𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟎𝟑. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

— 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

How do you say goodbye to everything you've ever known? With a pathetic wave as the train leaves the station. But it was all I could muster to avoid letting the tears that I'd been holding back all afternoon from streaming down the sides of my face.

District nine was gone sooner than I thought, leaving only the path that lay ahead to prepare for. I should have been terrified. I should have been angry. I should have felt anything. I was numb. Even if I could manage to survive, what was waiting for me in district nine? A father who withered away with each passing day? As dearly as I loved him, I knew his heartache would be brief. Perhaps there was a chance when all was said and done, that would look to the skies and become whole once more.

Although each tribute was riding toward certain death, the Capitol certainly knew how to make one feel as if they were riding toward the very opposite. Lavish was the only word that came to mind when trying to describe the pristine interior of the train. White was a common theme: reminding us of the game's benefactor while acknowledging that once stained with red, it would be impossible to blot out. Although easily discarded as seen by the table cloth that was instantly switched out when my fellow tribute spilled his glass of juice.

"Oops," Harlan sheepishly muttered, keeping his head lowered between his tense shoulders as if waiting for something bad to happen.

"Not an issue." Esmé waved a hand and the servants along the outskirts of the wall cleared the cloth as the first course of our meal was brought to the table. "See, good as new. Everything can be replaced with enough money."

There was a dark undertone to her statement. But if the escort had intended anything else, she certainly didn't elaborate or even acknowledge it. She did glance down at the delicate silver watch around her wrist with a look of inconvenience. She muttered something under her breath, but I was too busy picking at the food on my plate to notice.

"Aren't you hungry, child?" Esmé asked. Only after she cleared her throat did I realize that she was speaking to me. I lifted my head, my expression silently asking her to repeat. "You've hardly touched a thing on your plate. To my knowledge your district doesn't provide enough to keep you properly fed."

"Maybe because most of it goes to the Capitol," Harlan muttered under his breath. However, it was additionally muffled by the fruit he'd crammed into his mouth. A nectarine if I knew better. I had heard though, which explained the way my lips curled at the ends.

"It's impolite to speak with your mouth full," Esmé didn't hesitate to correct him. "We'll need to tighten up these loose ends if we ever hope to get you sponsored... speaking of, it's really not my job to be initiating this conversation."

"It can wait," a gruff voice said, joining the conversation almost by invitation. "I wanted to see what I was working with."

My eyes flicked to the door, catching sight of a stranger that all twelve districts would be familiar with. It was impossible to confuse the man for someone else unless you'd been living under a rock.

Caius Sokolov. Otherwise deemed "the falcon" following his victory of the fifty-second annual hunger games. From what I'd heard from those who'd been old enough to remember, the Sokolov would swoop down from the trees, attacking his victims with the element of surprise.

Harlan coughed, choking on some food that had gone down the wrong pipe as he stared at our mentor with wide eyes. He croaked, "You're the falcon!"

"So everyone keeps reminding me," he retorted, taking a seat at the table beside the boy. He poured himself a glass of whiskey then knocked the kid on the back, restoring air to his lungs, "but maybe you should focus on breathing before anything else."