The Hunger Games: Staying True. (Completed)

Chapter Three; Your Fight Starts Now. [Edited]

Alden has been gone for about fifteen minutes, so I assume I haven't got any more visitors to say goodbye to. I wonder what will happen now. Will I meet my mentor? Will we even get mentors this year? Stylists? Will we be well-fed and well-rested?

Or will they do everything in their power to make sure we suffer?

Before the Rebellion, before today, even, I'd have said that there's no way. That the rebels were the better people. They were fighting to end an awful dictatorship, where people lived in fear every single day.

That was before. Now? I haven't the faintest idea.

There is a light knock on the door, and it pops open after a moment. The soldier stands on the threshold, staring in at me with curiosity.

"Is there someone else to visit?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"No."

He steps into the room and closes the door quietly behind him. I tense. Will Coin order us beat up? Weakened? Interrogated?

He's tall, with wide shoulders and long legs, scarred knuckles that speak of violence. There's still scratches that are healing around his left eye. I guess he was in the war too. His hair is messy and dark brown, his eyes a flat grey. While he's handsome enough, he's nothing special.

"I heard almost everything."

My stomach darts all the way down to the tips of my toes, first out of shock, then out of terror, and then finally out of anger. I'm already on my feet, hands balled into fists and ready to lunge at him.

"All of this was supposed to be private." I growl.

He watches me carefully, but there's a small smile on his face. Arrogant, I decide immediately. "These doors are paper thin." He clatters his knuckles on the wood, as if to prove his point. "I'm sorry, if that helps."

"It doesn't."

"Well then," he shrugs, but then he's inspecting me with a gaze riddled with intelligence. "Is it true? What your brother said? What he hinted at?"

My eyes narrow. Then, I lift my hand and tap my right ear twice. It is the universal signal to let a person know that someone is listening to them, at least, it is in the Capitol. Children often learn it early to communicate whether or not their parents or tutors are listening to their conversation.

Clearly, it is the same in the Districts, because he dips his head. He doesn't seem shocked, but he doesn't seem surprised either. He taps his cheek beneath his right eye twice. Then shakes his head once.

Good, so no one is watching. That's a relief, if only a small one.

"He was talking about me fighting during the war." I tell the soldier, hoping that the small pause will be mistaken for me being cautious. "I was out in the streets killing Peacekeepers. I got shot for my troubles."

"I got stabbed for it." He smiles softly, but he is still staring intently. Clearly, he knows there is more to the story. But why should I tell him? He's on their side, and he's glad to be.

"Yeah?" I quirk an eyebrow. "You're not from 13, are you?"

"12, actually." He nods.

"Will you go back there? Once it's rebuilt?"

"I doubt it," he shrugs. "I'll probably go to District 2, get a job there."

"I'm sure that will be easy, considering almost everyone there is dead now." I snort. He smiles, but it's a sad one. Nobody really smiles properly anymore.