Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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The rhythmic rattle of the train lulled the victors and tributes into a tense silence. Azalea found herself seated next to Callum in the sofas, his nervousness palpable in the way he kept fidgeting. Across the small coffee table, Finnick and her father, Tomas, occupied the opposing seats.
An awkward silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic rumble of the train. Her father, finally cleared his throat.
"Well," he began, his voice strained, "I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Tomas Willow, District Four victor of the 48th Hunger Games."
Azalea shot him a sidelong glance. The forced formality of his words, the way he addressed her not as his daughter but as a fellow tribute, was a clear message. They were in public now, playing the roles assigned to them by the Capitol. Here, Finnick and Tomas were her mentors, not her family. She mirrored his detachment, her gaze fixed on a point out the window, the familiar landscape blurring into a meaningless canvas.
Tomas launched into his well-rehearsed spiel from every year, his voice devoid of warmth. "Alright, you two," he began, his gaze flitting between Callum and Azalea, "Consider me your guide to the bloodbath and beyond. My job is to suss out your strengths, weaknesses, anything that might get you out of there alive."
Tomas leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a cold pragmatism. "The Games are about survival, but not just out there in the arena. You've got to sell yourselves to the Capitol. Charm them, make them think you're worthy of their sponsorships. Without sponsors, you're as good as dead."
Azalea listened politely, her eyes flitting between Tomas and Finnick. While Tomas droned on about survival strategies and the fickle nature of Capitol audiences, Azalea found herself increasingly fixated on Finnick. He sat rigidly, his gaze fixed out the window, a picture of studied indifference. Except for that one glance at the reaping, he had avoided any eye contact with her ever since.
A knot of frustration tightened in Azalea's gut. He acted just like his father, as if she were some random tribute, a girl he barely knew. She expected it from Tomas, she grew up with the man. But Finnick?
"And you will need allies. No tribute has survived without a sort of alliance in the hunger games, well if you don't count Odair." Tomas continued, getting Azalea out of her thoughts.
Tomas finished laying out the grim reality of the Games, his gaze finally settling on Callum. "Alright then, Callum right?," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "Tell me, what are you best at in the academy?"
A smug grin spreading across Callum's face as he answered Tomas. "Knife throwing, I'm the best in District Four."
Azalea rolled her eyes, a silent rebuttal to his boast. He was only the best due to it being separated by gender, other wise she would have easily taken first place.
"Ah yes, I remember seeing you name in the ranking. Good to know we have very good tributes this year." Tomas complimented as he trailed off, his gaze flicking between Callum and Azalea. "But it's not ideal, is it? Seeing two tributes from the same district dominate the same skill wouldn't exactly make for riveting viewing."
