Timber

Chapter Twenty: Dodecagon

"Welcome. Ladies and gentlemen. Tributes. Esteemed guests." Dr. Gaul prowled closer, gesturing toward the arena around them.

Her mismatched eyes were unnerving in the blaring fake sunlight. Not only were they shining, they were assessing. Probing, even.

"The Hunger Games were born from rebellion," she went on. "They exist to remind us what unchecked chaos looks like. And what happens when we forget the price of order." Gaul shifted her weight, hand still raised. "This arena proves what control can build. What vision can contain. I assure you, this arena is unlike any before it."

Tributes leaned in, and so did the Capitol citizens.

"Years of labor. New mechanics. Smart traps. Smarter terrain. Every inch is designed to push limits. Yours. Ours. Each tract reflects a different district," Gaul continued. "None are safe. Some may feel familiar. Some may feel fair. That won't last. Comfort will trick you. Pain will shape you. This isn't just a battleground. It's a forge."

Gaul smiled with all of her teeth. "Before this is over, Panem will see you. Not just your skill. Your soul. Some of you will burn," she said. "And one of you will rise."

Dr. Gaul raised her chin. "Ladies and gentlemen. Tributes. Here is this space, you will witness is what happens when you squeeze the human spirit and watch what spills out."

The crowd of press workers, peacekeepers, and ticket-holders erupted into vigorous applause.

Hazel's fingers twitched at her sides. Birds chirped and conversed cheerily. A warm, floral breeze nudged the grass.

A stunning noose designed to kill all but one.

"Before we embark on our tour of this magnificent arena, I do have an exciting announcement to share with you," Dr. Gaul beamed.

The applause halted, and the crowd fell silent.

"In recognition of their generosity and loyalty to Panem, each of our twelve winners will be given an honor very few civilians have ever received."

Murmurs sparked across the crowd. Hazel shifted her weight, eyes flicking to Leo, who stood still as a statue. Gaze on his boots.

"They'll be mentoring the district of their choice in this year's Games."

A collective gasp pulled through the crowd.

"The order of district selection will be based on the amount contributed for their tickets, starting with the highest bidder," she announced. "As you may deduce, some districts may have more than one mentor. Two. Maybe three. Life isn't fair. You know that already. And too many mentors?" Gaul gave the crowd a theatrical shrug. "Well. That's its own problem, isn't it?"

A few polite laughs followed.

Dr. Gaul gestured to the ticket holders, who were now jittering in anticipation of making their selections.

"Let us begin," she declared. "First up, Mr. Augustus Trask."

Augustus, clad in a dark chocolate suit and tie, strode to the front. He held himself with a kind of confidence that said he savored eyes on him. His scrutiny coasted along the tribute line until, for half a breath, they landed on Hazel.

She angled her head to the side, feigning interest in the ground.

He gave the smallest smile, like he'd already won something, then turned to Gaul. "District Two."

No shock there.

Caleb straightened a little, still looking half-sick but now also half-proud. The three Victors turned mentors behind him exchanged handshakes, one of them pumping a fist.