Morning brought a new kind of tension to our penthouse suite. With training completed and scores announced, all that remained before the arena was tonight's televised interviews—our final opportunity to make an impression on sponsors and the Capitol audience.
"Three minutes," Haymitch reminded us over breakfast. "Three minutes to make yourself unforgettable. To establish who you are, why people should root for you, and why they should send their money to keep you alive when things get tough."
"And to solidify our... love story," Madge added quietly.
Haymitch nodded, his expression unusually serious. "Exactly. Today we'll work on your approach, content, and delivery. Effie will handle presentation and etiquette."
He set down his coffee cup. "We'll work separately first—each of you needs your own identity within the partnership story."
After breakfast, I found myself alone with Haymitch in the sitting room, while Madge worked with Effie on posture and presentation in another room.
"So," he began without preamble, "your angle is already established—the protective, capable partner. The one who initiated this romance. Now we need to make it convincing for a Capitol audience that's seen every possible love story played out in previous Games."
"How?" I asked.
"Vulnerability," Haymitch said simply. "Anyone can claim to care for someone. What makes it believable is showing what it costs you, what you risk, what you fear."
I considered this. "So I need to show that my feelings for Madge make me vulnerable, not just stronger."
"Exactly," he nodded approvingly. "The Capitol loves strength, but they're captivated by strength that can be wounded. It makes them feel powerful to watch powerful people suffer."
A grim assessment, but accurate based on everything I knew about the Capitol's appetite for dramatic entertainment.
"So when Caesar inevitably asks about Madge," Haymitch continued, "you don't just declare feelings. You show conflict. The impossibility of your situation. Two tributes who found each other only to be sent into an arena where one or both must die."
"That's not entirely a performance," I admitted. "The situation is genuinely impossible."
Something like sympathy flickered in Haymitch's bloodshot eyes. "Yeah, well. Use that. The best performances contain—"
"Elements of truth," I finished for him. "I know."
We spent the next few hours developing my interview approach—finding the right balance of charm, strength, humor, and vulnerability. Haymitch played Caesar, asking likely questions and critiquing my responses with brutal honesty.
It really made me wish I had Peeta's personality and charming attitude that easily made people love him.
"Too rehearsed," he'd snap. "Or "Too stiff—you're a person, not a Peacekeeper." Or "Better, but still not genuine enough."
By lunchtime, I was mentally exhausted but had a clearer sense of my interview strategy. We ate quickly, then switched—Madge going with Haymitch while I spent the afternoon with Effie Trinket learning Capitol etiquette.
"Posture, posture, posture!" Effie trilled, tapping my shoulder with a fan as I practiced sitting in the interview chair. It honestly could be a weapon, given how much Effie was so skilled at hitting people with it.
"Shoulders back, chin up, but not so much that you appear arrogant. Approachable strength, that's what we want!"
She drilled me on walking properly, sitting smoothly, making appropriately timed eye contact with both Caesar and the audience. It was tedious but necessary—even small details could impact how the Capitol perceived us. But it didn't mean I had to like it.
"And remember, smile!" Effie instructed. "Not constantly—that would appear insincere—but genuine smiles at appropriate moments. The Capitol audience responds to warmth."
By the time we finished, my facial muscles ached from practiced expressions and my back was sore from maintaining "correct posture" for hours.
"Not hopeless," Effie declared, which from her seemed high praise. "Your natural charm will serve you well, and your smile will instantly melt anyone who looks at your gorgeous face. Now, let's see what the stylists have prepared for your interview appearance!"
I was handed over to Aurelia and my prep team, who spent the next two hours transforming me for the cameras. Less invasive than the initial preparation had been, but still thorough—skin buffed to perfection, hair styled in what Aurelia called "controlled dishevelment," subtle makeup enhancing my features without appearing obvious.
The interview outfit she presented was elegant but masculine—black pants and a tailored jacket with subtle flame accents. The hammer pendant remained visible at my throat, and the mockingjay pin was affixed to my lapel, both symbols prominently displayed. They said I can only bring one token in the games, telling me that there's no harm using both until then.
"The dual symbols are important," Aurelia explained as she made final adjustments. "They tell a story without words."
"What do you think they tell?" I asked, genuinely curious about her perception.
Her eyes met mine in the mirror. "That there are many kinds of strength," she said softly. "The hammer—direct, powerful, protective. The mockingjay—adaptable, resilient, unexpected." She stepped back, admiring her work. "Together, they're formidable."
I give her a respected nod, understanding the subtext. These weren't just personal tokens anymore, but potential symbols of something larger. The revolution.
When I emerged from my room, Haymitch whistled low. "Would you look at that. The stylists have done their job. You look like a victor already."
Before I could respond, the opposite door opened, and Madge appeared.
My breath got caught. She was radiant in a gown that seemed to be made of captured flames—golden at the bodice, transitioning to deep red at the hem, with shimmering accents that flickered with every movement. A bit different from the movie dress but similar enough.
Her blonde hair was partially up, with soft tendrils framing her face, and subtle makeup enhanced her natural beauty without overshadowing it. She sparkled with small red gems that were attached from her eyes to her bare shoulders. The mockingjay pendant gleamed by her heart, matching the pin on my lapel.
Our eyes met, admiring each other.
"You look..." I began, then found myself at a loss for words. Beautiful? Gorgeous? Pretty? Amazing? Somehow these words weren't enough to describe how otherworldly she looked.
"So do you," she replied playfully, repeating what I said at the parade.
Haymitch cleared his throat. "If this is how you two react to each other in private, the interview should be quite convincing," he observed dryly. "Now, let's review the plan one more time."
As we rode the elevator down to the interview staging area, Haymitch gave final instructions. "Madge goes first. She'll establish her own identity—then she'll hint at her feelings, but leave the explicit declaration to Jake's interview."
We both nodded, the plan firmly established.
"And remember," he added as the doors opened, "from this moment on, you're never off camera. Every interaction is part of your narrative."
The staging area was buzzing with activity—tributes in their interview finery, mentors giving last-minute advice, stylists making final adjustments. The Career tributes were predictably stunning—Glimmer in a provocative translucent peach gown, Cato in a powerful silver gladiator-inspired suit that emphasized his imposing physique.
But I noticed many eyes drawn to us as we entered. The "Fire Pair" from District 12 continued to capture attention, our coordinated flame-themed outfits marking us as a unit even before any declaration of feelings.
As we took our places in the lineup, I stood close to Madge. She leaned slightly into my space, her shoulder against mine in silent solidarity.
Cato caught my eye from his position near the front of the line, his expression cold with challenge. I met his gaze steadily, neither aggressive nor submissive, simply confident. He looked away first, turning to say something to Clove that made her glance back at us with a predatory smile.
The interviews began promptly at seven, broadcast live across Panem.
Caesar Flickerman bounded onto the stage in his signature midnight blue suit, his hair and makeup matching perfectly. The host hadn't changed his appearance in over forty years of Games coverage, aside from the annual color scheme adjustments.
"Welcome, welcome!" he greeted the audience with infectious enthusiasm. "What an exciting night we have ahead! Twenty-four brave tributes, each with their own story to tell. Are you ready to meet them?"
The crowd roared its approval, and the interviews began.
Each tribute had exactly three minutes to make their impression, with Caesar expertly guiding the conversation to highlight their strengths.
District 1 set the tone with confidence bordering on arrogance—Marvel playing up his lethal precision, Glimmer using her beauty as both distraction and weapon. District 2 followed with Cato's barely contained aggression and Clove's unsettling combination of girlish appearance and sadistic hints.
Nothing entirely new from Career districts, really. But people still love them for it.
The middle districts presented a range of approaches—some playing up physical prowess, others emphasizing intelligence or determination. The fox-faced girl from 5 was cleverly evasive, revealing little. The boy from 10 with the crippled foot showed unexpected humor.
Rue charmed the audience with her quiet confidence and admission that she was "hard to catch," while Thresh was powerfully minimalist, answering most questions with a single word or short phrase that somehow made him more intimidating rather than less.
Finally, it was Madge's turn. She walked gracefully to the center stage, her gown catching the spotlight like living flame. The audience murmured appreciatively as Caesar greeted her warmly.
"Madge Undersee from District Twelve! The mayor's daughter, if I'm not mistaken?"
"That's right, Caesar," she replied with a composed smile.
"Well, that's quite unique! Tell me, how does a young lady of your position find herself here? Surely the odds were in your favor?"
Madge maintained her dignity while showing just enough vulnerability to be relatable. "It's an honour to be here, Caesar. But my name was in that bowl just like everyone else's."
The audience murmured at this gentle rebuke disguised as simple fact.
"Indeed, indeed," Caesar nodded. "And yet you've surprised everyone with an impressive training score of eight! Care to give us a hint about what you showed the Gamemakers?"
She smiled mysteriously. "Let's just say there's more to the mayor's daughter than meets the eye."
"I'm sure there is!" Caesar winked at the audience. "Now, speaking of surprising things, I've heard a rumor from an insider that there is a... certain closeness between you and your district partner, Jake Thompson. Care to comment on that?"
The audience leaned forward collectively, eager for gossip.
Madge blushed perfectly, her eyes dropping for a moment before meeting Caesar's again. "Jake has been... incredibly supportive. He made me feel safe when everything else was terrifying."
"Safe? That's all?" Caesar pressed gently, playing his role perfectly.
"He's also kind, and strong, and..." she hesitated, as if revealing more than she intended. "And he sees me as more than just the mayor's daughter. That means a lot."
Caesar nodded sympathetically. "Oh yes. It must be difficult, finding connection in these circumstances. Isn't that right?"
She nodded.
"The most difficult part," Madge said softly, "is knowing that the Games don't allow for happy endings."
The audience sighed collectively at this tragic hint, and Caesar patted her hand. "Well, my dear, we never know what might happen. Thank you for sharing with us tonight."
As Madge returned to her seat, the audience applauded enthusiastically. She'd played her part perfectly—revealing enough to create interest while leaving the full declaration for my interview.
"And now," Caesar announced dramatically, "let's welcome our final tribute of the evening—Jake Thompson from District Twelve!"
Heart pounding, I walked onto the stage, remembering Effie's instructions about posture and presence. The lights were blinding, the audience a sea of colorful figures beyond the stage.
"Jake! Welcome!" Caesar greeted me warmly, extending his hand.
"Isn't he handsome, folks?" The audience screamed and cheered in response.
I showed a big smile. "Caesar," I nodded in greeting and shook his hand firmly.
"Tell us—a ten in training! That's exceptional for District Twelve. Can you give us a hint about what impressed the Gamemakers?"
"I showed them what a blacksmith's son can do," I replied with calculated modesty. "Working the forge builds certain strengths that translate well to the arena."
"I imagine it does!" Caesar agreed enthusiastically.
"Those shoulders didn't come from nowhere, did they, ladies?" He winked at the audience, who responded with appreciative cheers.
"But it's not just physical strength that makes a victor," I added, following our planned approach. "It's knowing when and how to use it."
"Wisdom beyond your years!" Caesar declared. "Speaking of wisdom, you made quite an impression during the Reaping when you protected your sister. Can you tell us about that moment?"
"My sister Lily is everything to me, Caesar. Protecting her was instinct—I didn't even think about it. In that moment, nothing mattered except keeping her safe."
The audience murmured sympathetically and awed in sweet sentiments.
The way they acted made me sick to my stomach. How they pretend to care. As if they weren't the ones at fault. As if it couldn't be changed or stopped.
When they just see it as a form of entertainment.
"And that protective instinct seems to have extended to your district partner," Caesar looked at me suggestively.
I allowed my expression to shift, vulnerability showing through my composed exterior. "Madge is... special, Caesar. She has a quiet strength that most people don't see."
"And you do see it?" Caesar prompted gently.
"From the first day," I confirmed. "Everyone looks at her and sees the mayor's daughter, someone privileged and sheltered. But there's so much more to her—intelligence, adaptability, courage. She faces these Games with a dignity that amazes me."
The audience was hanging on every word now, completely invested.
"It sounds like you admire her greatly," Caesar said, setting up the final piece.
I took a deep breath, dropped my eyes to the floor and showed deliberate hesitation.
"I've actually noticed Madge for years, back in District Twelve," I confessed, my voice softening.
"She's always been... set apart. The mayor's daughter who played piano at school events, who sat alone at lunch. Like a princess from another world."
The audience sighed collectively at the romance of this image.
"But I never approached her," I continued, vulnerability evident in my voice. "What would the mayor's daughter want with a blacksmith's son? She seemed untouchable, out of my reach."
"And yet, here you both are," Caesar prompted, looking at me intently.
"Here we are," I agreed, turning to face the audience. "Thrown together by the cruellest twist of fate. And now that I've gotten to know the real Madge—not just the mayor's daughter, but the brave, intelligent, remarkable person she is—I've realized something."
"And what's that?" Caesar asked, leaning forward as the audience held its breath, almost silent.
"That I've fallen in love with her," I said simply, confessing to Caesar. "And the worst part isn't facing the arena—it's knowing that loving her might mean losing her."
A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by sounds of sympathy and delight. Caesar's expression was perfectly calibrated between surprise and compassion.
"That is…a predicament. And does she know how you feel?" He asked softly.
"She does now," I said with a sad smile, looking directly at Madge, whose expertly composed shock appeared completely genuine.
"Well…," Caesar dragged, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he placed a hand over his heart. His blue-powdered eyelids lowered in exaggerated sorrow. "What terrible timing fate has given you."
The audience fell completely silent, looking devastated. I even heard some sniffing.
"Yeah, it really did," I finished with a self-deprecating look towards the cameras.
The crowd responded with muffled sobs and handkerchiefs pressed to painted faces, collectively reveling in the exquisite pain of our supposed heartbreaking love story.
"My boy, I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts are with you both," Caesar said solemnly.
The buzzer sounded, ending my three minutes. I stood, shaking Caesar's hand once more.
"Thank you for your honesty tonight," he said, loud enough for the audience to hear.
As I returned to my seat, the audience's applause was thunderous—far louder and more emotional than for any previous tribute.
I took my place beside Madge, who was staring at me with an expression that perfectly balanced shock, confusion, and something that might be hope.
I think we both deserve an Oscar for our acting skills.
For the remaining formalities of the evening, we maintained the narrative—sitting close together, occasionally exchanging glances that suggested unspoken communication.
When the anthem played and the tributes stood for final acknowledgment, I took Madge's hand publicly for the first time since the chariot ride, intertwining our fingers in a gesture of unity.
The audience went wild.
Back in the elevator, Haymitch was openly pleased. "Perfectly played, both of you. The audience was eating it up like they were starving. I've already had three new sponsor inquiries just during the elevator ride up."
"The declaration of love was quite moving," Effie sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "So tragic, yet so beautiful! The blacksmith's son secretly admiring the mayor's daughter from afar, only to confess when fate throws them together!"
In our penthouse, the television was already replaying interview highlights, analyzing each tribute's approach and predicting arena strategies. The commentators were particularly fixated on the "District Twelve romance," as they called it.
After a light dinner—none of us had much appetite with the arena looming tomorrow—Haymitch gave us his final advice.
"When the gong sounds, get out of there. Neither of you go for the Cornucopia—it's a bloodbath, and the Careers will be targeting you. Just grab whatever's nearest your platforms and run. Find water, find each other, and stay alive until sponsors can send help."
The gravity of his words silenced us.
In less than twelve hours, we would be in the arena, fighting for our lives.
"Get some rest," he said finally. "Tomorrow will be... challenging."
After everyone else had retired, Madge and I found ourselves alone on the rooftop garden—a place Haymitch had suggested for private conversation, as the wind disrupted any listening devices. The Capitol glittered beneath us, its citizens celebrating in anticipation of tomorrow's "entertainment."
We sat in silence for a long while, each lost in our own thoughts about the coming day.
"Did you mean it?" Madge asked finally, her voice almost lost in the night breeze. "What you said in the interview? About watching me all those years?"
After everything, I owed her some truth. "Yes," I admitted.
Jake Thompson did. For years, if I understood the short snippet memories of him observing Madge from afar, or the short interaction between a customer and a worker.
And I did, ever since I started my morning runs. I could sometimes hear her playing the piano by the open windows of her home.
"Not exactly as I described it, but the essence was true. You always seemed... apart from everyone else. Something separate and special."
She was quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. "I never knew," she said finally. "I always thought everyone just saw the mayor's daughter, nothing more."
"Most did," I acknowledged. "But not everyone."
Another silence fell between us, more comfortable than the first.
"Are you afraid?" she asked, changing the subject. "About tomorrow?"
"Yep," I admitted without hesitation. "Anyone who isn't is either lying or insane."
She nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest.
"I keep thinking about my parents. My father, watching me on screen, unable to help. My mother, probably drugged into oblivion to cope with the stress." She sighed heavily.
"They've protected me my whole life. Now there's nothing they can do."
"You can protect yourself," I reminded her. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."
"Maybe," she conceded. "But twenty-four go in, and only one comes out. Those aren't odds anyone should feel confident about."
"Unless our strategy works," I said. "Unless we convince them to change the rules."
She turned to study my face in the moonlight. "Do you really think that's possible?"
"I have to believe it is," I replied honestly. "Otherwise..." I couldn't finish the thought.
We fell silent again, the weight of our situation pressing down like a physical burden. Tomorrow we might be fighting for our lives—or worse, watching each other die.
"Jake?" Madge's voice was hesitant now. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Of course."
"Did you... was there anyone you liked back in Twelve? Besides... well, noticing me from afar? Someone special?" The question surprised me, coming seemingly from out of nowhere.
I considered the question and searched my memories.
"No," I said finally. "I had friends, of course, but no romantic relationships."
"Why not?" she pressed gently. "I mean, half the girls in our year would have said yes if you'd asked them."
I smiled slightly at her bluntness. "I made a decision a few years ago not to date anyone until after my last Reaping. My parents did the same thing when they were young—didn't get involved until they were safe from the Games."
"To avoid heartbreak," she guessed.
"Exactly. The thought of finding someone, caring for them, and then being ripped away to die in the arena..." I shook my head. "It seemed crueler than just staying unattached."
She nodded slowly, understanding in her eyes. "That's actually quite considerate. Thinking of others' feelings that way."
"What about you?" I asked, curious about her life before we'd been thrown together. "Was there someone special for the mayor's daughter?"
To my surprise, a blush crept into her cheeks. "Not exactly. I mean, no one who knew about it."
"A secret crush?" I prompted, oddly invested in her answer.
She laughed softly, the sound tinged with embarrassment. "If you must know, I had quite the infatuation with Gale Hawthorne for a while."
"Gale?" I repeated, my jaw dropping in shock.
The tall, serious hunting partner of Katniss Everdeen seemed an unexpected choice for the refined mayor's daughter.
"I know, I know," she said, misinterpreting my surprise as judgment. "The Seam boy and the mayor's daughter—scandalous, right? But he was just so... intense. Passionate about everything. So different from the careful, political people I grew up around."
"Did he know?"
She shook her head ruefully. "No. He avoided me like I carried some contagious disease. Most Seam kids do—they see my father's position and assume I'm some Capitol sympathizer." Her voice held old hurt. "Gale was particularly bad—always giving me these looks of contempt when I passed him in school, like my existence personally offended him."
"His loss," I said, surprised by the protective anger I felt on her behalf.
She smiled, nudging my shoulder with hers. "It wasn't meant to be. Besides, half the girls in the district were in love with him. Like you, actually. I wasn't exactly unique in my admiration."
"Still," I insisted, "he shouldn't have judged you based on your father's position. That's as unfair as judging him for being from the Seam."
"True," she acknowledged. "But that's District Twelve—town and Seam, always separated by more than just geography." She looked out over the Capitol lights.
"It's ironic, isn't it? It took the Games to break down those barriers between us. You and me, the blacksmith's son and the mayor's daughter, actually talking—really talking—for the first time."
The observation struck me deeply. She was right—in normal District 12 life, our paths rarely crossed meaningfully despite attending the same school and living in the same small district. It had taken this death sentence to bring us together.
"Maybe that's part of the Capitol's control strategy," I suggested. "Keep the districts divided even within themselves. Town versus Seam, merchants versus miners."
"Divide and conquer," Madge agreed. "The oldest strategy in politics, according to my father."
We sat in companionable silence for a while longer, the night growing cooler around us.
"We should try to sleep," I said eventually, though neither of us moved. "Tomorrow will be..."
"The hardest day of our lives," she finished when I trailed off.
"Yes."
She turned to face me fully, her eyes intent in the moonlight. "Jake, no matter what happens tomorrow—whether our strategy works or not—I want you to know something." She took a deep breath. "In just a short time, you've become... important to me. Like a pillar to hold myself together and more than just an ally."
The confession caught me off guard with its raw honesty.
In that moment, with the arena looming before us, pretense seemed pointless.
"For me too," I confessed quietly. "Somewhere along the way, I grew to care about you more than I realized."
She smiled so tragically then. As if she was about to cry her whole heart out. Instead, her hand found mine in the darkness, our fingers intertwining with now-familiar ease.
There was comfort in the contact, an anchor against the terror of what tomorrow would bring.
"We should go in," she said finally, though she made no move to release my hand.
"In a minute," I replied, unwilling to break this moment of peace—possibly our last before the Games changed everything.
We sat together under the stars, hands linked, the Capitol celebrating beneath us while we faced our mortality with quiet dignity. Tomorrow would bring blood and fear and the fight for survival. But tonight… Tonight we had this moment of connection—real connection—to carry with us into the arena.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.