The stables were a whirlwind of activity—the scent of nervous horses and expensive perfumes clashing in the humid air. David stayed close to my side, his hand occasionally brushing against the fabric of my gown for comfort. This was the moment for scouting, for separating the threats from the lambs.
I saw Beetee and Wiress, the mentors for District 3. I gave them a respectful wave, my eyes drifting to their tributes. They were heart-breakingly young; the girl, Cachesta, was fourteen, and the boy, Bytemer, was only twelve. They were scrawny, their eyes darting around the room with a look of pure, unadulterated terror.
Then I saw the Careers. District 2's Rufus was eighteen and built like a brick wall, eyes already scanning for weaknesses. His partner, Bellona, was seventeen and carried a wicked, vicious smirk that made my skin crawl. They were predators, through and through.
In the corner, the District 11 tributes—Flora and Grazer—looked thin but hardy. Grazer was fifteen and heavier-set, but both were visibly jumpy. District 1, Organza and Chiffon, were well-fed and cocky, but they lacked the raw edge of District 2; they looked more like pampered followers than leaders.
One by one, I cataloged the rest: Cordelia and Doris from 4, Burak and Ashani from 5, the oddly named Ferry-Garry and Bushan from 6. There were Aspen and Willow from 7, Nylon and Calico from 8, Rye and Chia from 9, and the livestock-ready Colt and Chea from 10.
I was pulled from my analysis by a shadow crossing my path. I turned to find Finnick Odair leaning against a pillar, idly tossing a sugar cube into the air. He looked at me, his gaze trailing up and down my coal-obsidian gown with a slow, appreciative grin.
"Wow," he said, his tone carrying that signature flirtatious lilt. "District 12 will definitely have a good chance at winning with you."
"Well, hello to you too, Mr. Odair," I replied, tilting my head and letting a hint of my own charm color my voice.
He popped the sugar cube into his mouth, leaning closer. "Why, you are quite charming, aren't you, Ms. Moonlight?"
"Thank you, Mr. Odair. But please, call me Zinnia. Or Zizi, if you'd prefer."
Finnick chuckled, a genuine spark in his sea-green eyes. "Woah there, Zinnia. If you aren't careful, my tributes might lose their male mentor to a District 12 girl. And please, do call me Finnick."
I giggled, the sound light and musical. Before he could retort, the overhead speakers crackled to life, announcing that it was time to move to the chariots.
"Well, it seems I must go now, Finnick," I said, giving him a look that promised a much deeper conversation. "But if you find yourself restless... come to the twelfth floor. I do wish to talk to you."
With a final, lingering smile, I turned and led David to our chariot.
The moment we rolled out of the tunnel and into the City Circle, the world exploded. The roar of the Capitol crowd was a physical force. But as the lights hit our outfits—the matte black of the coal and the shimmering, pressurized obsidian—the screams reached a fever pitch.
As we glided past the front rows, I scanned the faces until I spotted a flash of bright blue. It was Amanda. She was perched on her father's shoulders, screaming my name with everything she had. As I blew a kiss in her direction, she raised her arm high—the lucky bracelet I'd given her caught the artificial sun of the Square, shimmering with that grounding, warm light. She was wearing it proudly, a tiny beacon of loyalty in a sea of strangers.
I smiled wider, my heart skipping a beat. It was working.
I continued blowing elegant kisses to the crowd, waving with the grace of a visiting princess. Beside me, David took my lead, smiling and blowing his own kisses. The cameras lingered on us longer than any other pair.