Chapter 1

The arena shrinks away from me and I'm suddenly inside the hovercraft. Everyone's congratulating me, even as they're stripping me down and poking at my wounds.

My brain is still stuck in the Games because while I know these people are Capitol medics, doctors, and officials, I see them as opponents and my muscles twitch to kill them.

Eventually I do kill one. He must not be important to anyone because no one punishes me for it or even acts as though I just murdered yet another human being. His neck snaps easily, but my fingers are itching for a trident.

They restrain me for the rest of the medical assessment.

The next few days are a whirlwind. They heal me. They feed me. They dress me. They shove me on a stage where I watch other kids die and I watch myself kill.

Another night, Flickerman questions me and it's as if I'm another person when I answer. I've been trained since birth for these Games, so I should be proud to win. I am proud.

But I'm also sickened.

I recount all my "best" moments in the arena. Caesar is very interested in how clever I was when killing a few of the toughest girl tributes. Pretending to care about someone isn't clever. It's cruel, but I force it from my thoughts. I did what I had to do to live and now my district will have enough to eat for the next year. Those girls were stupid enough to believe the lies.

We were in a life and death battle. What person truly believes another when he says he loves her in the middle of a bloodbath? Girls from Districts 1, 5, and 8, that's who.

We talk about the trident. I'm much more comfortable with that topic. There was no manipulation with that.

Finally, it's over and I go home, back to District 4. There's a celebration. Everyone's happy. I'm issued my house and because I'm only fourteen, my mother comes to live with me. My father and brother must stay in their little fishing hut, but I promise to visit every week at least.

One would think I'd be excited to be spared a fisherman's life and more importantly, his death.

My house overlooks the sea, but not the launching point for the boats. That is miles away. It is just as well. I don't want to see the men, women and children risking their lives to feed the Capitol while I sit in my big Capitol-provided house.

I swim every day and it is almost my only pleasure.

Even though I live with my mother, it is Mags, my mentor who helps me as I struggle. I cannot make sense of it all and Mags helps. She's been there. She quells my nightmares and helps me see the patterns of dreams. She tells me that while I was the one that snuffed the life out of those people, some of them just barely twelve, that I wasn't responsible. I have a hard time accepting that. I know that it is the Capitol that forces the districts against each other. It is the Capitol that put me into a situation to kill or be killed, but it was my hands that held the spears, the knives, the trident. Those were my words and my voice that told those lies; the lies that lured those girls into false comfort.

Mags accompanies me during my Victory Tour. She shields me from the people of the Capitol as much as she can. They scare me. I've never been scared of much in my life, but these odd-looking people with hungry eyes frighten me. They don't have the look of actual hunger. They are all over-fed, even if they're thin.

I know they all want a piece of me. Young Finnick Odair is already a hot commodity. I know this, even if I can't figure out exactly how many different ways I'm wanted.

Mags helps me figure out how to speak to people. She instructs me, "Be as polite as possible, but act like you're above them; act like you're doing them a favor by even speaking with them. Except for Snow. Be thankful and humble with him and always remember that he holds the cards to your future. He holds all of our cards."

At the next Hunger Games, I am a mentor along with Mags. Other District 4 victors come along to see and be seen. I don't really do anything except learn from Mags. Both of our tributes die this year.

Again, people in the Capitol stare at me. They have that look about them that tells me they want to do more than just stare.

We're up on the roof garden when I ask, "Why do they look at me like that?"

For some reason, she can't quite hold my gaze. "You'll be sixteen at the next Games." She says this as if it clears everything up.

"Next year will be different, Finnick."

"Why? How?"

She still won't meet my eyes and it bothers me. There is nothing interesting about that flowering tree. She doesn't need to stare at it like that. "You'll be considered…"

When she trails off, I've about had enough. "Considered what?"

"Perhaps Mickelson should talk to you."

I don't understand and it annoys me. Mickelson was the other mentor during my Games and he came to watch the current Games, but Mags has always been my mentor. She doesn't want to tell me something. It's something she feels would be easier to hear from a male mentor. It's something that has to do with coming of age next year. Something to do with how the people in the Capitol look at me.

"Will you just tell me?" I practically beg. I don't want to sit here in the dark anymore.

She sighs but finally looks at me.

"You won't be a boy anymore, Finnick. You're attractive and strong. There has already been a lot of interest in you. President Snow will…" She looks around and then shakes her head. Taking my hand, she mumbles something about being thankful the wind is blowing.

I'm still confused.

"You're wanted. Tributes are nothing more than a resource to be bought and sold."

I shake my head, still confused. I'm going to be sold? "Bought and sold?"

Her hands cup my face now. "Snow already has plans for you. I've tried to…but nothing's going to change his mind. I'm sorry."

Plans? I still down understand. She can obviously see that because she continues. "There's already a waiting list."

"For what?"

"For you."

"For me?" I'm trying to work this out, but something's still not clicking. "Like…sponsors? But I'm not in the Games anymore."

"Sponsors, yes, in a way, but instead of providing entertainment inside the arena, you'll…provide it outside."

I wish she'd just tell me because I have no idea what she's talking about.

"How? Please just tell me, Mags. I'm not…"

"You'll provide a service. Snow will…" She takes in a deep breath and then practically pushes out the words. "You'll have sex with anyone Snow tells you to. They might give you things, but believe me, either Snow owes them or they'll owe Snow."

My mind reels. "But…but there's a girl at home I…"

"He'll kill her. He'll kill your entire family if you refuse."

Her eyes were intense now, searing into mine. "Snow owns you, just like he owns everything else. So go home, spend time with that girl and prepare for what's to come."

Mags kisses me on the forehead before leaving me to ponder my fate all alone in the garden. She was essentially telling me even though I won the Hunger Games, I was still just a piece in Snow's game.

I would be…I was going to be…I am a whore.

My parents, my brother, my friends, they will all be killed if I refuse. I think about Aveen. I've liked her for four years and she finally started talking to me after I won.

We have plans for when we both turn sixteen, but they seem childish now. I can't do that to her. I can't do something with her that she will think is something special, only for her turn around and see me on television with all of the women in the Capitol. I assume I won't be able to tell anyone. I assume these arrangements will be made to look like I'd been given a choice.

Besides, how will I ever be able to tell people about that?

I wonder about Mags. She is sixty-two now and she won forty-six years ago when she was sixteen. I've never known of a president before Snow, but have no idea if he was in power back then. Things like that aren't discussed. Had she been forced into a situation like this?

Does Mags know what will happen to me or my family if I refuse because of personal knowledge?

There are no words that I can find to adequately sum up how horrible I feel.

When I get home, I tell my mother to move out. I stop visiting the little house by the water where I grew up. I refuse to even look at Aveen. Instead, I find a girl I don't like. I barely even know her name.

When I do it with her, I don't think I'm particularly good. A certain fear creeps into me. What if Snow kills those who aren't good at it, those who can't keep people satisfied? What if he kills my family because of it?

Most things come easily to me. I can weave complex patterns, tie the toughest knot, figure out where schools of fish will be, and throw spears, among other things, but I worry that I'm not good at the one thing I have to be good at now.

I have sex with the girl again, but then I go to some of the older girls because they have advice for me. They help me get better and there is no shortage of volunteers. I find that people have a fascination with me. It's disturbing, but it makes my life easier. I get what I want with little or no hassle.

I am empty. All of it is empty, but it's good practice for my new role. It is no different than training for the Games.

I start working on how I talk, how I walk, how I move my tongue to wet my lips. I look at myself for hours on end, practicing winking, the half-smile, the smirk. I talk to myself over and over, doing my best to be the Capitol's version of seductive.

The reaping comes. Volunteers emerge. They look so young, even though the boy is older than I.

Mags and I go to the Capitol with them. I don't bother to learn the girl's name. I can tell by looking at her she'll be dead at the Cornucopia. The boy is good at tying knots. I send him ropes and cords. He does well until the Gamemakers release muttations. They are so small the boy never even sees them until they crawl all over him and he runs into the sea, forgetting how to swim entirely.

But my mind isn't on the Games at all. How could it be?

No. The minute I arrive in the Capitol, I am greeted by Snow himself. He smells of rot and blood and flowers. He leans in close, too close as he explains to me the "choice" I have to make. He's explicit when he tells me what they'll do to my mother.

"That's not necessary," I tell him. "Who do I see tonight?"

The snake-like smile sickens me, but the show is on now. I must perform. These people have paid for me in some way and they want to feel as though I love them. I am young to know what love even is, but I'll pretend.