"That's one hell of a trap," Daphne said. To her surprise, the boy cracked a smile.

"Thanks," He grinned, then tilted his head to the side. "Aren't you that girl who spilled food on Glory's dress during the Banquet?"

Glory? That's her name? Daphne blinked. Her parents really couldn't have thought of anything else, apparently, but it was rather typical of District One. "That was one of my less fortunate moments."

"She also punched me during the Reaping." Azalea added rather unhelpfully. The angry bruise on her cheek had been erased by her prep team. Daphne cast a quick glance at her, warning her to watch her mouth. If Azalea was trying to get the other tributes to think a certain way about Daphne, she could go stuff her head in a hole.

There was nothing calculating in the boy's umber brown eyes. Instead, he chuckled, revealing dimples on either side of his lips. "I must know your name, then. I'm Rye, Rye Jeong."

"Daphne Feng." She replied. Rye's fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to shake her hand. It was better that nobody took note of this friendly interaction, in case it somehow gets used against them.

Rye tipped his head before getting back to tying another tripwire. "Well, Daphne, may the odds be ever in your favor."

The rest of the day went on like that. Daphne and Azalea experimented with different stations, mostly survival ones for the day. Daphne found that she was especially good with tracking, thanks to her life as a shepherd. She'd grown used to examining her surroundings for threats to her sheep, from sharp plants to coyote prints.

Her sheep. Who'd taken over her job of taking them out to graze these past few days? It must've been Rourke, since Esther needed to work in the mornings. They must be busy, now that Daphne was no longer there to see to the simple household chores and manage the livestock.

Daphne thought about this as she prepared for bed after dinner. She'd just pulled on her silk pajamas when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. She glanced at the clock, then frowned. Nobody should be needing to see her this late at night.

She swung the door open, her eyebrows furrowing as she beheld Theia. Theia's dark hair had been pulled back in a braid, and she held a suspicious amount of pencils in her hand.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," she said, entering the room. "I have something to show you. Close the door."

Daphne blinked. "Why?"

That's when a scream promising of hell and bloody murder tore through the hall, followed by a burst of frantic footsteps. Theron came charging into view, looking disheveled and heavily violated.

"Theia!" He wailed. "Caelum took my pillow and he's not giving it back!"

"That's because he keeps sneaking into my room and whacking me with it!" Caelum yelled from down the hall.

"Why don't you just lock your door, Caelum?" Daphne shouted back.

"I did! He still keeps getting in! How the hell is he getting in??"

"Then lock it better!"

"That's not the point!" Theron broke in. "Caelum is holding my pillow hostage, Theia, make him give it back!"

"Guys please, it's eleven o'clock!" Azalea's tired voice joined the medley from her own room.

Theia looked exasperated. "Theron, stop hitting Caelum with your pillow. Caelum, give his pillow back. Azalea, go back to sleep. I am having a word with Daphne, for goodness' sake."

Theron huffed and petulantly stomped back to his own room. Theia turned back to Daphne.

Daphne blinked at her. "So... what did you want again?"

"Daphne, please." Theia's shoulders laxed. "Can't you trust me, just this once?"

Daphne held her stare for a couple more heartbeats, then reluctantly shut the door. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "Make it quick, I want to go to sleep. And what's with all the pencils?"

Theia's lip quirked in a knowing smile. She set down the pencils, keeping one and angling her wrist. To Daphne's great and utter astonishment, she flung the pencil with perfect form. It embedded itself in one of the pillows propped on the bed.

She chuckled at the pure shock strewn across Daphne's face. Daphne's mouth opened and closed several times, then eventually blurted, "You can throw knives? I thought you could only barely fight with them."

It was true; she'd genuinely thought Theia survived the Games with only her quick wits and minimal knife fighting skills. She didn't throw a blade once in her time in the arena, only escaping being held hostage by the Careers by ripping through her bonds, messily slashing the watch's throat and making a run for it at the dead of night.

"I kept practicing after winning too," Theia said, then tilted her head slightly. "I was completely useless with a knife, but your brother noticed that I was struggling during training. It- It was him who taught me how to wield a knife, secretly teaching me at night and making sure I knew how to defend myself."

Fighting down a fresh wave of grief, Daphne brought herself to chuckle and shake her head. "Of course. It wouldn't be Aedon if he didn't try to help anyone and everyone."

Theia offered a bittersweet smile. "He picked up some knife tricks from your father, I heard. He honed them during training here, and passed some of his knowledge to me."

"So are you going to pass that knowledge to me?" Daphne said, suddenly somewhat defensive. "Aedon and I have the same father, in case you forgot. I know the same techniques he did. Probably more, since Dad kept training me after Aedon... after he was Reaped."

"Ah, but has your father ever fought someone in a real battle?" Theia's eyebrow cocked. "Because I have, in the arena. You remember, don't you?"

Daphne did. She hadn't paid much attention back then, since most of Theia's battles had occurred right after Aedon's death and Daphne had been in a grief-induced trance for the rest of the Game. Now thinking back on it, maybe Theia's skills weren't quite so minimal after all.

"I've got some moves to teach you, those that are only known to survivors of real battle," Theia said, offering her a pencil. "That is, if you'll let me."

Daphne held her gaze, those brown eyes against her dark ones. She pushed off the wall and took a step towards her mentor, accepting the pencil from her hand.

"So teach me."

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