The morning of the game arrived too soon, creeping through the window like an unwelcome visitor.
I'd barely slept, drifting in and out of troubled dreams filled with arenas, weapons, and the faces of the other tributes. When Aurelia knocked softly on my door at dawn, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling as I had been for hours.
"It's time," she said gently.
I dressed in the simple clothes provided for the journey to the arena—comfortable pants, sturdy shirt, lightweight jacket. The final styling would happen at the Launch Room beneath the arena itself. As instructed, I wore only the hammer pendant around my neck. The mockingjay pin stayed behind, though its image remained seared in my mind.
The penthouse was eerily quiet. We wouldn't see the other tributes until we rose into the arena on our platforms. All journeys were separate, to prevent any pre-Game alliances or conflicts.
Haymitch was waiting in the sitting room, fully sober and serious. Madge was already there, looking as though she'd slept as little as I had.
"Remember what I told you," Haymitch said without preamble. "Run from the Cornucopia. Find water. Find each other. Stay alive."
He gripped both our shoulders, an unusually emotional gesture from our typically sardonic mentor. "You two have a strategy that's working. The sponsors are lining up. Just survive the first day, and I can start sending help."
"We will," I promised, for myself and for Madge.
Madge nodded, her face pale but determined. "Any last advice?"
"Trust your instincts," Haymitch said. "Both of you have good ones. And..." he hesitated, then continued more quietly, "remember who the real enemy is."
The loaded statement hung in the air between us. Not the other tributes, but the Capitol itself. A dangerous sentiment to express even here, in the relative privacy of our quarters.
Effie appeared, her usual vibrancy subdued beneath a layer of real emotion. "It's time for goodbyes," she announced, her voice catching slightly. "The hovercrafts are waiting."
She embraced Madge first, then me, her typically frivolous demeanor cracking to reveal something more authentic. "You've been my best tributes," she whispered. "My very best."
Coming from Effie, the admission felt significant—a rare moment of humanity from a Capitol citizen who might finally be seeing the Games for what they truly were. I felt a bit bad that I didn't make enough effort to get to know her. Or talk to her more. But I guess Madge did that for the both of us.
Haymitch was the last to say goodbye. He pulled me aside while Effie was making final adjustments to Madge's hair.
"That girl needs you," he said quietly. "But don't sacrifice yourself uselessly. If you're both going to survive this, you need to be smart, not just brave."
"I understand," I assured him.
"And that hammer pendant," he added, eyeing it knowingly. "It's not just a token anymore. Don't lose it. Don't lose yourself inside those games, Jake."
I tried to form a reply, but my throat suddenly tightened. The pendant felt impossibly heavy against my chest. I managed a quick nod, my jaw clenched so hard it ached.
For a moment, I could only stare at Haymitch—a sad, broken man but a survivor—and my eyes burned with unwanted tears while my fingers instinctively found the hammer's cold metal edge.
"I won't," I finally whispered, the words coming out rough and uneven. I swallowed hard, fighting to steady my voice. "I'm coming back. We both are."
The declaration hung between us—part promise, part desperate prayer—I drew a shaky breath and squared my shoulders against the trembling that threatened to overtake them.
Soon the Peacekeepers arrived to escort us to the roof. Madge and I exchanged one last look as we were led to separate hovercraft.
"See you soon," I said with more confidence than I felt.
"I'll be waiting," she replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
The journey to the arena passed in a blur of anxiety and forced calm. The tracker injection in my forearm, the darkened windows preventing me from seeing our destination, the increasingly barren landscape visible when we finally began to descend. By the time I was delivered to my Launch Room deep underground, my heart was racing despite my efforts to maintain composure.
Reality was finally hitting home.
Aurelia was waiting, her usual Capitol flair subdued into practical efficiency. She helped me into the arena outfit—sturdy pants, rugged boots, a green shirt, and a black jacket that she examined with experienced hands.
"Designed to reflect body heat," she noted. "Expect cold nights."
She guided me through a light meal that I could barely taste, urging me to drink as much water as possible.
"Dehydration kills faster than weapons," she reminded me, echoing Haymitch's earlier warnings.
As the minutes ticked down, a strange calm settled over me. The uncertainty was ending. Soon, I would face Forest arena the Gamemakers had designed and whatever horrors awaited. The waiting, at least, would be over.
"Thirty seconds," a mechanical voice announced.
Aurelia helped me into the glass tube that would lift me into the arena, her hands steady as she straightened my jacket one final time.
"Remember who you are," she said softly. "Not who they want you to be."
It was as close to rebellion as she could safely express, but I understood her meaning.
Don't let the Games turn me into something I wasn't. Don't let them take my humanity, even if they took my life.
I nodded, touching the hammer pendant at my throat—my link to District 12, to my family, to Jake Thompson's identity.
"Fifteen seconds."
"One more thing," Aurelia said, her voice dropping even lower. "When you find her... left breast pocket. They didn't check closely."
Before I could ask what she meant, the glass tube sealed around me, cutting off all sound. I pressed my hand against the barrier in farewell as the platform began to rise. Aurelia touched her hand to mine through the glass, then was gone as darkness enveloped me.
For a few seconds, I stood in complete blackness, feeling the platform rising steadily. Then blinding light hit my eyes as I emerged into the open air, the sounds and smells of the arena assaulting my senses.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"
Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed around us as I blinked, adjusting to the brightness, taking in the scene.
The golden Cornucopia gleamed in the center of a circular clearing, surrounded by the twenty-four tribute platforms arranged in a perfect ring. Beyond the clearing lay pine forest to one side, open meadow to another, and a lake in the distance.
Sixty seconds. That's how long we had to stand on our platforms before the gong sounded. Step off early, and the mines planted beneath would blow you sky-high. I'd seen it happen in memories of previous Games—a tribute so overwhelmed by fear or confusion that they moved too soon, ending their Games before they truly began.
I forced myself to focus, to assess.
Directly in front of my platform lay a small backpack, maybe fifteen yards away. Not too deep into the danger zone, but not safely at the periphery either. Beyond that, scattered ever closer to the Cornucopia, were weapons and supplies of increasing value.
And there, gleaming near a stack of crates about thirty yards in, was a hammer—not just any hammer, but one clearly designed for combat, with a wicked spike opposite the blunt face. It called to me like a siren song, promising protection in a form my hands already knew.
I tore my eyes away, scanning for Madge.
She stood almost directly across the circle from me, her blonde hair easy to spot even at this distance. Her eyes were already on mine, and I saw her subtly shake her head, reinforcing our plan to avoid the Cornucopia.
I nodded in agreement, then continued my assessment of our immediate surroundings.
The Careers were already tensed to run, their eyes fixed on the weapons cache. Cato in particular looked like a predator about to pounce, his muscular frame coiled with anticipation.
As I completed my scan of the other tributes, I noticed something that sent ice through my veins.
Cato wasn't looking at the weapons.
He was looking at Madge.
The intensity of his gaze, the cruel smile playing at his lips—I'd seen that expression before during training when he talked about his favorite kills.
The fucker had marked Madge as his first target, thinking to eliminate one-half of the "star-crossed lovers" immediately, breaking our story before it could develop further in the arena.
My stomach dropped as the cruel calculation became clear.
Cato planned to kill Madge at the Cornucopia, likely to destabilize me and to punish us for stealing the Capitol's attention.
Fifteen seconds remained on the countdown.
My eyes darted between Madge, the hammer, and Cato.
Our plan had been clear—run away from the Cornucopia, find each other in the forest, locate water. But plans rarely survive first contact with the enemy, as my father often said.
Ten seconds.
I caught Madge's eye again and subtly gestured toward the woods behind her, then pointed to myself and then the hammer. Her eyes widened in alarm, understanding my change in strategy. She shook her head frantically, but my decision was made.
Five seconds.
I shifted my stance, preparing to sprint not away from the Cornucopia, but toward it. Toward the hammer. Toward Cato. Toward certain danger.
The gong finally sounded, and chaos erupted.
I launched off my platform with everything I had, driving toward that hammer with single-minded focus.
All around me, tributes converged on the Cornucopia like wasps to a fallen sweet. Some immediately fled into the surrounding wilderness, following the safer strategy Haymitch had recommended.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Madge hesitate, then grab a small orange backpack near her platform before running toward the trees as planned. Good. At least she was sticking to our strategy.
But Cato—the fucking bastard—wasn't heading for the weapons at the mouth of the Cornucopia. He was angling toward Madge's retreat path, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he closed the distance with long, powerful strides.
I pushed harder, snatching up the backpack in front of my platform without slowing.
Fifteen more yards to the hammer.
The thundering of feet surrounded me, cries and screams already rising as the first conflicts began. To my right, I glimpsed the boy from District 9 falling, blood spraying from his back where a knife protruded—Clove's work, no doubt.
Ten yards to the hammer.
Cato was still pursuing Madge, who had nearly reached the treeline. He would intersect her path in seconds.
Five yards.
I lunged forward just as the boy from District 4 reached for the same weapon. Our eyes met for a split second before I drove my shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling. My hand closed around the hammer's handle, its weight familiar and reassuring as I spun to face the teenager on steroids.
Cato had almost reached Madge now, a spear already in his hand tossed by Marvel, drawing back to throw.
"Madge!" I shouted, already sprinting toward them, hammer gripped tightly.
"DOWN!!"
She dropped instantly at my warning, the spear sailing over her where her head had been a moment before. Cato cursed, reaching for the short sword strapped to his back, but the moment of missed opportunity gave me the time I needed to close the distance.
I barreled into him with all the force I could muster, driving him away from Madge's position. We tumbled to the ground, Cato's greater size and training immediately evident as he rolled to gain the upper hand. Only the hammer gripped between us kept his weight from fully pinning me.
"Thought you could save your girlfriend?" he snarled, his face inches from mine. "I'm going to make you watch her die, Twelve."
Rage and protective instinct came surging in waves.
I twisted sharply, using the hammer's handle as a lever to create space, then smashed my forehead into his nose. The satisfying crack and his howl of pain gave me the moment I needed to scramble free.
But Cato was a Career—trained since childhood for these Games. Despite the blood pouring from his nose, he lunged forward with his sword, the blade slicing across my forearm as I barely dodged the main thrust. Pain flared, hot and immediate, but adrenaline kept me moving.
I swung the hammer in a wide arc, forcing him back momentarily. Behind Cato, I could see Marvel approaching, more weapons in hand, eager to join his ally in finishing me.
"JAKE! This way!" Madge's voice cut through the chaos.
She stood at the edge of the forest, the orange backpack secured over her shoulders, desperation clear on her face. She had remained instead of running deeper into the woods, risking her safety for mine.
I feinted another swing at Cato, then sprinted toward Madge, ignoring the burning pain in my arm. Behind me, I heard Cato's furious shout and the whistling of Marvel's javelin cutting through the air. I dodged left instinctively, feeling the weapon graze my jacket as it embedded in the ground beside me.
Madge and I plunged into the forest together, running full-tilt away from the Cornucopia and the bloodbath still raging behind us.
The sounds of fighting grew fainter as we put distance between ourselves and the clearing, but we didn't slow our pace for a full ten minutes, pushing deeper into the pine forest.
Finally, when my lungs felt ready to burst and the blood loss from my arm was making me lightheaded, I slowed to a stop, leaning against a tree for support.
"Are you insane?!" Madge hissed, her face flushed from exertion and anger. "We agreed to avoid the Cornucopia!"
"Cato was targeting you," I explained between heavy breaths. "I saw it in his eyes just before the gong. He was coming straight for you, not the weapons."
Her anger faltered as she processed this. "You put yourself in danger... for me?"
"That was the plan all along," I reminded her, wincing as I examined the cut on my arm. "Protect each other, survive together."
The sleeve of my jacket was sliced open, the fabric soaked with blood from a gash about six inches long on my forearm. Not dangerously deep, but deep enough to cause problems if not treated.
Madge's expression shifted from anger to concern as she saw the extent of my injury. "We need to clean that and bind it," she said, her practical nature taking over. "But not here. We're still too close to the Cornucopia."
I nodded, pushing off the tree with effort. "We need water anyway. Both to drink and to clean this."
"Can you manage?" she asked, eyeing me uncertainly.
"I've had worse in the forge," I assured her, though the persistent bleeding concerned me. "Let's see what we got in those backpacks first."
We found a dense thicket of bushes that offered some concealment while we took quick inventory.
My backpack contained a thin sleeping bag, a pack of dried meat, a small water bottle (empty), some wire, and a pair of night-vision glasses. Madge's orange pack held a similar sleeping bag, a small first aid kit, some crackers, and an empty water bottle as well.
"First aid kit," I said with relief. "Perfect timing."
Madge opened it, examining the contents with a critical eye. "Basic, but it'll work. There's antiseptic and bandages, at least."
"Save it for now," I suggested. "We need to find water before we stop long enough for proper treatment. Just wrap it temporarily to slow the bleeding."
She nodded, tearing a strip from the bottom of her shirt with efficient precision. As she wrapped the makeshift bandage around my forearm, her touch was gentle despite her still-evident frustration with my Cornucopia decision.
"Left breast pocket," I murmured, remembering Aurelia's cryptic final message.
"What?"
"Check your jacket. Left breast pocket. My stylist said something about it just before we launched."
Madge's brow furrowed, but she reached into the pocket of her arena jacket. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a small object that glinted in the dappled forest light—her mockingjay pin.
"How..." she breathed, staring at it in disbelief.
"Aurelia and Cinna," I said, smiling despite the pain in my arm. "They must have hidden it there for you. The stylists have the final moments with tributes before launch."
"But they check for unauthorized items," Madge protested, even as her fingers closed protectively around the pin.
"They check for weapons and obvious advantages," I corrected. "A small pin could be overlooked, especially if the stylists distracted them somehow." My token was a pendant, not a pin, so it got an okay from the get go.
Madge carefully pinned it to the inside of her jacket, where it would be concealed from casual view but still close to her heart. "Thank you for telling me," she said softly. "It... it means a lot to have this."
I nodded, understanding completely. The hammer at my throat was my connection to family, to home. Her mockingjay served the same purpose.
"We should keep moving," I said, glancing at the sky. "Find water before nightfall."
We gathered our supplies and continued deeper into the forest, moving more cautiously now, alert for any signs of other tributes or Gamemaker traps. The pine forest was dense enough to provide cover but not so thick as to be impassable. Birds called occasionally, and small animals rustled in the underbrush—a good sign that we weren't near any immediate dangers, as wildlife typically fled from threats.
The cannon blasts began as we walked, marking the end of the initial bloodbath. We counted eleven shots—eleven tributes dead in the first hour. More than usual, but around the same in the original.
"I wonder who..." Madge began, then shook her head. "We'll find out tonight."
We both knew the Capitol would project the fallen tributes in the sky after dark. Until then, we wouldn't know who had survived beyond those we'd personally witnessed.
After about two hours of steady hiking, always angling slightly downhill in hopes of finding water, the trees began to thin. The welcome sound of running water reached our ears, and we approached cautiously, aware that water sources were both essential survival points and likely meeting places for other tributes.
A small stream gurgled over rocks, clear and inviting. I studied our surroundings carefully before approaching, noting the absence of footprints or other signs of recent human presence.
"Looks clear," I said, "but one of us should keep watch while the other fills the bottles."
Madge nodded, taking the hammer from me. "I'll watch. You're injured—you need water more urgently."
I didn't argue, kneeling by the stream to fill our bottles and purifying it with iodine tablets while Madge stood guard, hammer at the ready.
The water was cold and refreshing, and I drank deeply before refilling the bottle.
"Your turn," I said, trading places with Madge. "Then we need to find shelter and properly treat this arm."
As Madge drank and filled her bottle, I scanned the area, noting a rocky outcropping about fifty yards upstream that might provide defensible shelter for the night. The day was already waning, the forest shadows lengthening as afternoon slipped toward evening.
When she finished, we purified another batch of water with iodine drops from the first aid kit, then moved toward the rocks I'd spotted. They formed a small overhang—not quite a cave, but enough to provide some shelter and protection from behind. Thick bushes grew around the sides, offering additional concealment if we were careful.
"This will work for tonight," I said, settling onto the ground with my back against the rock face. "Defensible, hidden, near water."
Madge nodded, already opening the first aid kit. "Now, let's look at that arm properly."
I removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeve, revealing the full extent of the injury. The makeshift bandage was soaked through with blood, and the cut beneath looked angry and painful. Madge cleaned it carefully with antiseptic wipes from the kit, her face composed despite the gruesome work.
"It's not as deep as I feared," she said after examining it thoroughly. "But deep enough to be troublesome if infection sets in."
Thought so.
She applied antibiotic ointment, then bound the wound with proper bandages from the kit, her movements precise and confident.
"Thank you," I said sincerely as she finished.
She sat back, studying my face with an unreadable expression. "You shouldn't have gone for that hammer," she said finally. "It was too dangerous."
"If I hadn't, you might be dead," I pointed out. "Cato was specifically targeting you."
"You don't know that for sure," she argued, though without much conviction.
"I saw his face, Madge. I know what I saw."
She sighed, relenting. "Even so. You were nearly killed."
"But I wasn't," I said, pursing my lips. "And now we have a weapon, two backpacks with supplies, and we're both alive. I'd call that a successful first day."
A small smile finally cracked her serious expression. "When you put it that way..."
We prepared a small meal from our limited supplies—a few pieces of dried meat and crackers each, enough to sustain us without depleting our resources too quickly. As we ate, the forest grew darker around us, and the temperature began to drop noticeably.
"Aurelia was right about the cold nights," I observed, pulling my jacket closer.
"We should get into the sleeping bags," Madge suggested. "Conserve body heat."
We nestled into the small space under the rock overhang, arranging our sleeping bags side by side for warmth. Above us, the Capitol anthem suddenly blared through the arena, signaling the projection of the day's fallen tributes.
We peered out from our shelter to see the Capitol seal shining in the night sky, followed by the faces of the dead.
The girl from District 3. Both tributes from District 4. The boy from District 5. Both from 6 and 7. The boy from 8. Both from 9. The girl from 10.
Eleven tributes gone, leaving thirteen still in play. The Careers from 1 and 2 had all survived, as expected. So had Thresh and Rue from 11, which relieved me more than I'd anticipated.
As the projection faded and darkness reclaimed the sky, Madge and I settled back into our sleeping bags.
"We should take turns keeping watch," I suggested. "Four hours each. I'll take first shift."
"You need rest more than I do," Madge countered. "You're injured. I'll take first watch."
I started to protest, then reconsidered. She was right—blood loss had left me lightheaded and exhausted. "Wake me in four hours then," I conceded. "Earlier if you hear anything suspicious."
Madge nodded, positioning herself at the edge of our shelter where she could observe the surrounding forest while staying hidden.
As I slipped into the sleeping bag, the events of the day crashed over me in a wave of delayed reaction. The Cornucopia. The fight with Cato. The blood and fear and desperate flight through the forest. My injured arm throbbed beneath its bandage was a constant reminder of how close I'd come to death on this first day.
And yet, against all odds, Madge and I had survived the bloodbath. We had supplies, weapons, shelter, water. Thirteen tributes remained, but we were alive and together, the first step in our strategy accomplished.
As sleep began to claim me, I felt Madge's hand brush gently against my forehead, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across my face.
"Thank you for saving my life," she whispered, so softly I barely heard it.
I drifted off with those words echoing in my mind, the hammer pendant solid against my chest and Madge's watchful presence beside me—both safety and purpose in this deadly arena.