𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

───── THE THIRD DAY OF TRAINING meant they'd finally be having their private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district. First the boy, then the girl tribute. It was both daunting and reassuring. Delphi was almost guaranteed to have the Gamemaker's attention, but unless she made sure to stand out, she risked being drowned out in the following sea of faces.

Finnick and Mags had debriefed them as much as they could during breakfast.

"This is important," Finnick stressed, "Higher ratings mean more sponsors. This is the time to show them everything you've been hiding. As District Four, you have the advantage of seeing them first. But you'll be seen around brunch, so their attention may wander. I don't care what you have to do to get it back on you. Just do it."

It had seemed so simple at breakfast. They'd already been watching them through training, so why was this any different?

It wasn't until she had been gathered into a small waiting room and told to take a seat did the anxiety kick in.

Delphi was about to go in front of the Gamemakers, the very same people who were designing the stage and setting of her possible death. She was going to show off for however long she was required to, and then depending on her showcase, she'd be given a number through twelve, one being irredeemably awful and twelve being unattainably high. That number would then be broadcasted to Panem. A single number was meant to sum up her importance and her ability to survive. This score was important—it could make or break a sponsorship, and Delphi needed those.

Of course, scores weren't a promise of a Victor—they just helped tremendously. Nireus had still won his Games, and he had scored a three. Sure, whole time, he had struggled with a lack of—he had almost died from a festering wound—but he had still won.

One by one, the tributes trickled out of the room.

Jason looked sick with nerves and when his name was finally called, Delphi was worried he would keel over. "Good luck."

Instead of responding, he just struggled for a smile and scampered off.

The air was different now that seven other tributes were gone. All of them had yet to come back and it had everyone shifting nervously, unsure of what was happening beyond the reflective metal of the double doors.

Delphi clenched and unclenched her jaw, her hands drifting to her neck, reaching for a necklace that wasn't there.

Fifteen minutes after Jason had left, her own name was called. She shot up as if she'd been shot, drawing a dozen eyes to her figure. Breathing deep, Delphi shouldered the weight of their stares and lifted her chin high as she entered the gymnasium.

A few bleary, wine-drunk eyes stared down at her. The rest of the Gamemakers meandered about the viewing box, long-stemmed glasses in more hands than she cared to count. How they were already so tipsy, so early in the assessments, Delphi didn't know. She didn't care. All that mattered was that she stood stock still, watching with bubbling anger as they stretched and yawned and feasted upon some sort of roasted bird as if she wasn't even in the room.

As if she wasn't hungry and tired. As if she didn't want to go home.

"Delphi Jonah," Clyata announced, and Delphi straightened to attention, "District Four."

A few more heads turned in her direction, but it was still not enough. Most of the Gamemakers grazed around the buffet, tossing back their drinks as if they'd drop dead without a full mouth. Delphi's nostrils flared, her hands balling into fists. She let her snort nails bite into her palm for one brief moment and then forced herself to breathe, relax.

There was a spread of stations, a variety of weapons and targets, and various other equipment at her disposal. She strolled over to a cart of weapons. It was difficult to choose a spear with such a wide variety—including a few javelins and tridents—but not wanting to lose the attention of the few day-drinking Gamemakers she had, Delphi was quick to pick out a few that didn't have too much weight.

She kicked over the rest.

The clatter was loud, the air ringing with the shriek of metal on metal, the javelins, spears, and tridents spilling onto the floor in a heap that had the Gamemakers jumping in that dramatic way every Capitolite had about them. Adamaris Finche shot to her feet, and Delphi met her gaze steadily, her head held high as if her heart wasn't thundering in her chest.

Grow a spine, Finnick had told her. I don't care what you have to do to get their attention on you. Just do it. Well, here she was, her spine blossoming and all eyes on her.

"If it's alright with you," she called to the viewing box with a biting smile, "I'll get started, now."

Whipping back around, Delphi stalked towards the targets used for knife throwing instead of the standing dummies.

Dropping all spears but one, she pressed a button on a panel and the targets began lighting up. They moved on an invisible track, weaving around each other so that where one began and one ended was impossible to discern, and it was difficult to guess which one would be where.

But in the end, they were all bigger and slower than a school of fish.

Narrowing her eyes, Delphi reeled back her arm. One by one, she threw her chosen spears with a grunt. One skewered the target in the head, another in the gut. Her third landed inches from the red spot in the chest where the heart would be. Instead of bending to pick up her weapons, Delphi hooked her foot beneath it and kicked it up for efficiency. Again, and again, and again.

Her shoulder ached with the force, needles and pins poking her muscles, but she didn't stop. Every blow was a killing one, and when she picked up her seventh and final spear, she turned away from the moving targets and threw it with so much force she wobbled on her feet.

It drove through the plastic skull of a dummy nine yards away, wedged to the hilt.

The Gamemakers gasped, an appreciative murmur rolling down from their balcony. Heads ducked together as they conversed, but not wanting to lose the attention she had gotten, Delphi buzzed around the gymnasium. She ran another obstacle course to show how quickly she could move, showed off again with a net and spear, and was in the middle of debating whether or not they'd still watch her as she wove a basket when Head Gamemaker Adamaris Finche pressed a single button on a wall, and her voice boomed through the speakers around the room.

"That will be all," she said, her eyes flashing dangerously, "You are dismissed."

Chest heaving from exertion, Delphi bowed her head and spat, "Thank you for your consideration."

When she left the room, she tried not to run. At least, not until she was in the hall and the doors closed behind her.

The silent servants on either side of the elevator looked surprised at how fast she blew past them. Without waiting for them to act, she jabbed her thumb into the dimly lit button of her floor. She held her breath as she furiously tapped the button to close the doors, certain that if they didn't, Finche would spring from the shadows just to throttle her.

The moment the doors opened, she was rushing into her quarters.

Jason, Mags, and Finnick were waiting for her on the couches in the living room when she returned. Helvius, Leto, and Aulus, too.

She tried not to let them see the shake of her hands and the heaviness of her breathing. She had already allowed herself a miniature freak-out in the elevator on the way up from the lower levels, pulling at her frizzy hair and scolding her wide-eyed reflection.

What she did hadn't been drastic by any means, but it was audacious. Talking down to the very men and women who had the ability to manufacture ways to kill her? What had she been thinking? Well, that was a trick question, because clearly she hadn't been! She had been angry at being ignored and brought their attention to her the only way she knew how.

"There's the girl of the hour!" Aulus cheered, "Darling, we were just talking about you!"

"All awful things," Finnick promised.

She forced a laugh, even while Mags rolled her eyes and the Capitolites scolded him for teasing her. "Good, I don't want any lies being spread about me."

Jason looked exhausted, his arms limp against the soft cushions. Delphi collapsed in the spot next to him, and he just barely managed to move his elbow out of the way so she didn't sit on him.

"What happened to you?" She asked.

"Life," he responded dramatically.

"He's throwing a fit," Finnick explained. "Dragging his feet, whining, the works."

"What he means is Jason was just telling us about his private assessment," Helvius explained. He leaned forward, almost toppling off of the couch. Leto steadied him with a hand on his knee. "Please, continue."

"Uhm," Jason's ears went red, "Well, after I did the plant recognition station—"

"Which was good," Finnick praised, "Shows them your ability to adapt through the screen, your reflexes, and your knowledge."

Jason hesitated. He clearly hadn't put that much thought into it. "Yes, exactly. So I showed them... all of that. And then I attacked some dummies with a sickle. I tried to throw some knives, but I dropped them."

Mags hissed sympathetically, and Jason went redder. He continued, "They laughed, so I just made a joke and rigged a few snares. Do you know what that'll get me?"

Kissing the back of his teeth in thought, Finnick eventually said, "No, I don't. We can speculate, but that'll do us no good. We won't know either of your scores for certain until the Gamemakers reveal them on television later tonight."

All of that Delphi could gather. The Capitol liked a pageant, and letting their Mentors break their good—or awful—scores to them to soften the blow didn't fit into that.

What good was humiliation if it wasn't public?

"So, Delphi," Finnick turned to her, "How bad were you today?"

She grimaced at his joking tone, tossing a decorative pillow in his direction. He caught it easily and with a laugh.

If only he knew.

Glancing around wearily, she began explaining her showcase with the spears. The way they'd all gasped when she'd drove one through the dummy entirely. She mentioned offhandedly how Adamaris Finche had been standing, watching, and that sent Helvius, Leto, and Aulus into hysterics. Mags' face screwed up, and Finnick looked as if she'd informed him she'd planted a dead mouse in his shoe.

"I ended up going through a few of the obstacle courses in the end," she finished, "I just didn't know what to do after that, aside from weave them some baskets or a net."

Jason scoffed. "Don't listen to her. That's impressive, too. She did one of the courses with a huge net and weird bars in nineteen seconds."

"Only because I've spent years climbing ratlines," she reminded him, "It's all easier on steady ground."

"The girl from Ten almost broke an arm on the nets," Jason countered, "and Ruby Royce struggled with the bars."

All Delphi could do was shrug. "I'm taller. I have a longer reach."

Jason's arm flailed in what would have been a swooping gesture, if he had more strength in them. Instead it simply rose and then flopped back to the couch cushion. Finnick chuckled at their bickering, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

"Well, it sounded like you both did good. Lots of promise. Though if you do get an average score, we could always frame it as..." Delphi didn't know what was on her face, but when Finnick glanced at her, he paused. "Alright, sweetheart, spit it out. What did you do?"

Deflating under his hard stare, Delphi muttered out several excuses in between the truth.

Everyone paused. Helvius sounded exasperated as he asked, "Use your voice, Delphi!"

"I kicked over a cart of weapons!" She repeated, "They weren't looking at me, and they were all drunk, so I got their attention the only way I could think of!"

The living room exploded with noise. Helvius and Leto spoke over each other, each trying to scold her the loudest. Even Mags placed her head in her hands, but Finnick didn't react the way she had expected. Instead he threw his head back, laughing loudly.

"How can you laugh?" Jason asked over the noise.

She hadn't even thought about how he would feel—or how she may have painted a target on his back, too. "I was mad," she defended herself lamely. "They weren't taking me seriously."

"Mad!" Hevlius stressed, delicately placing a hand on his forehead, "Mad, she says—Delphi, you went insane!"

Leto tapped a sharp, black nail against her painted lips. "So, Adamaris didn't take notice of you because you were outstanding. She took notice because you couldn't help but act impertinent."

She should have felt offended, or maybe ashamed, but all Delphi could focus on was the slow shake of Mags' head, and the pleased quirk of Finnick's lips.

"Finnick!" Aulus squawked, fanning himself as if he were at risk of fainting, "Finnick, darling, mentor your tribute! Talk some sense into her!"

Finnick's shoulders shook, like at any moment he'd dissolve into inappropriate laughter once more. "I'm always happy to see a tribute taking initiative," he said pleasantly, "Good on you for making an impression."

"What?" Helvius cried in betrayal.

Finnick shrugged, unapologetic. "Look, the Gamemakers have a show to put on. She dropped entertainment gold into their lap. They'll need some players with some heat, and now they know she's that player."

"So, they're not gonna punish me?" She asked, for Jason's sake, more than her own. "Arrest me for my insanity?"

Mags made a little, strangled noise, and then a few signs. Finnick eyed her still moving hands, translating, "Doubtful. Temper tantrums happen more often than you think, and to remove you from the games, they would have to reveal to the public what happened in the Training Center. Which they'd never do, because it's a secret. Then, they'd have to redo the Reaping, bring in your replacement, and all of that is just too much work so close to the Games. If you hurt Finche's feelings, she'll take it out on you in the arena."

Leto and Aulus may have huffed and puffed, but it was Helvius who wailed in displeasure when Delphi said, "Oh, so it'll be as if nothing had happened."

Mags wheezed a laugh, and Finnick nodded, his smile still in place. "Business as usual. The most they may do is bring down your score, but with Mentors like Mags and I, it'll take more than that to sabotage your sponsorships."

Crossed her arms over her chest, Delphi lifted a teasing brow. "Because you're that charming?"

It took even her by surprise. When had she become comfortable joking with Finnick Odair? When had she stopped walking on egg shells around him? Finnick's smile widened. The hard edge in his eyes that he had been carrying around for the last three days eased.

He leaned forward. "Exactly."

There was a lull in their conversation, then. The nervous rumble of the cosmetic team died down, and Finnick leaned back against the couch. He asked, "What were their faces like?"

"Finnick!" Aulus scolded, "Don't encourage this behavior."

Delphi twirled a stray strand of hair around her finger, snorting as an image popped into mind. "Oh, they looked scandalized. One man was so startled, he dribbled soup on himself."

Jason snorted into his hand, and Helvius gasped, betrayed. "You've become a rotten influence, Delphi!" He cried, "Move over here, Jason. I don't want you mixing with the likes of her any longer!"

Soon after, dinner was served. It dragged on, especially since Helvius was still huffing and Leto was shorter with Delphi than usual. After dessert, Jason and Delphi practically tripped over themselves rushing back to the living room. They tossed around the throw pillows looking for the remote, and were shamefully made to put them all back when Aulus found it resting on the coffee table and leveled them with looks of disappointment.

Panem's anthem blasted from the speakers as they all settled in for the program. Delphi leaned forward as Caesar and Claudius appeared on screen.

"Now, the Gamekeepers would like to acknowledge that there was an exceptional display from each tribute," Caesar tapped his pen against the marble table, "And that in the end, the odds are always and equally in their favor. With that being said, lets start with Maddox Faustine from District One, with a score of... nine!"

With each tribute, they listed their name and their district. They'd first show a picture of the tribute taken from training without their knowledge, and then their number would circle their face, and then it was on to the next.

Delphi found herself holding her breath when Caesar said, "Jason Reeves from District Four with a score of... five!"

She exhaled sharply. Jason deflated, but Finnick clapped a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. "Hey, we'll make it work."

It wasn't ideal, given his age and their only prospect for an alliance, but it wasn't awful. If any of the trained tributes tried to stir up trouble about it, she could at least point out that Ruby Royce had made a seven.

Still. If they stuck with the trained tributes, they would try to eat Jason alive. She could only hope that her score was good enough that it balanced out his average one.

"Whose that odd little fellow you dressed a few years back, Leto?" Aulus fanned himself once more, his eyes focused entirely on the screen as they introduced Delphi, "Nigh-rus? He scored low too, didn't he?"

"Nireus," Leto confirmed, "Scored a three, but returned a Victor. A good score certainly would have helped, but in the end it's just a number, so no one pays much attention to the mediocre ones..."

"Shush!" Delphi hissed.

She never took her eyes off of the screen. She didn't even care if she was being rude. Aulus and Leto didn't have much time to care, either. Her photo flickered, and she almost fainted as the large glowing nine circled her body.

Nine. A nine. Maybe Adamaris Finche had it out for her; maybe she had seen through her boney shoulders and long sleeves, and this was a way to mark her as dangerous, to make her a priority for people to kill off. Or maybe, somehow, the score was genuine and she had impressed the Gamemakers enough that they had given her a nine.

For not the first time, she wished she could see the look on her parent's faces. On Maureen, and Isla's. They'd all be feeling incredibly smug, right now. Her mother especially. After the waves she had made with her debut, and now her score, Theia Jonah would have to be yelling at the television a repeated 'I told you so!'

And maybe her mother was right. Maybe she could win.

"It's just a number," Finnick repeated over the stylists cheering and congratulating, but even he looked at her with a glowing smile that made her warm in the face, "But that's a pretty good one."

"Just because your impudence didn't bite you in your behind now, doesn't mean it won't later," Leto warned, and though it sounded like good advice from a concerned party, any of that was quickly dashed by her wagging a stern finger at Delphi and continuing, "And I refuse to have my fashion associated with an instigator. I dress sensible, respectful Victors and if you think this gives you a pass to be anything but, I'll be throwing your interview dress in the garbage and sending you on Caesar in a potato sack!"

Aulus and Helvius gave horrified gasps at the threat. Delphi had to bite the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron to stop herself from laughing.

"My interview dress?" She asked to get Leto's attention off of scolding her, "Are we still sticking with a natural ocean theme?"

A muscle in Leto's cheek pulsed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Delphi just sighed. Her stylist was simultaneously her most stubborn supporter and her biggest critic.

After the reveal of her score, Delphi let her tense muscles relax. She sank back into the couch, watching and criticizing the scores that the other tributes were given. The big numbers evened out into smaller ones. Everyone averaged around a five, which Finnick—translating for Mags—claimed was normal. She didn't miss the way the tension in Jason's shoulders eased, nor was she surprised when both the bitter looking girl from Six and Leif Cavendish from district Seven scored an eight.

When Dirk Myers from district twelve was revealed to have a score of seven—which was uncharacteristically high for Twelve, in the last six years she'd never seen any of their Tributes break above a four—Finnick was quiet.

"What?" She asked him.

Somehow, he managed to pry his eyes from the screen. He shook his head, his brows knitted together and making his expression indecipherable once more. "Nothing. Just thinking. Delphi, Jason, you two did some good work in training. Scores aren't everything, though. Remember that. Public opinion is fickle and can change like the weather. Now why don't you rest up? You've both got a long day tomorrow."

Leto and Aulus twittered excitedly while Delphi's shoulders fell. Tomorrow was the end of the week and the final day. To wrap up their training and time in the Capitol, they had to do an interview with Caesar Flickerman in person. Then, the following morning came the arena filled with twenty-two girls and boys, all aiming to kill each other. Kill her.

In a few weeks, between her and Jason, one of them—if not both—would be dead. Her mother and father would be without their only daughter. And all of the Capitolites in the room seemed excited at the prospect.

The apartment was suddenly less luxurious, more suffocating. A cage lined in satin and velvet and sea glass.

"Okay," she agreed easily.

Anything to escape Aulus and Helvius' bubbling laughter.

Caesar was still on the screen, but now he was speaking of recent Victors and their training scores starting with the boy from last year, Augustus Braun, and his own impressive score of ten. As she made her way back to her quarters, Delphi couldn't help but wonder what Finnick's had been.

Something sharp and hot struck her in the chest when she realized she couldn't remember, and she may never get the chance to ask him. Or Mags.

In the bedroom, she didn't bother to try sleeping. The door swung closed behind her and Delphi started stripping, almost tripping over herself as she shucked off her leggings. Fumbling with the many buttons on the shower, she held her hand under the spray until the water turned warm, and then borderline scalding. Only then did she hop in, lathering herself in soap.

She didn't know how long she was in the shower for. At home, if she and her parents all wanted to have a hot shower, then they each only had a good few minutes for a quick scrub. In the Capitol, cold water wasn't a concern.

It wasn't even a possibility.

A small part of her wanted to leave the shower running, just to see if it would stay hot throughout the night, but she decided against it. Not only did she suspect the silent woman from earlier—or someone similar—would turn it off, but it felt wrong to waste so much water when she knew people who didn't even have a shower.

Getting dressed slowly, Delphi kept an ear strained for noise coming from the living room. She heard nothing and the crack under her door didn't show any light, so she assumed everyone was asleep. Grabbing a soft sweater from the closet, she slowly crept out of the bedroom, and through the apartment.

Nobody stopped her.

The elevator ride was silent, and her slippers smacked against the tile of the floor as she climbed the stairs.

The roof door opened without so much as a sound. The wind was sharp and bitter on her cheeks, her wet hair like ice on the back of her neck, and Delphi was thankful for it.

She wasted no time in approaching the garden. She wandered through it, her fingers skimming the soft petals. She had been too harsh on Mags—time alone on the roof had become a lifeline. While she was aware that there had to be cameras on her, when the walls started closing in, the open roof gave her a sense of peace.

Seating herself on a simple metal bench, Delphi tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and breathed deep.

All of the flowers had fake, contrasting smells, and they all smelt strong. If she closed her eyes, the noise below was the honking of boat horns, and the smells around her were fish and crustacean. Or it was the chaotic noise of the market, and she was smelling the wares of the day.

"So I tell you we have a long day, and this what you do?"

Delphi's mental image shattered. She frowned.

"If I have a long day, and you're my mentor, what are you doing up?" She countered.

"Thinking up very important strategies," Finnick mused, "admiring the view. Wasting time and suffering under the weight of my own hypocrisy."

"Sounds like fun," Delphi said.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Finnick stood before her with his hands in his pockets, bundled up tightly in a warm, wool sweater. The corner of his mouth was slanted into a small smile. Not wanting to be caught staring at his mouth, she swept her gaze away from him and to the flowers around her.

"You've got a twisted definition of fun," Finnick told her.

A pang of longing hammered in her chest, hard and sudden. She missed Isla. From the gap between her teeth, the untamable curls along the back of her neck, and the teasing spark in her eyes. She missed when her biggest problem of the day was her being roped into helping someone else with their work, or remembering to smother her body in sun lotion so she wouldn't get burned.

But there was something else, too. Underneath the desire to be home, and in the arms of anyone familiar. When she had been given the chance, Isla hadn't come and seen her. Hadn't bothered to give her a farewell.

It hurt, probably more than it should have.

It wasn't as if she was obligated to, Delphi tried to reason with herself, They weren't really anything.

But that didn't seem right, either. Though they had only been playful and teasing, never really calling their outings dates, they had at least called each other a friend.

So stuck in her own thoughts, she barely noticed when Finnick collapsed onto the bench next to her. His voice was soft as he asked, "What are you doing up, Delphi?"

She didn't turn to face him. Instead she gave a small shrug. "I couldn't sleep."

She had to commend him—he was a very dedicated mentor. Even when speaking with her was like pulling teeth, he still tried. "Well, are you gonna make me guess why?"

Her smile rose and then fell just as quickly. "What, you don't like twenty questions?"

He poked and prodded, she dodged and ducked. It was easy. Or at least easier than having to admit her nerves, her yearning for home, and all the people in it. She couldn't even begin to explain the complicated tangle of emotions in her chest, the caged panic that had her fleeing for the roof each night for just a whiff of fresh air. It would need to be heavily censored, for sure—the Capitol wouldn't be pleased to know that she came up here to pretend she was back home, not to admire the beauty of their roses.

"If I'm asking a question, it means I don't know the answer," Finnick shrugged, "I like to know things."

That made sense, she supposed. He did carry himself with the swagger of someone who knew everything.

"I can't stop thinking about my score," she admitted, "Or my alliance. When I came to the Capitol, sure, I didn't want to die, but all my hopes were hinging on someone else being willing to pay my way. Now, the Gamemakers think my chances are nine in twelve, and I have an alliance with the most dangerous players in the Games."

Finnick arched a brow. He eyed her curiously, his green eyes once more trying to pick her to pieces, to see how they fit together. "I'm sensing a but, here."

"But," she stressed, ignoring his soft, 'Knew it,' "I don't feel particularly dangerous."

"I don't know," he mused, "I felt like I was in danger when you attacked me earlier."

"It was a pillow. You'll live."

"It's about principle," he stressed, placing a hand on his chest. "As your mentor, it's my job to take care of you. Which means it's your job to be nice to me."

Delphi could only blink at him. Slowly. "I quit."

Finnick laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, my dear, dear Delphi. There's no quitting. You're stuck with me."

He was warm, she realized with a scrunched nose. Warm enough to cut through the chill of the roof. And he smelled herbal. Minty.

Not wanting to dwell on it further, Delphi rolled her eyes and shrugged him off, but she couldn't quite shake his words. It could be a careless joke, just brushing her off. Nothing more than a slip of the tongue. She doubted it. Finnick Odair was anything but careless. He was methodical, with several different plans and ideas for one of her own.

Maybe, she thought, relaxing at his side and turning her attention to the tangled vines of white roses above her head, Finnick actually thinks I have a chance at winning.

After all, nine in twelve weren't terrible odds.