Chapter Text
Year 2112, North America – Panem. Dominated by the Capitol.
Thomas wasn’t even listening to what Effie was saying.
He was lost in his thoughts, trying to process everything that had happened in just a few hours.
He could still feel the warmth of Teresa’s hand in his, the way her small fingers trembled slightly against his as they sat together in one of the train’s compartments. The rhythmic sound of the train tracks beneath them should have been comforting, but instead, it only seemed to amplify the heavy silence between them. Teresa was lost in her own thoughts, her gaze flitting nervously over the lavish surroundings they were now a part of, as though she couldn’t quite reconcile the luxury with the terror they both knew awaited them.
Teresa had been chosen for the 75th Hunger Games, and before Thomas could even process the weight of what that meant, before he had time to think about the chaos unfolding around them, he had already moved without hesitation. He had left his row, his own seat, and stood up, offering to volunteer in her place. His best friend. The one person who had been by his side through everything.
They had talked about it before. They’d discussed this possibility years ago, back when they were just kids. If one of them was ever chosen, the other would volunteer. It didn’t matter the cost, the danger, or the odds. They would face it together.
And Thomas had never broken a promise. Not even when it meant risking everything in an arena filled with enemies.
“Anyway, I’m going to find Haymitch,” Effie’s voice cut through his thoughts, suddenly pulling him back to the present. She had stood up, smiling brightly, her usual exuberance returning as she clapped her hands. “He’s probably in the dining car.”
The mention of Haymitch seemed to amuse her more than it should have.
Thomas squeezed Teresa’s hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he rested both hands on the armrest between their chairs. A quiet comfort in the midst of everything that was happening.
“Do you know him?” Teresa whispered, still staring at the spot where Effie had been sitting moments before, her voice barely a breath in the air between them.
Thomas kept his lips pressed together and stayed silent.
There was too much to process in too little time. Just that morning, he had been curled up on the bed with Chuck, trying to ignore the harsh realities of their lives. And now? Now he was aboard a ridiculously luxurious train, probably the most extravagant thing Thomas had ever seen in his life. He didn’t even know how to handle it, how to fit in, how to adjust.
He had volunteered based on a promise made years ago, when he was only twelve, a promise made when Teresa had been chosen for the Reaping. She was a year older than him, and it had always been understood that if she was ever picked, Thomas would follow. No questions.
Teresa hadn’t been chosen until this year, and now Thomas had to fulfill that promise.
She would have done it for him.
He had left behind Chuck and his mother, entrusting them to Gale, who had promised, with a fire in his eyes, that he would take care of them, that Thomas could trust him.
And now, all Thomas had left to hold onto was that promise.
“It’ll be our mentor,” Teresa’s voice broke the silence again, her words coming out in a soft murmur, as though she was speaking more to herself than to him. Thomas felt her blue eyes fixate on his profile, the weight of the words settling between them. “He won the Games once.”
Thomas nodded, his jaw tightening as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. He could hear the faint sigh escape Teresa, a sound full of the same tension that had been running through them both ever since the announcement.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Tom.”
Thomas turned his head to look at her, and his heart twisted slightly. He shook his head, squeezing her hand gently as he gave her a reassuring look.
“We promised,” he thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. It was unspoken, but the promise hung in the air between them, unbreakable.
Teresa forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, well,” she tried to sound more upbeat, her voice a little lighter as she turned her head back to face him, her eyes meeting his once more. “We made that promise years ago. You could have stayed with Chuck and your mom.”
“We die together,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes as he heard the weight of his own words. “This is surreal.” His voice was a mixture of disbelief and quiet acceptance. This was their reality now. The world they had known was slipping away, and the arena awaited them. Together.
Before Teresa could respond, the carriage door swung open, revealing a disheveled man with messy blonde hair, a scruffy beard, an empty whiskey glass, and a dazed look in his eyes.
He stared at them both as he entered, a smile tugging at his lips as he noticed their hands intertwined on the armrest. His gaze was sharp, almost calculating, though his disoriented demeanor seemed to suggest he had just come from some wild night.
“Congratulations,” he said with a grin, walking over to the bar cart, his movements unsteady.
Thomas immediately pulled his hand away from Teresa’s, turning to face the man who would be their mentor. The one responsible for helping them navigate the Games and ensuring they didn’t die in the first few minutes.
The man mumbled something under his breath, words none of the young tributes could make out. He rummaged through silver mugs, his fingers brushing over crystal bottles filled with alcohol, clearly searching for something.
“Where’s the ice?” was the only thing Thomas could make out from the jumble of words.
Teresa, equally confused, shrugged, muttering that she had no idea. The man, resigned, sighed heavily and stopped his fruitless search. With a frustrated grunt, he grabbed an entire bottle of whiskey and took it with him. He plopped down into the chair opposite Teresa, where Effie had been sitting moments before.
Thomas eyed him with growing curiosity. Is this really going to be their mentor? A drunk?
“Well then,” Teresa leaned forward, a new, more confident glint in her eyes. “When do we start?”
The man grimaced as though her question had somehow annoyed him. Thomas could only guess it had something to do with the hangover.
“Why the rush?” Haymitch muttered, pouring himself another drink. “Seriously, most tributes aren’t this eager.”
Teresa exchanged a confused glance with Thomas, her brow furrowing slightly. She turned back to their new mentor, her patience running thin.
“Well, we’d like to know what the plan is,” she said, her voice more demanding now. “You’re our mentor.”
“Mentor?” Haymitch repeated, as if the word itself was foreign to him.
“Yes, that’s the idea,” Teresa replied, irritation creeping into her voice. “You’re supposed to guide us, get us sponsors.”
Haymitch smirked, eyeing them both as if they were mere distractions.
“You want sponsors?” he asked, taking a long gulp from his glass. “Why don’t you just keep holding hands and play the tragic District 12 couple, doomed to die together in the arena?” He chuckled softly, the sound more mocking than humorous. “That’d get some solid ratings.”
Thomas stared at him, incredulous. What’s wrong with this guy?
“We’re not even a couple,” Teresa snapped, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him.
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” Haymitch said, leaning forward to refill his glass. “Now, consider the possibility of an imminent death… and convince yourselves that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to save you.”
Thomas frowned, his pulse quickening. “Then why the hell are you even here?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
Haymitch turned his attention to him. He smiled faintly, the expression almost amused, before leaning back in his chair.
“For the booze, obviously. What else?” he laughed, standing up and swirling the liquid in his glass. “I’d better get back to my compartment.”
“Wait, what the hell…?” Teresa couldn’t finish her sentence. The man was already out of the carriage. She turned to Thomas, her face a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Is this for real?”
Thomas shrugged, not even bothering to try to make sense of it. He didn’t care about the plan for the arena. Honestly, he didn’t care about anything right now.
“We won’t even make it past the first few seconds in that damn arena,” Teresa spat, leaning back in her chair, her frustration evident as she rested her head against the backrest.
Thomas pressed his lips together tightly, staring at the spot where Haymitch had just been. At least he would try to talk to him, for Teresa’s sake.
“Where are you going now?” Teresa asked.
Thomas had already gotten to his feet and was opening the door of the carriage.
“He’ll figure it out,” he muttered, looking back at her with a hint of determination. “He has to help us.” And with that, he walked out, leaving Teresa behind, utterly confused.
The next morning, Thomas managed to drag Haymitch out of his compartment to talk to him during breakfast.
He had spent most of the night watching videos of previous Hunger Games. The winners had triumphed in ways that were unimaginable and brutal—facing dangers and challenges no one could have prepared for. He watched them struggle, fight, and survive, some doing whatever it took to win, others relying on alliances and cunning strategies.
Thomas knew everything was at stake out there. He knew that he himself wasn’t capable of killing anyone—not in the way the Games required, at least. But these circumstances were different. If it meant survival, if it meant lasting even just a little longer in the arena, then perhaps… perhaps he would have to do what needed to be done. The thought made him shudder, but he couldn’t ignore it. Survival had a price.
He had to try to get information from Haymitch to help Teresa. She could win. She could survive these Games, and she could make it back home. That was the goal. And it had to work.
“First, you’d freeze to death,” murmured Haymitch, breaking the silence.
Thomas raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “No, if I start a fire.”
Haymitch stopped what he was doing and looked at him, his expression skeptical, his lips curling slightly.
“That’s a great way to get yourself killed,” he said dryly, his tone full of sarcasm.
Before Thomas could respond, they both turned toward Teresa as she entered the room. She frowned at Haymitch’s words, but he offered her a smile, as if nothing had happened.
“Look who’s here,” he said, grabbing a silver jug from the table. “Why don’t you join us? I’m about to give your companion here some survival advice.”
Teresa sat down next to him, a look of curiosity and skepticism crossing her face. “Like what?”
“I asked him how to find or make shelter,” Thomas replied, his voice low but earnest.
“Something that would be useful if you want to stay alive,” Haymitch murmured, spreading butter on a piece of toast, seemingly unfazed by the topic at hand.
Teresa leaned forward, her eyes now fixed on their mentor, her curiosity growing. “How do we find shelter?”
Haymitch ignored her question completely and, instead, reached for the jam. “Pass me the jam,” he muttered without looking up.
“How do we find shelter?” Teresa’s voice now carried a hint of irritation, the same tone Thomas had heard many times before in their training sessions back home. He knew this was Teresa’s way of expressing frustration, and it wasn’t always a good sign.
Haymitch rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested in giving a serious answer just yet. “Give me a break, kid,” he said, grabbing a small bottle from his side. “Being a mentor is exhausting,” he continued, pouring what looked like alcohol into his steaming cup of coffee.
A look of disbelief crossed Teresa’s face as she glanced at Thomas. He met her gaze, seeing the same frustration reflected in her eyes. Teresa wasn’t the kind of person who would just sit around and take this kind of nonsense. But she was smart enough to know that Haymitch had a certain way of doing things.
This was definitely not the mentor Thomas had imagined when he volunteered. He had expected someone more… capable, someone who could give them the tools they needed to survive. But it seemed Haymitch was doing things his own way.
“Pass me the jam,” Haymitch murmured again, his voice barely audible.
Before his hand could reach the glass jar containing the jam, Teresa swiftly and decisively jabbed one of the silver knives meant for spreading butter and jam between his thumb and index finger. The action startled him and stopped him from reaching for the jar.
A strangled gasp came from Effie, who was sitting on the luxurious velvet blue couch across the room. Her eyes widened in shock, and Thomas couldn’t help but look at her, surprised by her reaction. He should have seen this coming, though. When Teresa was irritated, tired, or upset, she could be… well, she could be herself.
And that was precisely why Thomas knew that Teresa could win these Games.
“That’s mahogany!” Effie exclaimed in an exaggerated voice, clearly appalled by the entire scene.
Haymitch pulled the knife out from between his fingers and looked at her with disdain.
“Congratulations, you just killed a tablecloth,” he said sarcastically. “You really want to know how to survive?” He threw his hair back, finally managing to spread some jam on his toast. “By winning people over.”
Thomas furrowed his brow, his gaze narrowing. “You like people?”
Haymitch met his eyes, noticing his expression, before breaking into a grin of his own. “Not exactly,” he replied with a smirk. “But sometimes, getting the right people on your side is the difference between life and death in these Games.”
Thomas didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if Haymitch was being serious or just messing with them. He was starting to understand the complexity of his mentor—he was unpredictable, often unhelpful, but there was something beneath all the sarcasm. Something Thomas could use.
He had to. For Teresa’s sake.
“Is this not what you expected to hear?” Haymitch said, stretching to put the jam away. “When you’re in the middle of the Games, when you’re starving or freezing, a little water, a knife, or even a match can be the difference between life and death.” Thomas swallowed hard and stared at him while Haymitch returned his gaze. “And only the sponsors can give you that.”
Thomas watched as Effie turned to look at them, paying attention. Teresa’s expression had shifted. She couldn’t stand almost anyone; he didn’t even know how she had ended up being friends with him. This was going to be very difficult for her.
“And to get sponsors, you have to make people like you,” his mentor continued. “And right now, your partner is the only one who could convince the sponsors to get you something so you can survive.”
He said this last part while looking at Teresa, making Thomas glance at him in surprise.
Teresa now cast a long look at him.
Thomas thought it might be because he had convinced Haymitch to leave his compartment that morning.
Haymitch turned to look at him, just like Teresa and Effie.
“Look,” Teresa suddenly stood up, dragging her chair as she moved toward one of the large windows of the train. “We’ve arrived,” her voice came out softer than Thomas had expected.
Thomas leaned forward and looked out the same window Teresa had been looking through. He heard her commenting on how incredible and massive the Capitol was.
And Thomas knew, from the look Haymitch had given him— that sideways smile and those blue eyes that seemed to scream at him— that everything had barely started.
The Games hadn’t even begun yet.
Thomas wasn’t prepared for what was coming.
Teresa moved away from the window as soon as the scenery changed, revealing a crowd of people who seemed to be waiting for them.
Haymitch exchanged a glance with Thomas, who quickly stood up and looked at all the people outside, dressed in extravagant, brightly colored clothes.
He looked at his mentor, who gave him a look that could mean anything or nothing at all.
Then, swallowing hard, he refocused on the crowd watching them through the train window as it passed by.
He smiled.
The gesture softened his features and stretched into a bigger grin, almost as if he were grateful to have been chosen as one of this year’s tributes.
This seemed to excite the crowd outside in a positive way. They all cheered as Thomas raised his hand and started waving, fully aware that they were watching him.
“Congratulations!” Shouts that were easy to understand.
“You’re the best!”
“We’re with you!”
Everyone clapped and laughed. Thomas simply kept the mask on his face, smiling brightly.
He turned to glance at Teresa, who was standing behind him, being seen. But the girl didn’t seem comfortable looking at the crowd.
“Come on, Teresa,” his partner said, gesturing with his chin for her to stand by his side.
But Teresa seemed too busy observing them from behind. She had no intention of waving.
“We love you!” the crowd shouted.
Haymitch smiled at Thomas, amused. He looked at Teresa and raised the knife he had previously stuck into the table.
“Keep the knife,” he said, offering it to her. “It seems like your partner knows what he’s doing.”
He finished saying this, standing up with his cup of coffee and walking behind Thomas.
Thomas looked at him before turning his attention back to the people outside, until they entered a tunnel and could no longer see them.
The smile faded from his face.
•••
The existence of a volunteer from a peripheral district is something that cannot be overlooked.
All eyes were on Thomas.
Thomas lay on a table, surrounded by countless stylists and people he didn’t even know, busy cleaning him and making sure he didn’t look like he was from a district like District 12.
Beside him, two women whispered to each other, having just finished cleaning him and making sure not a single speck of dirt remained on him.
Thomas didn’t want to know what they were saying about him, so he stayed silent.
Minutes later, they left him in a small room, dressed in a blue medical gown and lying on a kind of stretcher. The coldness of the sterile environment contrasted sharply with the warmth of his thoughts, the only thing that seemed to bring him comfort.
“That was one of the most courageous things I’ve ever seen,” he heard a man’s voice as he entered. “I suppose you did it for that girl.”
Thomas sat up on the stretcher, looking at him with confusion.
“My name is Cinna,” the man said, extending his hand to Thomas.
“Thomas,” he replied, accepting the handshake, still trying to make sense of the situation. The man had a calm demeanor, something about him made Thomas feel less tense, even though everything felt surreal.
“Is she your partner? Or your sister?” he clarified when Thomas tilted his head to the side, not understanding the question immediately.
He shook his head.
“No, she’s my best friend,” Thomas explained, offering a small smile as he looked at the man. That look seemed to reassure him a little. “We promised to go together and try to have one of us win.”
Cinna smiled back at him.
“That’s very brave,” the man said. “I’m sorry for all this. I want you to know I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
Thomas looked at him, a little confused.
“The most people do is congratulate me for this.”
Cinna shook his head. “I don’t see why.” Thomas remained silent. “Tonight is the tribute parade. We’ll take you there and show you to the world.”
Thomas smiled again, almost sarcastically.
“Well, I suppose you’re here to help me look good,” he tried to joke, but Cinna only smiled.
“That’s not necessary,” he replied, making Thomas look at him. “You make a great impression just by being yourself, Thomas. But I’m here to help you stand out and leave an impression on the rest of the world.”
Thomas stared at him, surprised. No one had ever told him that before. And here was this dark-haired guy, who was supposed to be his stylist, and someone he didn’t even know, telling him he was impressive without even trying to look his best.
He didn’t know how to respond to that.
Cinna must have noticed his flushed cheeks because he smiled and leaned over, resting a hand on the stretcher that gleamed beneath Thomas’s body.
“Normally, they dress you in the typical clothes from your district,” Cinna said, and Thomas hadn’t even thought about that.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “We always dress as miners.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to do that,” Cinna said with a wider smile. “I want to make sure no one forgets you. Have they explained to you how to get sponsors?”
Thomas thought about Teresa. It would be very difficult for him if he didn’t start smiling. She was beautiful, she had everything necessary to attract people.
“Yeah. By making people like you. But I don’t know how I’ll manage it,” Thomas answered.
“You have everything you need to make it happen. I’ll help you make sure they notice,” Cinna said, smiling warmly, his voice full of encouragement.
Thomas stayed silent. The dark-haired man approached him and gently brushed some strands of hair from his forehead.
“I think someone as brave as you shouldn’t be dressed in something so ridiculous. Don’t you think?” He smiled as he finished speaking, putting Thomas at ease.
Thomas smiled again, relieved that Cinna was helping him.
He didn’t respond, but his smile said it all.
Thomas hadn’t even realized what he was wearing until Cinna escorted him to where Teresa was, along with her stylist.
They both wore black leather outfits that seemed to shimmer faintly under the light. Teresa’s makeup had golden accents, and her dark hair was tied up in a high bun, with two loose strands framing her face. Her eyes, deep blue, were accentuated by the dark eyeshadow, making them stand out even more, almost as if they were larger than usual. She wore a black leather jumpsuit, just like Thomas. Her hair was messier, not as neatly combed back as he had seen with some of the other tributes from different districts. Cinna hadn’t even bothered with her makeup, saying there was no need to worry about her face. All she needed to do was smile.
As Cinna and Thomas approached, Teresa smiled at him. The brunette caught a glimpse of some of the other tributes out of the corner of his eye, but he quickly turned his gaze away after seeing a little girl among them. His stomach churned at the sight.
“It’s safe, I promise,” Cinna began as he stood in front of both of them. “This isn’t real fire. These outfits you’re wearing are designed so that you won’t feel a thing.”
“I swear it feels like real fire,” Teresa murmured, her voice filled with a mix of awe and doubt.
“That’s the idea,” Cinna replied, stepping closer to Thomas. “Are you ready?”
Thomas swallowed hard, his throat dry. He nodded, though his mind was still racing, trying to steady his thoughts.
“Don’t be afraid,” Cinna added with a reassuring tone.
Thomas shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I’m not scared,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty. He was more anxious than anything, the weight of the situation settling in his chest like a heavy stone.
He began scanning the surroundings, his eyes darting across the room. Teresa was talking to her stylist, and the other tributes were still finishing their preparations.
His attention was drawn to the first cart ahead of them.
There were two blonde-haired tributes standing near the cart. The blonde girl seemed to be arguing with her stylist over something she was wearing, her expression a mix of frustration and confusion. Meanwhile, the blonde boy stood silent, his arms crossed over his chest, seemingly uninterested in the conversation going on around him. His stylist spoke to him without interruption, and the boy didn’t seem to care about anything else.
Thomas hadn’t realized how long he had been staring at the blonde boy until their eyes locked.
Damn.
Those damn captivating eyes that Thomas had just noticed looked at him as if they knew exactly what he had been doing—watching, sneaking a look, like he had been caught doing something wrong.
At first, Thomas didn’t look away. There was something playful in the boy’s gaze, a mischievous glint that made Thomas feel oddly uneasy but also intrigued. The boy was standing with his arms crossed over a tight white t-shirt that clung to his skin, showing off his toned physique. That damn golden hair fell perfectly over his forehead, slightly messy, almost as though he had just run his hand through it carelessly, giving him a rugged yet undeniably attractive appearance.
Thomas felt his heart race, and he quickly forced himself to look away, but the image of the boy’s smirk lingered in his mind.
It wasn’t just his looks. It was the way the boy carried himself. Confident, untouchable. And it struck something deep within Thomas. Something he wasn’t ready to confront.
“Tom,” Teresa’s voice broke through his thoughts, making him look away from the boy.
“What?” Thomas asked, turning to face her.
He couldn’t deny that his friend looked radiant and stunning in that outfit. The way her dress hugged her figure, combined with her confident posture, made her stand out even more. It was hard for Thomas not to notice, despite the distraction of the other person in the room.
Teresa raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Who were you looking at?”
Thomas didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t bring himself to answer her question, not when his gaze had already returned to the blonde guy. The boy was still watching him intently, completely ignoring the stylist, his eyes fixed on Thomas as if he were trying to figure him out.
He felt a prickle of unease crawling up his spine, something he couldn’t quite shake off. It wasn’t just curiosity; there was something about the way the boy looked at him that made his chest tighten.
He had to look away. He focused on Cinna, who stood just a few feet away, his hands expertly adjusting the fabric of his design.
“Ready?” Cinna asked, his voice calm, as he placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
Thomas nodded, though his mind was still partially elsewhere, tangled in the thoughts of the boy’s strange gaze.
“Okay, let’s go,” Teresa said with a small, reassuring smile. She gently squeezed his arm before leading the way. Her touch was warm, grounding him, pulling him back to the present.
Thomas couldn’t help but wonder, as he followed Teresa, if maybe she was more prepared for whatever was coming than he was. She was always so composed, so sure of herself. And yet, here he was, still trying to make sense of the way the boy’s eyes had locked onto him.
•••
All the chariots began to move after a few minutes. Caesar Flickerman and his co-host were talking and laughing, commenting on and judging the tributes that appeared before the crowd in the Capitol.
“Here they are!” Caesar laughed, pointing at the screen as the first chariot appeared. “The favorites from District 1!”
With that, the camera zoomed in on the two blondes from District 1.
They were both smiling, waving to the crowd that was cheering wildly, their faces glowing with pride and excitement. Their posture was perfect, radiating confidence and superiority as the Capitol crowd roared in approval.
“Those two are real heartthrobs!” Caesar laughed again, the excitement in his voice obvious as the other chariots followed behind them.
They continued discussing the other tributes, making comments about their appearances and backgrounds, until Caesar seemed surprised by the last chariot.
“Are those…?” His voice faltered in confusion. “Well, I’ll be! Look at the tributes from District 12!”
And suddenly, all eyes were on Thomas and Teresa’s chariot. As soon as they appeared, the screams drowned out the sounds around Thomas. The crowd went wild, their enthusiasm overwhelming as they watched the two young tributes make their entrance.
Everyone screamed and seemed to lose control as they saw them, and Thomas immediately realized it was because of the fake fire that trailed behind them, flickering along their backs. The flames glowed like the hottest of fire, but they were entirely harmless, part of the Capitol’s signature dramatic flair.
Then, Thomas saw himself on one of the giant screens projected along the walls, the crowd’s ecstatic faces reflected in the glowing lights. The image of him and Teresa was everywhere, and the energy in the Capitol was almost suffocating. The people were in a frenzy, as if the mere sight of them was a spectacle that they could not look away from.
He locked eyes with Teresa, who seemed to be struggling to smile and relax amidst the chaos. Her nervousness was palpable, but she was doing her best to remain composed.
Then, looking down at his hands, Thomas reached for one of Teresa’s. She immediately glanced at him, confused, a frown furrowing her brow.
“They’ll love it,” Thomas murmured, knowing that holding her hand would bring some comfort to both of them. He hoped it would calm her nerves.
She simply accepted his hand, her fingers slipping into his without hesitation, and turned her attention back to the crowd. It seemed to work, as the cheers grew even louder, more intense than before.
Especially when Teresa raised their joined hands and displayed them to the audience. The crowd went absolutely wild.
“Well, would you look at that!” Caesar continued, his voice full of delight and surprise. “That’s what we want to see! Two young tributes from District 12 proudly holding hands,” he went on, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “They won’t be going unnoticed.”
The chariots soon lined up in the center of the Capitol. The fire that had been trailing behind them disappeared, and all the attention shifted toward President Ava Paige.
“Welcome, welcome,” Thomas stopped looking around and saw the tributes from District 1 across from them, near District 4. “Tributes, we welcome you,” distant cheers and applause echoed throughout the area. “We applaud your courage and sacrifice.”
Thomas kept his hand close to Teresa’s. Both exchanged confused glances, their minds racing with the weight of the situation. What was happening around them was far beyond their control. All they could do was try to stay calm and face the public spectacle together.
“We wish you a happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor,” the woman finished, followed by deafening applause.
Thomas stopped looking at the president as soon as the chariot began moving again, just like the others.
As soon as Thomas set foot on the ground after Teresa had stepped off the chariot, Cinna, Haymitch, Effie, and Teresa’s stylist approached them. They all looked quite pleased with their entrance, but there was no time to savor the moment. The Games had begun.
Teresa approached them with a confident stride, her expression one of satisfaction. She seemed quite pleased by the events that had just unfolded.
“You two were amazing,” Cinna said the moment he saw them, his voice carrying a genuine sense of admiration. He was accompanied by Teresa’s stylist, who offered a nod of approval in their direction.
Thomas couldn’t help but notice that several tributes were looking their way. He had already observed the way the other tributes’ eyes seemed to follow them, some with curiosity, others with a hint of judgment. It was no surprise; he and Teresa had just left a strong impression.
“Everyone’s going to be talking about us,” Effie said, her voice filled with excitement. She smiled brightly, her eyes scanning both Thomas and Teresa with an almost proud look. Her wide grin seemed to be more than just a reaction—it was the kind of smile that suggested she was already picturing the Capitol’s reaction to their performance.
Cinna smiled in return, a more subdued expression, but it still radiated approval. He placed a hand gently on Thomas’s shoulder, a gesture that seemed almost fatherly. Thomas, though a bit taken aback by the sudden contact, smiled back and focused his gaze on Cinna. There was something comforting about the way Cinna always seemed to have a calm, reassuring presence.
“You did great, Thomas. Congratulations,” his stylist said, her voice warm and sincere. She gave him a smile that was both friendly and professional, and it made Thomas feel a little more at ease amidst the tension of the Games.
Thomas nodded, his chest swelling with pride, and he returned the smile, this time more widely. His nerves started to settle, replaced by the quiet thrill of success. But just as he was starting to feel comfortable, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Haymitch, his mentor, was looking at him, and there was something in his gaze that made Thomas pause.
“Very brave,” Haymitch said with a smile, his usual gruff tone softened by a hint of amusement. Thomas wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or genuine, but either way, it made him feel a bit lighter.
“Are you sure you should be near the fire?” Thomas murmured, his voice low but loud enough for Cinna to hear. His tone was half teasing, half concerned, as he glanced at Cinna. There was something almost playful about the way he said it, though his words did hold a bit of truth to them.
“Fake fire. Are you sure…?” Cinna responded with a smile that was both mischievous and knowing, a hint of humor in his eyes.
He fell silent for a moment as he turned to look back at something. Thomas followed his gaze, and Teresa did the same, both now looking in the direction of the blonde boy from District 1. The boy’s gaze seemed to lock onto Thomas’s, and for a brief moment, everything around them seemed to still.
Thomas’s lips parted slightly as their eyes met once more. The blonde boy was standing beside his female companion, who seemed disinterested in the situation, her attention elsewhere. She was busy talking to her stylist, adjusting her accessories, but the boy… he wasn’t paying attention to anything or anyone other than Thomas.
The stylist was busy helping the boy remove some of his accessories, but the boy’s eyes never wavered. He was staring at Thomas, focused and unwavering, his gaze sharp and calculating. It wasn’t the kind of look that Thomas was used to, and it certainly wasn’t a look he was comfortable with.
The stare was almost predatory, and Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine. It was unsettling, and he couldn’t quite place why it made him so uneasy. There was an intensity in the boy’s eyes that made Thomas feel… exposed, like he was being scrutinized, judged.
“We should… head upstairs,” came Haymitch’s voice from behind, breaking the moment of tension.
Effie’s cheerful voice followed immediately, and she reached out to place a hand on Thomas’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. Teresa had already moved ahead, walking with Haymitch toward the stairs, but Thomas was still standing there, momentarily frozen by the unease that the boy’s gaze had left him with.
The moment Thomas turned his head to look away, the boy and his companion began walking past them, flanked by their stylist and mentor. The blonde girl walked confidently ahead, her chin raised high as if nothing could touch her. She didn’t even glance in their direction. But the boy… he didn’t stop staring at Thomas. His gaze never wavered as they passed by.
Thomas felt a cold sensation at the pit of his stomach as the boy walked by. He froze when he felt the faintest brush of fingers against his hand. It was brief—so brief that he almost wondered if he’d imagined it—but it was enough to make his heart race.
The contact was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His hand hung loosely at his side, and as the boy passed, there was a momentary touch—a brush of fingers, barely a whisper of contact. It sent a wave of tension through Thomas’s body, and he immediately looked up at the boy, his expression unreadable. The boy, in turn, gave him a half-smile, a small, knowing expression on his face. It was as if he had done it on purpose, like a silent challenge.
Thomas didn’t say anything. He simply watched as the boy walked away, his eyes never leaving him until they were out of sight. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of confusion and discomfort swirling inside him.
Haymitch, ever observant, looked at Thomas immediately after. It was clear that he had seen the gesture, the almost imperceptible touch. Thomas exchanged a glance with his mentor, and in that moment, he knew Haymitch had caught it too. There was a brief, unspoken understanding between them. Haymitch had seen the look, the touch, and the challenge.
“Let’s go,” Effie’s voice broke through once more, her tone as chipper as ever.
Thomas followed, his thoughts still racing. Teresa was already waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, her expression neutral but her posture suggesting she was ready to move on.
As Thomas walked toward her, the feeling of the boy’s gaze still lingered on him, and he couldn’t shake the sense that something bigger was at play.