𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐃𝐢𝐞 ☦︎ 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐧

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 ☦︎ 5

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.