Hey guys, I'm sorry for the delay and the short chapter. I know it's a little rushed, but I promise the next one will be posted much sooner :) Love y'all!

By the time Peeta and Annie are back, with mildly confused expressions and asking why Haymitch would be interested in their hair, we're settled in our seats and looking appropriately bored.

"Honestly, Katniss, what's going on?" Peeta shoots me a suspicious look. "He asked me the brand of shampoo I use. He wanted to know how I kept my hair "thick and glossy. Said something about how he's gradually balding."

I snort inwardly. If I'd been drinking something, it would have spewed right out of my mouth. Really, Haymitch?

Fortunately, Caesar saves me from making up an answer by announcing the start of the interviews. I've never been happier to see him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, welcome!" His voice booms through the auditorium. I can actually feel the vibration rippling the air.

He's dressed in a neon orange suit, hair combed back in violet spikes. After all, this is Caesar Flickerman we're talking about. His pearly white teeth flash brilliantly with each smile.

"Tonight is a very special night indeed, my friends. And let me tell you why." He drops his voice slightly as to convey mystery.

"Tonight, we welcome our tributes who will be participating in the Seventy-Sixth Annual Hunger Games! "

Applause breaks out like wildfire in the audience.

Once the crowd has settled again, Caesar takes his place in one of the two red armchairs at the center of the stage.

"Without further ado, we welcome Dimitri Eloyde!" More polite applause as Dimitri walks onstage. He's wearing a midnight blue shirt and a pair of black, tight fitting pants. Most of his tattoos have been covered up, save one on his neck. I can't make out what it is.

I quickly review everything I know about him in my head. At eighteen, as one of the oldest tributes, he's got the age advantage. Not to mention his excellent physique, a build which was born for combat. He's got the fire, too. Which sums him up as one of the most lethal competitors this year.

"Dimitri," Caesar is saying. "I must admit, ever since the incident during training, everyone has been dying to get to know you! Would you like to elaborate on either matter?"

The cameras fix on his face, expressionless and blank.

"No," he says shortly. There's an awkward pause. Despite everything, I feel something close to grudging admiration for him. It takes nerve to present yourself as downright unfriendly in front of an audience. Especially when the audience in question could very well be the key to your survival in the upcoming days.

Caesar laughs wryly. "A man of few words!" He announces, "Or should I say, boy of few words?" Some titters and rustling from the crowd. They don't know what to make of him yet.

"I would like him if it wasn't for your girl," Johanna whispers to me. "I'm sure you'd get along fantastically, with the similarly charming personalities," I agree. She gives me the evil eye.

"Well, perhaps we could move on to another subject, then," Caesar suggests. "How do you feel about entering the Games? I'm sure we'd all like to hear your opinion on that one."

The response is swift. "I feel like any person does the day before they get thrown into an arena where people kill each other." It could have been a snarky, almost humorous response, if not for the flat tone and the stony eyes.

He's clearly not going for the amiable, charismatic style.

Seeing as time is apparently running out, and he isn't having much luck so far, Caesar changes tactics.

"Alright, Dimitri," he says neutrally. "Before we wrap our three minutes up, we've got one last question for you." He waits for a moment before continuing. "We have no doubt you're one to look out for. The question is, is there anyone in particular you're thinking of tonight? Someone special, close to your heart? And if there is, what would you like to say to this person?"

The cameras zoom in close up on his face again while the audience waits for his answer.

For the first time during this interview, I glimpse a flicker of emotion in his steely blue-grey eyes. I can't make out what it is, since it's gone in a flash, but I'm sure it was there. Pain, maybe? Or sadness?

"She's always been with me. And she knows exactly what I want to tell her."

The timer goes off abruptly, signaling the end of Dimitri's interview. The people behind me are whispering, no doubt about who this she might be and what his words really meant.

Caesar and Dimitri both stand up, and Caesar holds out his hand. For a brief second, I think he's not going to take the outstretched hand, but he does after a beat. They shake hands awkwardly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Dimitri Eloyde!" He gives a stiff, tiny bow before exiting the stage.

The rest of the night flies by. I tune out most of the interviews, my mind buzzing with information and jumbled thoughts. Everything is happening too fast. Tomorrow, the Games begin. An involuntary shudder runs through me as the truth hits, hard.

I snap back to the present only when Ophelia Snow, none other than Snow's granddaughter, is called onstage.

I notice how everyone else is noticeably as fixated as I am. We're waiting to hear what she has to say. I realize I don't know much about her, apart from the obvious fact that she's Snow's family by blood.

She looks stunning in an ice blue gown, with her hair twisted in a braided Victorian queen-style up do. I can't read her expression, though.

Caesar starts off by asking some basic questions. Her answers are cool and collected. Nothing worth taking note of, really. Not a single slip to betray any hint of her personality.

I'm feeling disappointed by the time the final question comes. Caesar rubs his hands, leaning forward with an earnest expression.

"I daresay there's one question everyone here has been wondering about," he says slowly.

"As the late President's granddaughter, is there anything you'd like to say on his behalf?"

When she doesn't respond right away, he pushes on dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Do you think there was a misjudgment in his execution? Or, for that matter, what of the rebels? Was the rebellion for the right reasons?"

The surge of questions has unsettled the audience. All around me, people are stirring in their seats, restless and impatient to hear her response. The tension in the air is practically visible.

When she speaks, a hushed silence falls over the auditorium.

"I can't say anything on my grandfather's behalf." She looks straight into the cameras.

"I'd like to clarify one simple fact. He was his own person, and I am mine. I'm aware of the reason many hold me against his actions."

The audience hangs on to her every word.

These are not words spoken by a sixteen year old. They sound like they could be coming from someone much, much older.

"He had his motives, I think. I'm not saying for the right reasons or not. But in the end, he made his decision."

Even though the timer goes off at this point, no one interrupts.

She stands up at the same time Caesar does.

"I will make my own decision, too. Tonight, there's just one last thing I have to say. To the families and friends of everyone who was lost in the war: I'm sorry. I truly am."