“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”‌

“Things might’ve been quite different if you hadn’t landed your little rainbow girl.”

“The truth is, we were all so busy killing each other that we forgot how to have fun. She knows, though. Your girl.”

His girl. His. Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping. Even that sanctimonious Sejanus believed she was something he could trade for. If that wasn’t ownership, what was? With her song, Lucy Gray had repudiated all that by featuring a life that had nothing to do with him, and a great deal to do with someone else. Someone she referred to as “lover,” no less. And while he had no claim on her heart — he barely knew the girl! — he didn’t like the idea of anyone else having it either. Although the song had been a clear success, he felt somehow betrayed by it. Even humiliated.

Lucy Gray rose and took a bow, then extended her hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he joined her at the front of the stage while the applause built to a standing ovation. Pluribus led the cries for an encore, but their time had expired, as Lucky Flickerman reminded them, so they took a final bow and exited the stage, hand in hand.

As they reached the wings she started to release him, but he tightened his grip. “Well, you’re a hit. Congratulations. New song?”

“I’ve been working on it awhile, but I only found that last stanza a few hours ago,” she said. “Why? Didn’t you like it?”

“It surprised me. You had so many others,” he said.

“I did.” Lucy Gray freed her hand and ran her fingers across the guitar strings, picking out one last bit of melody before she gently settled the instrument back in its case. “Here’s the thing, Coriolanus. I’m going to fight like all-fire to win these Games, but I’m going to be in there with the likes of Reaper and Tanner and a few others who are no strangers to killing. There’s no guarantee of anything.”

“And the song?” he prodded.

“The song?” she repeated, and took a moment to consider her answer. “I left some loose ends back in District Twelve. Me being tribute . . . Well, there’s bad luck and then there’s bad business. That was bad business. And someone who owed me plenty had a hand in it. The song, it was payback of a kind. Most people won’t know that, but the Covey will get the message, loud and clear. And they’re all I really care about.”

“Just on one hearing?” asked Coriolanus. “It went by pretty fast.”

“One hearing’s all my cousin Maude Ivory needs. That child never forgets anything with a tune,” said Lucy Gray. “Looks like I’m being rounded up again.”

The two male Peacekeepers who appeared at her side treated her with a certain friendliness now, asking if she was ready to go and trying to keep their smiles contained. Just like those Peacekeepers back in 12. Coriolanus couldn’t help wondering just how friendly she could be. He gave them a disapproving look that had zero effect and heard them complimenting her performance as they took her away.

He swallowed his peevishness and accepted the congratulations that were pouring in from all sides. They helped to remind him that he was the real star of the evening. Even if Lucy Gray was confused on the issue, in the eyes of the Capitol, she belonged to him. What point would there be in crediting a district tribute? This held true until he ran into Pluribus, who gushed, “What a talent, what a natural she is! If she manages to survive, I’m determined to headline her in my club.”

“That sounds a bit tricky. Won’t they send her home?” said Coriolanus.

“I have one or two favors I could call in,” he said. “Oh, Coriolanus, wasn’t she stellar? I’m so glad you got her, my boy. The Snows were due a piece of good luck.”

Silly old man with his ridiculous powdered wig and his decrepit cat. What did he know about anything? Coriolanus was about to set the record straight, when Satyria appeared and whispered in his ear, “I think that prize is in the bag,” and he let it go.

Sejanus appeared, in another brand-new suit, with a rumpled little woman in an expensive flowered dress on his arm. It didn’t matter. You could put a turnip in a ball gown and it would still beg to be mashed. Coriolanus had no doubt this could only be Ma.

As Sejanus introduced them, he extended his hand and gave her a warm smile. “Mrs. Plinth, what an honor. Please forgive me for my negligence. I’ve been meaning to write you a note for days, but every time I sit down to do it, my head throbs so from my concussion that I can’t think straight. Thank you for the delicious casserole.”

Mrs. Plinth crinkled with pleasure and gave an embarrassed laugh. “It’s for us to thank you, Coriolanus. We’re so glad that Sejanus has such a good friend. If there’s ever anything you need, I hope you’ll know you can count on us.”

“Well, that cuts both ways, madam. I am at your service,” he said, laying it on so thick she was sure to be suspicious. But not Ma. Her eyes filled with tears and she made a gurgling sound, having been rendered speechless by his magnanimousness. She dug in her handbag, a ghastly thing the size of a small suitcase, pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and began blowing her nose. Fortunately, Tigris, who was genuinely sweet to everyone, came backstage to find him and took over chatting with the Plinths.

Things finally wound down, and as the cousins walked home together, they analyzed the evening, from Lucy Gray’s restrained use of the blush to the unfortunate fit of Ma’s dress. “But really, Coryo, I can’t imagine things going any better for you,” said Tigris.

“I’m certainly pleased,” he said. “I think we’ll be able to get her some sponsors. I just hope some people aren’t put off by the song.”

“I was very moved by it. I think most people were. Didn’t you like it?” she asked.

“Of course I liked it, but I’m more open-minded than most,” he said. “I mean, what do you think she was suggesting happened?”

“It sounded to me like she had a bad time of it. Someone she loved broke her heart,” Tigris answered.

“That was only the half of it,” he continued, because he couldn’t let even Tigris think he’d felt envious of some no-account in the districts. “There was the part about her living by her charms.”

“Well, that could be anything. She’s a performer, after all,” she said. He considered it. “I suppose.”

“You said she lost her parents. She’s probably been fending for herself for years. I don’t think anyone who survived the war and the years after can blame her for that.” Tigris dropped her gaze. “We all did things we’re not proud of.”

“You didn’t,” he said.

“Didn’t I?” Tigris spoke with an uncharacteristic bitterness. “We all did. Maybe you were too little to remember. Maybe you didn’t know how bad it really was.”

“How can you say that? That’s all I remember,” he shot back.

“Then be kind, Coryo,” she snapped. “And try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.”

Tigris’s rebuke shocked him, but less than her alluding to behavior that might be considered a disgrace. What had she done? Because if she’d done it, she’d done it to protect him. He thought about the morning of the reaping, when he’d casually wondered what she had to trade in the black market, but he’d never really taken that seriously. Or hadn’t he? Would he have just preferred not to know what sacrifices she might be willing to make for him? Her comment was vague enough, and so many things were beneath a Snow, that he could say, as she had of Lucy Gray’s song, “Well, that could be anything.” Did he want to know the details? No. The truth was he did not.

As he pulled open the glass door to the apartment building, she gave a cry of disbelief. “Oh, no, it can’t be! The elevator’s working!”

He felt doubtful, as the thing hadn’t worked since early in the war. But the door stood open and the lights reflected off the mirrored walls of the car. Glad for the distraction, he made a low bow, inviting her to enter. “After you.”

Tigris giggled and paraded into the car like the grand lady she was born to be. “You’re too kind.”

Coriolanus swept in after her, and for a moment they both stared at the buttons designating the floors. “The last time I remember this working,

we’d just been to my father’s funeral. We got home, and we’ve been climbing ever since.”

“The Grandma’am will be thrilled,” said Tigris. “Her knees can’t take those stairs anymore.”

“I’m thrilled. Maybe she’ll get out of the apartment once in a while,” Coriolanus said. Tigris smacked him on the arm, but she was laughing. “Really. It would be nice to have the place to ourselves for five minutes. Maybe skip the anthem one morning, or not wear a tie to dinner. Then again, there’s the danger of her talking to people. ‘When Coriolanus is president, it will rain champagne every Tuesday!’”

“Perhaps people will just put it down to age,” said Tigris. “One can hope. Will you do the honors?” he asked.

Tigris reached out and gave the penthouse button a nice long push. After a pause the doors slid shut with nary a squeak, and they began to ascend. “I’m surprised the apartment board decided to fix it now. It must’ve been costly.”

Coriolanus frowned. “You don’t suppose they’re spiffing up the building hoping to sell their places? You know, with the new taxes.”

The playfulness drained out of Tigris. “That’s very possible. I know the Dolittles would consider selling for the right price. They say the apartment is too big for them, but you know it’s not that.”

“Is that what we’ll say? That our ancestral home has gotten too large?” Coriolanus said as the doors opened to reveal their front door. “Come on, I’ve still got homework.”

The Grandma’am had waited up to sing his praises and said they’d been replaying highlights from the interviews nonstop. “She’s a sad, trashy little thing, your girl, but oddly appealing in her way. Perhaps it’s her voice. It gets inside a person somehow.”

If Lucy Gray had won over the Grandma’am, Coriolanus felt the rest of the nation could only fall in step. If no one else seemed to be bothered by her questionable past, why should he be?

He got a glass of buttermilk, changed into his father’s silk robe, and settled down to write about everything he loved about the war. He began with As they say, war is misery, but it’s not without its charms. It seemed a clever intro to him, but it led nowhere, and half an hour later he’d made no headway. It was, as Festus had suggested, destined to be a very short

assignment. But he knew that would not satisfy Dr. Gaul, and a halfhearted effort would only bring him unwanted attention.

When Tigris came in to say good night, he bounced the topic off her. “Can you remember anything at all we liked?”

She sat on the end of his bed and thought it over. “I liked some of the uniforms. Not the ones they wear now. Do you remember the red jackets with the gold piping?”

“In the parades?” He felt a bit of a rush as he remembered hanging from the window with the soldiers and bands marching by. “Did I like the parades?”

“You loved them. You’d be so excited that we couldn’t get you to eat your breakfast,” said Tigris. “We always had a gathering on parade days.”

“Front-row seats.” Coriolanus jotted the words uniforms and parades on a scrap of paper, then added fireworks. “Any sort of spectacle appealed to me when I was little, I suppose.”

“Remember the turkey?” Tigris said suddenly.

It had been the last year of the war, when the siege had reduced the Capitol to cannibalism and despair. Even the lima beans were running low, and it had been months since anything resembling meat had made its way to their table. In an attempt to raise morale, the Capitol had proclaimed December 15th National Heroes Day. They put together a television special and honored a dozen or so citizens who’d lost their lives in defense of the Capitol, with Coriolanus’s father, General Crassus Snow, among them. The electricity came on in time for the broadcast, but it had been off — and with it the heat — for a solid day before. They’d been huddled together on the Grandma’am’s boat of a bed, and so they remained to watch their heroes honored. Even then, Coriolanus’s memory of his father had faded, and while he knew his face from photos, he was startled by the man’s deep voice and uncompromising words against the districts. After the anthem played, a knock on the front door roused them from the bed, and they found a trio of young soldiers in dress uniforms delivering a commemorative plaque and a basket with a twenty-pound frozen turkey, compliments of the state. In an apparent attempt at the Capitol’s former luxury, the basket also included a dusty jar of mint jelly, a can of salmon, three cracked sticks of pineapple candy, a loofah sponge, and a flowery-scented candle. The soldiers set the basket on a table in the foyer, read a statement of thanks, and bid them good night. Tigris burst into tears, and the Grandma’am had to

sit down, but the first thing Coriolanus did was run and make sure the door was locked to protect their newfound riches.

They’d eaten salmon on toast and it was decided Tigris would stay home from school the next day to figure out how to cook the bird. Coriolanus delivered a dinner invitation on the Snows’ engraved stationery to Pluribus, and he came bearing posca and a dented can of apricots. With the help of one of Cook’s old recipe books, Tigris had outdone herself, and they’d feasted on jelly-glazed turkey with bread and cabbage stuffing. Nothing had ever, before or since, tasted so good.

“Still one of the best days of my life.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it but finally added relief from deprivation to the list. “You were a wonder, the way you cooked that turkey. At the time you seemed so old to me, but you were really just a little girl,” said Coriolanus.

Tigris smiled. “And you. With your victory garden on the roof.”

“If you liked parsley, I was your man!” He laughed. But he’d taken pride in his parsley. It had livened up the soup, and sometimes he could trade it for other things. Resourcefulness, he put on the list.

So he wrote his assignment, recounting these childish delights, but in the end he did not feel satisfied. He thought about the last couple of weeks, with the bombing in the arena, losing his classmates, Marcus’s escape, and how it all had revived the terror he’d felt when the Capitol had been under siege. What had mattered then, what mattered still, was living without that fear. So he added a paragraph about his deep relief on winning the war, and the grim satisfaction of seeing the Capitol’s enemies, who’d treated him so cruelly, who’d cost his family so much, brought to their knees. Hobbled. Impotent. Unable to hurt him anymore. He’d loved the unfamiliar sense of safety that their defeat had brought. The security that could only come with power. The ability to control things. Yes, that was what he’d loved best of all.

The next morning, as the remaining mentors straggled in for the Sunday meeting, Coriolanus tried to imagine who they would’ve been had no war occurred. Barely more than toddlers when it started, they’d all been about eight when it ended. Although the hardships had eased, he and his classmates were still far removed from the opulent life they’d been born into, and the rebuilding of their world had been slow and disheartening. If he could erase the rationing and the bombings, the hunger and the fear, and

replace it with the rosy lives promised to them at birth, would he even recognize his friends?

Coriolanus felt a twinge of guilt when his thoughts landed on Clemensia. He hadn’t been to see her yet, between recovering and homework and readying Lucy Gray for the Games. It wasn’t just a time issue, though. He had no desire to return to the hospital and see what state she was in. What if the doctor had been lying, and the scales were spreading to cover her entire body? What if she’d transformed into a snake entirely? That was silliness, but Dr. Gaul’s lab had been so sinister that his mind went to extremes. A paranoid thought nibbled at him. What if Dr. Gaul’s people were only waiting for him to visit so they could imprison him as well? It didn’t make sense. If they’d wanted to hold him, his hospitalization would’ve been the time. The whole thing was ridiculous, he concluded. He’d go to see her at the first opportunity.

Dr. Gaul, clearly a morning person, and Dean Highbottom, clearly not, reviewed the previous night’s performances. Coriolanus and Lucy Gray had obliterated the field, although points were given to those who’d at least managed to get their tributes to the interview stage. On Capitol TV, Lucky Flickerman was providing updates on the betting scene from the main post office, and while people were favoring Tanner and Jessup to win, Lucy Gray had racked up three times as many gifts as her nearest competitor.

“Look at all these people,” said Dr. Gaul. “Sending bread to a slip of a girl with a broken heart, even though they don’t believe she can win. What’s the lesson there?”

“At the dogfights, I’ve seen people back mutts that can barely stand,” Festus told her. “People love a long shot.”

“People love a good love song, more like,” said Persephone, showing her dimples.

“People are fools,” sneered Livia. “She doesn’t stand a chance.”

“But there are a lot of romantics.” Pup batted his eyes at her and made sloppy kissing sounds.

“Yes, romantic notions, idealistic notions, can be very attractive. Which seems like a good segue into your essays.” Dr. Gaul settled herself on a lab stool. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Rather than collect their essays, Dr. Gaul had them read bits and pieces of them aloud. Coriolanus’s classmates had touched on many points that hadn’t crossed his mind. Some had been drawn to the courage of the

soldiers, the chance to maybe one day be heroic themselves. Others mentioned the bond that formed between soldiers who fought together, or the nobility of defending the Capitol.

“It felt like we were all part of something bigger,” said Domitia. She nodded solemnly, causing the ponytail on the top of her head to bob. “Something important. We all made sacrifices, but it was to save our country.”

Coriolanus felt disconnected from their “romantic notions,” as he didn’t share a romanticized view of the war. Courage in battle was often necessary because of someone else’s poor planning. He had no idea if he would take a bullet for Festus and had no interest in finding out. As to the noble ideas of the Capitol, did they really believe that? What he desired had little to do with nobility and everything to do with being in control. Not that he didn’t have a strong moral code; certainly he did. But almost everything in war, between its declaration and the victory parades, seemed a waste of resources. He kept one eye on the clock while pretending to be engaged in the conversation, willing time to pass so he wouldn’t have to read anything. The parades seemed shallow, the appeal of power still true but heartless compared to the ramblings of his classmates. And he wished he hadn’t even written the bit about growing the parsley; it just sounded puerile now.

The best he could do, when his time came, was to read the story about the turkey. Domitia told him it was touching, Livia rolled her eyes, and Dr. Gaul raised her eyebrows and asked did he have more to share? He did not.

“Mr. Plinth?” said Dr. Gaul.

Sejanus had been silent and subdued through the entire class. He flipped a sheet of paper over and read, “‘The only thing I loved about the war was the fact that I still lived at home.’ If you’re asking me if it had any value beyond that, I would say that it was an opportunity to right some wrongs.”

“And did it?” asked Dr. Gaul.

“Not at all. Things in the districts are worse than ever,” said Sejanus. Objections came from around the room.

“Whoa!”

“He did not just say that.”

“Go back to Two, then! Who’d miss you?”

He’s really pushing it now, thought Coriolanus. But he was angry, too. It took two parties to make a war. A war that, by the way, the rebels had started. A war that had left him an orphan.

But Sejanus ignored his classmates, staying focused on the Head Gamemaker. “May I ask, what did you love about the war, Dr. Gaul?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. “I loved how it proved me right.”

Dean Highbottom announced the lunch break before anyone ventured to ask how, and they all filed out, leaving their essays behind.

They were given a half hour to eat, but Coriolanus had forgotten to bring any food, and none was provided because it was Sunday. He spent the time stretched out in a shaded area of the front steps, resting his head while Festus and Hilarius Heavensbee, who was mentoring the District 8 girl, discussed strategies for female tributes. He vaguely remembered Hilarius’s tribute from the train station, wearing a striped dress and red scarf, but mostly because she’d been with Bobbin.

“The trouble with girls is, they’re not used to fighting the same way boys are,” said Hilarius. The Heavensbees were ultrarich, the way the Snows had been before the war. But no matter his advantages, Hilarius always seemed to feel oppressed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Festus. “I think my Coral could give any of those guys a run for their money.”

“Mine’s a runt.” Hilarius picked at his steak sandwich with his manicured nails. “Wovey, she calls herself. Well, I tried to train old Wovey for the interview, but zero personality. No one’s backed her, so I can’t feed her, even if she can avoid the others.”

“If she stays alive, she’ll get backers,” said Festus.

“Are you even listening to me? She can’t fight, and I’ve no money to work with since my family can’t bet,” Hilarius whined. “I’m just hoping she lasts until the final twelve so I can face my parents. They’re embarrassed that a Heavensbee’s making such a poor showing.”

After lunch, Satyria took the mentors over to the Capitol News station so they could become acquainted with the behind-the-scenes machinery of the Hunger Games. The Gamemakers worked out of a handful of shabby offices, and while the control room assigned to them was sufficient, it seemed a little small for the annual event. Coriolanus found the whole thing a bit disappointing — he’d imagined something flashier — but the Gamemakers were excited about the new elements of this year’s Games and chattered on about mentor commentary and sponsor participation. The booth was abuzz as they checked the remote-operated cameras that had

been fixtures back in the sports arena days. Half a dozen Gamemakers were busy testing the toy drones designated to deliver the sponsors’ gifts. The drones found their recipients by facial recognition and could carry just one item at a time.

Lucky Flickerman, fresh off his interview success, had been tapped to host, backed up by a handful of Capitol News reporters. Coriolanus got a thrill when he saw himself slotted in at 8:15 the following morning, until Lucky said, “We wanted to make sure to get you in early. You know, before your girl buys it.”

He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Livia was bitter and Dr. Gaul insane, so he’d been able to ignore their certainty that Lucy Gray wasn’t a contender. But somehow goofy Lucky Flickerman’s words hit home in a way theirs could not. As he walked back to the apartment to prepare for his final meeting with Lucy Gray, he ruminated over the likelihood that she’d be dead by the same time tomorrow. The previous night’s jealousy over her loser of a boyfriend and the way her star quality sometimes outshone his own evaporated. He felt remarkably close to her, this girl who’d dropped into his life so unexpectedly and with such style. And it wasn’t just about the accolades she’d brought him. He was genuinely fond of her, far more than he was of most of the girls he knew in the Capitol. If she could survive — oh, sweet only if — how could they help but have a lifelong connection? But for all his positive talk, he knew the odds were not in her favor, and a heavy melancholy descended upon him.

At home, he lay on his bed, dreading having to say good-bye. He wished he could give Lucy Gray something beautiful that would really show his thanks for what she’d given him. A renewed sense of his worth. An opportunity to shine. A prize in the bag. And, of course, his life. It would have to be something very special. Precious. Something of his own, not like the roses, which were really the Grandma’am’s. Something that, if things went badly in the arena, she could wrap her fingers around as a reminder that he was with her, and find comfort in the fact that she was not dying alone. There was a silk scarf dyed a luscious deep orange that she could probably use in her hair. A gold pin he’d won for academic excellence, engraved with his name. Maybe a lock of his hair tied in a ribbon? What could be more personal than that?

Suddenly, he felt a surge of anger. What good were any of these unless she could use them to defend herself? What was he doing but dressing her

up to be a pretty corpse? Perhaps she could strangle someone with the scarf, or stab them with the pin? But there was no shortage of weaponry in the arena, if that were the issue.

He was still trying to figure out a gift when Tigris called him to the table. She had bought a pound of chopped beef and fried up four patties. Hers was considerably smaller, which he would’ve objected to if he didn’t know she always nibbled on the uncooked meat while she prepared the meal. Tigris craved it and would have eaten her whole portion raw if the Grandma’am hadn’t forbidden it. One of the patties was reserved for Lucy Gray, layered with toppings and nestled in a large bun. Tigris also made fried potatoes and creamed cabbage slaw, and Coriolanus selected the finest fruits and sweets from the gift basket from the hospital. Tigris laid a linen napkin in a small cardboard box decorated with brightly plumed birds and arranged the feast, topping the snowy white fabric with one final rosebud from the Grandma’am. Coriolanus had chosen a rich shade of peach tinged with crimson, because the Covey loved color, and Lucy Gray more than most.

“Tell her,” said Tigris, “that I am rooting for her.”

“Tell her,” the Grandma’am added, “that we are all so sorry she has to die.”

After the soft, sun-warmed evening air, the chill of Heavensbee Hall reminded Coriolanus of the Snow family mausoleum, where his parents had been laid to rest. Empty of students and their bustle, everything from footsteps to sighs echoed loudly, giving an otherworldly feeling to an already gloomy meeting. No lights had been turned on, the late rays that slipped through the windows being thought sufficient, but that contrasted sharply with the brightness of their earlier meetings. As the remaining mentors gathered on the balcony and surveyed their counterparts down below, a hush fell over them.

“The thing is,” Lysistrata whispered to Coriolanus, “I’ve become rather attached to Jessup.” She paused a moment, arranging the wrapping on a chunk of baked noodles and cheese. “He did save my life.” Coriolanus wondered what Lysistrata, who had been closer to him than anyone else in the arena, had seen when the bombs went off. Had she seen Lucy Gray save him? Was she hinting at that?

As they wove their way to their respective tables, Coriolanus forced himself to think positively. There was no profit in spending their last ten minutes together weeping when they could devote it to a winning strategy.

It helped quite a bit that Lucy Gray looked better than in previous meetings in the hall. Clean and groomed, her dress still fresh in the shadowy light, you’d think she’d readied herself for a party and not a slaughter. Her eyes lit on the box.

Coriolanus presented it with a small bow. “I come bearing gifts.”

Lucy Gray lifted the rose daintily and inhaled its fragrance. She plucked a petal and slipped it between her lips. “It tastes like bedtime,” she said with a sad smile. “What a pretty box.”

“Tigris was saving it for something special,” he said. “Go ahead and eat if you’re hungry. It’s still warm.”

“I think I will. Eat one last meal like a civilized person.” She pulled open the napkin and admired the contents of the box. “Oh, this looks prime.”

“There’s a lot, so you can share it with Jessup,” Coriolanus told her. “Although I think Lysistrata brought him something.”

“I would, but he stopped eating.” Lucy Gray shot Jessup a worried look. “Might just be nerves. He’s acting kind of funny, too. Of course, all kinds of crazy’s coming out of our mouths now.”

“Like what?” asked Coriolanus.

“Like last night Reaper apologized to each of us personally for having to kill us,” she explained. “He says he’ll make it up to us when he wins. He’s going to take revenge on the Capitol, although that part wasn’t as clear as the killing us part.”

Coriolanus’s glance flitted over to Reaper, who was not only powerful but apparently good at mind games. “What was the response to that?”

“Most people just stared at him. Jessup spit in his eye. I told him it wasn’t over until the mockingjay sang, but that only confused him. It’s his way of making sense of all this, I guess. We’re all reeling. It’s not easy . . . saying good-bye to your life.” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she pushed her sandwich aside without taking so much as a bite.

Feeling the conversation taking a fatalistic turn, Coriolanus steered it in another direction. “Lucky you don’t have to. Lucky you have triple the gifts of anybody else.”

Lucy Gray’s eyebrows shot up. “Triple?”

“Triple. You’re going to win this thing, Lucy Gray,” he said. “I’ve thought it through. The moment they hit that gong, you run. Run as fast as you can. Get up in those stands and put as much distance as you can between you and the others. Find a good hiding space. I’ll get you food.

Then you move to another space. Just keep moving and stay alive until the others all kill each other or starve to death. You can do it.”

“Can I? I know I’m the one who pushed you to believe in me, but last night I got to thinking about being in that arena. Trapped. All those weapons. Reaper coming after me. I feel more hopeful in the daytime, but when it gets dark, I get so afraid I —” Suddenly, tears began streaming down her face. It was the first time she hadn’t been able to contain them. On the stage after the mayor had hit her, or the time Coriolanus had given her bread pudding, she’d been on the verge of crying but managed to keep her tears in check. Now, as if a dam had broken, they flooded out.

Coriolanus felt something inside him unravel as he saw her helplessness and felt his own. He reached for her. “Oh, Lucy Gray . . .”

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

His fingers brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Of course you don’t. And I won’t let you.” She sobbed on. “I won’t let you, Lucy Gray!”

“You should let me. I’ve never been anything but trouble to you,” she choked out. “Putting you in danger and eating your food. And I could tell you hated my ballad. You’ll be well rid of me tomorrow.”

“I’ll be a wreck tomorrow! When I told you that you mattered to me, I didn’t mean as my tribute. I meant as you. You, Lucy Gray Baird, as a person. As my friend. As my —” What was the word for it? Sweetheart? Girlfriend? He could not claim more than a crush, and that might be one-sided. But what could he possibly have to lose by admitting she’d gotten to him? “I felt jealous after your ballad, because I wanted you to be thinking about me, not someone from your past. It’s stupid, I know. But you’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met. Really. Extraordinary in every way. And I . . .” Tears welled in his own eyes, but he blinked them away. He had to stay strong for them both. “And I don’t want to lose you. I refuse to lose you. Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll stop. It’s just . . . I feel so alone,” she said. “You’re not alone.” He took her hand. “And you won’t be alone in the

arena; we’ll be together. I’ll be there every moment. I won’t take my eyes off of you. We’ll win this thing together, Lucy Gray. I promise.”

She clung to him. “Sounds almost possible, the way you say it.”

“It’s more than possible,” he asserted. “It’s probable. It’s inevitable, if you just follow the plan.”

“You really believe that?” she said, watching his face. “Because if I thought you did, it could go a long way to making me believe it, too.”

The moment required a grand gesture. Fortunately, he had one. He had been on the fence, weighing the risk, but he couldn’t leave her like this, with nothing to hold on to. It was a matter of honor. She was his girl, she had saved his life, and he had to do everything he could to save hers.

“Listen. Are you listening?” She was still crying, but her sobs had quieted to small, intermittent gasps. “My mother left me something when she died. It’s my most precious possession. I want you to have it in the arena, for good luck. It’s a loan, mind you. I fully expect you to return it to me. Otherwise, I could never part with it.” Coriolanus reached into his pocket, extended his hand, and fanned out his fingers. On his palm, gleaming in the last rays of the sun, sat his mother’s silver compact.

Lucy Gray’s mouth dropped open at the sight of it, and she wasn’t easy to impress. She reached out and caressed the exquisitely engraved rose, the antique silver, before drawing back regretfully. “Oh, I couldn’t take it. It’s too fine. It’s enough you offered it, Coriolanus.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, teasing her a bit. He smoothly clicked the latch and held it up so she could see her reflection in the mirror.

Lucy Gray drew in a quick breath and laughed. “Well, now you’re playing on my weakness.” And it was true. She was always so careful with her appearance. Not vain, really. Just conscious. She noticed the empty well where the cake of powder had sat an hour earlier. “Did there used to be powder here?”

“There did, but —” began Coriolanus. He paused. If he said it, there was no going back. On the other hand, if he didn’t, he might be losing her for good. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought you might want to use your own.”