The train that carried us away from District 12 was like nothing I'd ever experienced—even Jake Carter's memories of luxury paled in comparison.
Everything gleamed with an almost offensive opulence: crystal chandeliers, polished mahogany tables, plush velvet seats. The air itself smelled expensive, perfumed with subtle scents I couldn't identify.
Effie Trinket led us through the train, chattering about schedules and Capitol etiquette while Madge and I followed in stunned silence. I'd known what to expect from the movies, but experiencing it firsthand was different—the huge contrast between our coal-dust district and this moving palace was deliberately jarring, another reminder of the Capitol's excess and our district's deprivation.
"Your rooms are here," Effie announced, gesturing to adjacent compartments.
"Dinner will be served in one hour. Do freshen up—Haymitch might be joining us if he's... functional." Her disapproval was evident in the tightening of her painted lips.
When she'd clip-clopped away on her ridiculous heels, I turned to Madge.
She hadn't spoken a word since the Reaping, her face had a carefully composed mask that revealed nothing of her thoughts.
"Are you okay?" I asked, immediately regretting the stupidity of the question. Of course she wasn't okay. Neither of us was.
"I'm fine," she replied automatically, then gave a small, bitter laugh. "That's crazy, isn't it? To say I'm fine when we're being taken to the Capitol to die."
Her bluntness surprised me. I'd expected the mayor's daughter to be more guarded, more diplomatic.
"Maybe not both of us," I said carefully, thinking of the rule change that would come later in the Games, the possibility that we could both survive if we played this right.
She gave me a look of mingled pity and confusion. "That's kind of you to say, but we both know the odds. Twenty-four go in, one comes out."
She hesitated, then added quietly, "And we both know I won't be that one."
She slipped into her compartment, before I could respond. The door sliding shut behind her with a soft electronic hiss.
I entered my own room, trying to process this new development.
In the original storyline, Katniss had been fierce, determined, skilled with a bow, a provider for her family.
Madge was... well, I realized I knew very little about her. I heard from a friend—who was a fan of the books—that she'd been a minor character, appearing only briefly to give Katniss the mockingjay pin and later as a casualty of the District 12 bombing.
This Madge was a mystery to me, and now my survival—and the potential revolution—might depend on understanding her.
I showered, washing away the coal dust of District 12 and the lingering scent of the forge. The hot water and bewildering array of scented soaps were a luxury I'd never experienced in either of my lives. When I emerged, I found clothes laid out on the bed—simple but clearly expensive pants and a green shirt that matched my eyes exactly.
Capitol efficiency was unnerving sometimes.
As I dressed, I felt the weight of the mockingjay pin in the pocket of my Reaping clothes. I took it out, studying the small gold bird captured mid-flight within its circle. This pin had become the symbol of the rebellion and the movie franchise itself—the mockingjay, a creature the Capitol never intended to exist, born from their own genetically engineered birds that had mated with wild mockingbirds.
Now it was in my hands, not Katniss's. What did that mean for the future?
After a moment's consideration, I pinned it to my shirt, alongside the hammer pendant my father had given me. Two symbols, one from each of the families who cared for me—the blacksmith's son and the mayor's ally.
When I entered the dining car at the appointed time, I found Madge already seated, wearing a simple green dress that complemented her fair coloring. Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, making her look younger and more vulnerable than she had at the Reaping. And objectively, she was very attractive. Like a Barbie doll Lily would have loved to play with.
Around her neck, I noticed a thin gold chain with a small pendant—the matching mockingjay pin her father had mentioned.
She looked up as I entered, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of my pin.
"My father gave it to you," she said stated softly, touching her own pendant. "They're a pair. The one I have is my mother's…"
"He said it was your aunt's," I replied, taking the seat across from her. "That it's meant to bring protection."
Something complex crossed her face—sorrow, pride, and maybe a touch of fear. "My aunt Maysilee. She died in the 50th Hunger Games. The Second Quarter Quell."
I nodded, though I don't know the details, I knew it'd be hard for them to accept another family member being picked by the Capitol. "I'm sorry."
"It's why my father..." She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable completing the thought.
"Why he's so afraid for you," I finished gently.
She nodded, looking down at her empty plate. "My mother already lost her twin sister to the Games. The thought of losing me too..." She shook her head. "It would destroy both of them."
The door slid open before I could respond, and Effie Trinket entered, followed by a surprisingly steady Haymitch Abernathy.
Our mentor looked better than I'd expected—his eyes clear, his gait stable. He'd clearly made an effort to sober up, which was different and a surprise. He'd been falling-down drunk until the train ride was well underway with Katniss and Peeta.
"Well, well," he said, dropping into a chair and eyeing us critically. "The mayor's daughter and the blacksmith's son. This should be interesting."
"Haymitch," Effie chided, "these are our tributes. Show some enthusiasm."
"Oh, I'm enthusiastic," he drawled, reaching for a crystal decanter of amber liquid. "Especially about the fact that our male tribute seems to have made quite an impression already." He nodded toward my chest, where both the hammer and mockingjay were displayed. "Two tokens? That's unusual."
"The hammer is from my father," I explained. "The pin was a gift from Mayor Undersee."
Haymitch's eyebrows rose. "The mayor gave you his family's heirloom? Now that's a surprise." His gaze shifted between Madge and me, speculation in his bloodshot eyes.
Silent attendants began serving dinner—a procession of fancy dishes I don't know the names of. Creamy soups, roasted meats, vegetables prepared in ways I couldn't identify, and desserts that seemed designed more for appearance than consumption.
Madge ate very little, pushing food around her plate. I tried to pace myself, remembering how rich Capitol food could upset stomachs accustomed to District 12's simpler fare.
"So," Haymitch said finally, setting down his glass, "let's talk strategy. What are your skills?"
Madge looked up, surprised at the direct question. I realized she'd probably expected Haymitch to be as drunk and dismissive as his reputation suggested.
"I don't have any," she said flatly. "I've never had to hunt or fight or go hungry."
"Everyone has skills," Haymitch countered. "Maybe not the kind that immediately translate to killing, but skills nonetheless. Are you smart?"
She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "I do well in school."
"She's being modest," I interjected, drawing on Jake Thompson's memories of school with Madge. "She's usually top of the class. And she has a perfect memory—never forgets anything she reads."
Madge looked at me in shock, clearly not expecting me to know or share this information.
"Good," Haymitch said. "Intelligence is underrated in the arena. Most tributes die from exposure or dehydration, not combat. What else?"
Madge frowned, considering. "I play the piano. My mother taught me."
Haymitch nodded thoughtfully. "Dexterity, then. Good for fine motor skills, which helps with snares, fire-starting, and certain weapons like knives or darts." He turned to me. "And you, hammer boy?"
"I work in my father's forge," I said. "I'm strong, and I know how to use tools that could serve as weapons. I can start fires easily, identify different metals, and I'm good with my hands."
"He's the one being modest now," Madge said, countering me with her support. "Jake is the best athlete in his grade. He can outrun most people, and he's good at thinking on his feet."
I blinked at her. "How do you know that?"
A flush rose to her cheeks. "I notice things. And everyone knows about the time you tackled Greasy Sae's escaped pig when it was charging toward the Mellark bakery."
Haymitch barked a laugh. "Pig wrestling? Not bad preparation for the arena, actually."
"It wasn't wrestling so much as a flying tackle," Madge clarified, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "It was quite impressive."
I felt my own face warming at her unexpected praise and the embarrassing memory.
"Well, this is promising," Haymitch said, refilling his glass. "We have two tributes who actually seem competent. What about allies? Thinking of teaming up in the arena?"
Madge and I exchanged glances. The question hung between us, loaded with implications. Katniss and Peeta had formed an alliance that became the foundation of their "star-crossed lovers" narrative. But Madge and I barely knew each other.
"Yes. I would like that," I said carefully, watching her reaction. "If Madge wants to."
She studied me for a long moment, calculation visible behind her blue eyes. "Why would you want to ally with me? You'd be better off with someone stronger."
"Alliances aren't just about physical strength," I pointed out. "Your intelligence, your memory—those are valuable. And—" I hesitated, then decided on honesty.
"And I promised your father I'd protect you."
Shock registered on her face. "You what?"
"He came to say goodbye to me," I explained, aware of Haymitch and Effie listening intently. "He asked me to... to make it quick if it came down to the two of us. Instead, I promised to protect you."
"That wasn't his place to ask," she said, anger flashing in her eyes. "And it wasn't yours to promise. I don't need your protection or your pity."
"It's not pity," I insisted. "It's strategy. We're both from Twelve. We know each other. We trust each other more than we'd trust any other tribute."
"Do we?" she challenged, blue eyes fierce now. "What do you really know about me, Jake Thompson? And what do I know about you, beyond the fact that you're good at catching pigs?"
Despite the tension, I nearly smiled at that. "Fair point. But that's why the train ride and training exist—so we can learn more."
Haymitch was watching our exchange with open interest, his eyes sharp despite the alcohol he'd just consumed. "The boy's right," he said to Madge.
"An alliance between district partners is natural and expected. The audience eats it up."
"And you do want the audience on your side," Effie added earnestly, speaking up for the first time during this discussion. "Sponsors can make all the difference in the arena."
Madge's anger seemed to deflate, replaced by the weary resignation I'd glimpsed earlier. "Fine. Allies, then." She rose from the table, her dinner barely touched. "Excuse me. I'd like to rest before we watch the Reaping recaps."
After she'd gone, Haymitch turned his full attention to me. "So, you promised the mayor you'd protect his daughter. That's quite a commitment for someone who should be focusing on his own survival."
"It seemed like the right thing to do," I said simply.
He studied me for a long moment, then chuckled. "You know, I might actually enjoy mentoring this year. You two are more interesting than our usual terrified coal miners' kids."
"Haymitch!" Effie exclaimed, scandalized.
"What? It's true," he said, unrepentant. "And you," he continued, pointing at me, "need to decide how far you're willing to go with this protection promise. Because there's only one victor, and sooner or later, you'll have to choose between your life and hers."
I met his gaze steadily. "Maybe. But maybe not."
His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. I couldn't tell him I knew about the rule change that would come mid-Games, allowing two victors from the same district. Haymitch was the one that made that happen. That knowledge would be impossible to explain.
"Just that I think there might be ways for both of us to survive longer than expected," I said carefully. "Especially if we work together."
"Uh huh." Haymitch sat back, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Interesting perspective. We'll talk more tomorrow."
He stood, a bit unsteady now as the alcohol caught up with him. "Get some rest. The recap will be at eight, and tomorrow we reach the Capitol."
After he and Effie left, I remained at the table, thinking.
The dynamic between Madge and me was nothing like what I'd expected. She wasn't meek or fragile as I'd assumed the mayor's daughter might be. There was a sharpness to her, an unexpected edge that reminded me more of Katniss than I'd anticipated.
I needed to learn more about her if we were going to form a believable alliance, let alone the "star-crossed lovers" narrative that might eventually save us both.
I left the dining car and walked to Madge's compartment, hesitating before knocking softly.
"Yes?" Her voice was wary.
"It's Jake. Can we talk?"
A pause, then: "Come in."
She was sitting on the window seat, watching the landscape blur past in the twilight. She'd changed into simpler clothes—a loose shirt and pants that reminded me of what she might wear at home.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," I began. "Talking about the promise to your father."
She sighed, still looking out the window. "You didn't offend me. I just..." She turned to face me. "I don't want to be seen as someone who needs saving. My whole life, I've been 'the mayor's daughter'—protected, privileged, sheltered. And now I'm going into an arena where that identity means nothing, where it might even make me a target."
I moved to sit across from her. "I understand that. And I didn't mean to suggest you're helpless."
"But I am," she said bluntly. "Compared to most tributes, I am helpless. I've never had to fight for anything in my life."
"That's not entirely true," I countered. "You've had to fight in other ways."
She looked at me curiously. "What do you mean?"
I drew on Jake Thompson's memories of District 12, of the subtle social dynamics I'd observed. "Being the mayor's daughter isn't easy. You're caught between worlds—not Capitol enough for them, too Capitol for us. I've seen how people treat you at school, either sucking up because of your father or avoiding you for the same reason."
Surprise registered on her face. "You've noticed that?"
"I notice things too," I said, echoing her earlier words.
A small smile touched her lips. "Apparently."
"My point is," I continued, "you've developed skills to navigate that complicated position. You observe, you listen, you calculate. Those are valuable in the arena too."
She considered this, absently touching the mockingjay pendant at her throat. "Maybe. But observation won't help when someone's coming at me with a knife."
"That's where I come in," I said. "I can teach you some self-defense. Basic stuff that might save your life."
"And why would you do that?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. "Why help me improve my chances when there's only one victor?"
I hesitated, unsure how to explain without revealing my impossible knowledge. "Because I think the Games aren't just about physical survival. They're about maintaining your humanity in an inhuman situation."
Something shifted in her expression—a new assessment, a reconsideration of who I was. "That's... a perspective I haven't heard before."
"Well, I'm full of surprises," I said, giving her a lop-sided grin, attempting to lighten the moment.
She smiled, a real one this time. "Apparently so, Jake Thompson."
"So, allies?" I extended my hand.
She took it, her grip firm and warm. "Allies. But I want this to be a real partnership. If you teach me self-defense, I'll teach you what I know about the Capitol."
"The Capitol?" I repeated, surprised.
"My father receives officials from there regularly. I've been listening at doors since I was little." Her eyes gleamed with unexpected mischief. "You'd be amazed what people say when they think no one's listening."
I grinned, genuinely impressed. "Deal."
As I rose to leave, she called after me: "Jake? Thank you. For what you said to my father. Even if it was... impulsive."
I turned back. "It wasn't impulsive. I meant it."
"I know," she said softly. "That's what worries me."
Back in my own compartment, I sat on the edge of the bed, processing our conversation.
Madge Undersee was not the simple, privileged girl I'd assumed she was. There were layers to her—intelligence, observation, a certain pragmatic courage that surprised me.
I thought of her comment about the Capitol, about listening at doors. That was information Katniss had never had, knowledge that might prove crucial in the days ahead.
The story was changing.
The pieces were rearranging themselves on the board.
Katniss was back in District 12. Madge was here beside me, wearing a mockingjay pendant that matched my pin. And somehow, I needed to ensure that the spark of rebellion still caught fire, even with these dramatic alterations to the timeline.
I touched the two symbols on my chest—the hammer and the mockingjay. The blacksmith and the rebel. They felt right together, as if this new combination might forge something stronger than either alone.
When I finally drifted to sleep, I dreamed of Madge playing the piano while I worked at a forge beside her, hammering molten metal into the shape of a bird in flight.