Our final training day dawned with a new tension in the air.
Throughout the Training Center, tributes moved with heightened focus, aware that tomorrow we would face the Gamemakers alone, our performances determining scores that could significantly impact our chances in the arena.
At breakfast, Haymitch was uncharacteristically alert, his bloodshot eyes clear as he outlined our strategy for the day.
"Last chance to learn anything vital," he reminded us between bites of toast. "But also your last opportunity to misdirect the other tributes about your true capabilities."
"So continue holding back on weapons?" I clarified.
"For the most part," Haymitch agreed. "But show just enough skill that the Careers don't dismiss you entirely. A tribute they underestimate is one they might not target immediately, but a tribute they see as completely helpless is easy prey."
Madge nodded, absorbing his advice. "A careful balance, then."
"Exactly, sweetheart." Haymitch turned to me. "And continue with your... partnership strategy. The Gamemakers will be watching closely today, looking for storylines to develop in the arena."
The training floor was subdued when we arrived, each tribute or district pair isolated in their preparation. The Careers had claimed their usual territory at the weapons stations, Cato viciously attacking a practice dummy with a sword while Clove sent knife after knife into the heart of a human-shaped target.
"Where do you want to start?" I asked Madge, standing close enough that our shoulders touched.
She considered, scanning the available stations. "Shelter-building," she decided. "If it rains in the arena, we'll need that skill more than combat."
I nodded my agreement, and we made our way to the far corner of the training floor. The instructor brightened at our approach—clearly his station wasn't popular with tributes focused on killing rather than surviving.
"First shelter: a basic lean-to," he began, demonstrating how to angle branches against a support.
Madge and I worked together seamlessly, her attention to detail complementing my physical strength as we constructed increasingly complex shelters. When I lifted a heavy branch into position, I made sure other tributes could see the muscles in my arms flexing with controlled power—not showing off, exactly, but ensuring my strength wasn't underestimated.
Midway through the morning, I noticed Rue watching us from nearby, her small hands expertly weaving grasses into a roof covering.
"That's impressive," I commented, nodding to her work.
She shrugged with understated pride. "We weave lots of things in Eleven. Baskets, roofs, nets."
"Would you show me?" Madge asked, moving closer. "I've never seen that technique."
Rue hesitated, then nodded, her dark eyes watchful as Madge joined her. I continued reinforcing our shelter's structure, but kept them in my peripheral vision, noting how naturally Madge drew the younger girl out, asking questions that showcased Rue's knowledge without being condescending.
By lunchtime, we'd worked our way through three stations—shelter-building, water purification, and basic first aid. The last had been particularly enlightening, as Madge revealed extensive knowledge of medicinal applications.
"My mother suffers from headaches," she explained quietly as we practiced bandaging techniques. "I've helped her prepare remedies since I was small."
"That could be crucial in the arena," I nodded. "Infections and fever kill as many tributes as weapons."
She nodded, her hands continuing their precise work. "Knowledge is the one thing they can't take from us at the Cornucopia."
At lunch, we maintained our strategic proximity, sitting close enough that our legs occasionally touched beneath the table. I noticed several tributes still watching us with varying degrees of interest and speculation. Our performance was registering, creating exactly the impression we wanted.
"The girl from Five keeps looking at us," Madge murmured, cutting her food into precise bites.
I glanced subtly at the redheaded tribute with fox-like features who sat alone, her sharp eyes observing everything while drawing minimal attention to herself. "She's smart," I assessed. "Probably analyzing every alliance and interaction."
"A dangerous opponent," Madge agreed. "Not physically, perhaps, but mentally."
After lunch, I decided it was time to showcase more of my combat potential. "I'm going to spend some time at the hammers station," I told Madge. "You should continue with plants—it's clearly your strength."
She understood my strategy immediately. "Meet back at knot-tying in an hour?"
"Perfect." I allowed my hand to linger on her shoulder a moment longer than necessary, aware of any watching eyes.
At the hammers station, I selected a weapon similar in weight and balance to the ones I'd worked with previously. The instructor nodded approvingly as I tested its swing.
"Back for more advanced techniques?" she asked.
"If you're willing to teach them," I replied.
She smiled, recognizing a serious student. "Let's start with defensive positioning."
For the next hour, I immersed myself in combat training, allowing more of my true skill to show than in previous sessions. I wasn't performing at my full capability—still holding back as Haymitch had advised—but I made sure to demonstrate enough power and precision to make an impression.
The distinctive thud of hammer against practice dummy drew attention. From the corner of my eye, I caught Cato watching, his expression calculating as he reassessed me.
When I rejoined Madge at the knot-tying station, a light sheen of sweat covered my forehead from the exertion. She looked up from the complex snare she was constructing, her eyes widening slightly as they tracked over my arms and shoulders.
"Productive session?" she asked.
"Very," I confirmed, dropping onto the mat beside her. "I think I made an impression on our Career friends."
"I noticed," she said dryly. "Cato didn't look pleased to see you handling that hammer so effectively."
"How about you? Learn anything useful about plants?"
Her eyes lit up with academic enthusiasm. "Actually, yes. The instructor showed me how certain seemingly harmless berries can cause severe stomach cramps when crushed and added to food or water. Not lethal, but debilitating enough to matter in the arena."
I raised an eyebrow, impressed and slightly alarmed by her thinking. "Remind me never to make you angry."
That earned a genuine laugh, a sound rare enough that several nearby tributes turned to look. In that unguarded moment, Madge was transformed—no longer the reserved mayor's daughter, but a young woman with warmth and humor behind her careful exterior.
Our eyes held for a beat too long, and I felt something shift between us—a subtle change in the current of our interaction. For a moment, neither of us was performing.
The spell broke when the head trainer announced the final hour of training. Madge looked away first, returning her attention to the snare with pinking cheeks.
"We should visit the climbing station before we finish," I suggested, offering my hand to help her up. "It's a skill we haven't practiced much." And I knew we would need it.
She accepted my assistance, her soft and smaller hand fitting naturally in mine. "Lead the way."
The climbing station consisted of artificial trees, rock walls, and rope structures designed to test various techniques. The instructor demonstrated basic hand and foot positioning, then left us to practice.
I took to it easily, my strength compensating for any lack of technique as I scaled a rope net. Madge struggled more, her slender arms shaking with effort as she attempted to pull herself up.
"Here," I said, positioning myself below her. "Let me spot you."
My hands found her waist, supporting some of her weight as she climbed. The contact was practical, necessary for the exercise, but also intimate in a way that furthered our narrative.
"Thanks," she breathed as we reached the top together. "Not my strongest skill."
"That's why we're a team," I reminded her. "My strengths complement your weaknesses, and vice versa."
From our elevated position, we could see the entire training floor. The Careers dominated the weapons stations, as always. Thresh lifted massive weights with apparent ease. Rue practically flew through an aerial obstacle course, her tiny form nimble and quick. Each tribute focused on showcasing their strengths before tomorrow's critical evaluation.
"Do you think we're ready?" Madge asked quietly, her question encompassing more than just our training.
"As ready as we can be," I replied honestly. "We've learned survival skills, developed some combat techniques, and established our... partnership story. The rest will come down to what happens in the arena."
She nodded, her expression solemn. "And tomorrow's private sessions."
"Any thoughts on what you'll show the Gamemakers?" I asked as we began our descent.
"I'm thinking a combination of skills," she said. "Plant identification first, to establish knowledge base, then some knife work to show I'm not defenseless, and finally a demonstration of how certain plants can be weaponized."
"Hmm," I approved. "Comprehensive and strategic. Shows both survival knowledge and combat potential."
"What about you?"
"Hammer combat, primarily," I said. "It's my strongest skill, and unusual enough to be memorable. I'll add some survival elements—fire starting, snare construction—to demonstrate versatility."
We reached the ground and stepped away from the climbing apparatus just as the final training whistle sounded. As tributes began filing toward the elevators, Madge and I found ourselves walking close together, our hands occasionally brushing in a way that now felt almost natural.
Back in our quarters, Haymitch was waiting with Effie, both looking unusually serious.
"Good training day?" our mentor asked as we sank onto the couch.
"Yeah," I confirmed. "We focused on final skill acquisition and made sure to be visible enough as a pair."
"Excellent," Effie bubbled. "The partnership angle is already generating interest among potential sponsors. I've had three inquiries just this afternoon!"
Haymitch grunted in agreement. "Your strategy's working. Now you need to deliver on individual scores to maintain momentum."
"Speaking of which," I began, "about Eleven."
I explained Thresh's suggestion of alliance. Haymitch listened thoughtfully, swirling liquor in his glass.
"Could be useful," he admitted. "The girl's small but smart, the boy's possibly the strongest tribute this year. But alliances are complicated—eventually, they end. Usually badly."
"We're aware," Madge said. "But in the early stages, having allies against the Careers seems pragmatic."
"Agreed," Haymitch nodded. "Just be careful who you trust. District partners have the most incentive to keep each other alive—shared glory for the home district. Others..." He shrugged. "Their loyalty has natural limits."
After dinner, we reviewed strategy for the private sessions once more, then parted to prepare in our own ways. I spent an hour in my room going through hammer combat forms, using a walking stick provided by an Avox as a substitute weapon, focusing on the techniques I would demonstrate tomorrow.
A soft knock at my door interrupted my practice. I opened it to find Madge standing there in loose Capitol pajamas, her hair down around her shoulders instead of in its usual practical ponytail.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I just... I was wondering if we could talk. About tomorrow."
"Of course." I stepped aside to let her enter, suddenly aware of the intimacy of having her in my private space. "Is something wrong?"
She perched on the edge of a chair while I sat on the bed, giving her space. "Not wrong, exactly. I'm just..." She sighed, frustration evident in the sound. "I'm nervous about the private session. It feels like everything depends on the score."
"It's important," I acknowledged. "But not definitive. Low scores have won Games before, and high scores have died in the bloodbath."
"I know that rationally," she agreed. "But I can't help feeling this pressure. As the mayor's daughter, I've always been expected to excel, to represent our family perfectly. And now, with literally my life at stake..." She trailed off, looking younger and more vulnerable than I'd seen her before.
Without thinking, I moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in mine. "Madge. You're prepared. You're intelligent. You have skills that most of the other tributes lack. And you're adaptable, which matters more than any specific ability."
She looked down at our joined hands, then back to my face. "How are you so calm about all this? You're facing the same dangers, the same unknowns."
I considered how to answer truthfully without revealing too much. "I'm not as calm as I seem," I admitted. "I'm terrified, like any sane person would be. But I also know that fear doesn't help. So I focus on what I can control—my preparation, my decisions, my strategy."
"Our strategy," she corrected softly. "This romance story we're creating. Do you ever worry about what happens if it works? If we both somehow survive?"
The question caught me off guard. I'd been so focused on using the star-crossed lovers angle to ensure our survival that I hadn't fully considered what would happen afterward.
"I think," I said carefully, "that's a bridge we cross if we're lucky enough to reach it. For now, our priority has to be survival."
She nodded, squeezing my hand once before releasing it. "You're right. One impossible challenge at a time."
As she stood to leave, I caught a subtle shift in her demeanor—a squaring of shoulders, a lifting of chin—as she reassumed the composure that was her armor.
"Madge," I called as she reached the door. She turned back questioningly. "You're going to do well tomorrow. I believe in you."
Something flickered in her blue eyes—surprise, maybe, or gratitude. "Thank you, Jake. Good night."
After she left, I returned to my practice, but my concentration was fractured. Our conversation had revealed a vulnerability in Madge I hadn't fully appreciated—the weight of expectation she'd carried her entire life as the mayor's daughter. It made her strength all the more impressive, knowing the pressure she'd always lived under.
Morning arrived with a stifling atmosphere of anticipation. Breakfast was a quiet affair, each of us lost in our own thoughts about the coming evaluation. Afterward, we gathered in a waiting room with the other tributes, arranged in district order to be called individually before the Gamemakers.
One by one, tributes disappeared through the doors—first the boy, then the girl from each district. The room gradually emptied, the remaining tributes growing increasingly tense as their turns approached.
The Careers entered confidently, returning with satisfied expressions that suggested impressive performances. Others looked more uncertain, some even defeated before they'd begun.
Rue and Thresh were called in due course, each maintaining inscrutable expressions that revealed nothing about their sessions. Finally, only Madge and I remained in the cavernous waiting room.
"You'll do brilliantly," I told her quietly.
She gave me a tight smile. "So will you. See you after."
"Jake Thompson, District Twelve," the automated voice announced.
I squeezed Madge's hand once, then stood and walked through the doors into the gymnasium. The Gamemakers occupied a raised platform on one side, some still attentive despite the late hour, others clearly dulled by food and wine after sitting through twenty-two previous demonstrations.
"Jake Thompson, District Twelve," I announced clearly, my voice echoing in the large space.
The Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, nodded for me to proceed, his elaborately styled beard making him immediately recognizable. I moved first to the hammers station, selecting a weapon that felt balanced in my hands—not the heaviest available, but one that allowed for both power and control.
I began with basic strikes against a practice dummy, establishing technique and strength. Then I increased complexity, adding combinations and defensive maneuvers that showcased both my athletic ability and strategic thinking. For the finale, I incorporated a spinning attack that landed with enough force to decapitate the dummy, sending its head rolling across the floor with a satisfying thud.
Several Gamemakers straightened in their seats, exchanging impressed glances. I had their attention now.
Next, I moved to the fire-starting station, demonstrating how quickly I could create flames using flint, steel, and various tinders. Then to the knot-tying area, where I constructed a complex snare designed to leave a human opponent dangling upside down.
For my final demonstration, I returned to the hammers, but with a twist. I gathered materials from the survival stations—rope, sticks, stones—and quickly constructed a makeshift hammer using techniques from my blacksmith background. Within minutes, I'd created a functional weapon from seemingly innocuous items.
"A tribute without a weapon isn't necessarily unarmed," I explained, testing the balance of my creation. "Not if they have the knowledge to make one."
With that, I delivered a powerful strike to a fresh dummy, the improvised hammer connecting with enough force to cause significant damage. I turned to the Gamemakers, standing straight and making eye contact with Seneca Crane.
"Thank you for your consideration," I said formally, then placed the hammer back on its rack and walked out.
In the hallway, I passed Madge on her way in. We couldn't speak, but I gave her an encouraging nod which she returned with determined eyes.
Upstairs, Haymitch was waiting alone, Effie presumably off managing Capitol social connections.
"How'd it go?" he asked without preamble.
"Well, I think," I replied, dropping onto the couch. "I demonstrated hammer combat, fire-starting, trap construction, and the ability to create weapons from basic materials. Most of them were paying attention."
"Good," he nodded. "Now we wait for Madge, then the scores tonight."
Madge returned about twenty minutes later, her face flushed but expression composed.
"I showed them plant identification first," she reported. "Then I demonstrated how certain combinations could be used medicinally or offensively. Finished with some knife work to show combat capability."
"Were they watching?" Haymitch asked.
"Most of them," she confirmed. "One fell asleep, but the Head Gamemaker seemed particularly interested in the plant weaponization."
"Well done, both of you," Haymitch said, genuine approval in his voice. "Now we see how the scores play out."
The hours until the broadcast dragged interminably. Madge and I both napped, knowing sleep would be precious and limited in the days ahead. When evening arrived, we gathered in the sitting room with Haymitch, Effie, and our stylists to watch the scores being announced.
Caesar Flickerman appeared on screen in all his blue-haired glory, explaining the scoring system for viewers—a scale from one to twelve, with twelve being the highest possible score never yet achieved.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the training scores for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"
District 1 appeared first: Marvel with a nine, Glimmer with an eight. District 2 followed with predictably high numbers: Cato and Clove both scoring tens. The middle districts ranged from mediocre to decent, with a few standouts like the fox-faced girl from 5 who scored a seven.
Rue received a surprising seven. Thresh scored a ten, matching the Career males and establishing himself as a serious contender.
Finally, it was our turn.
"From District Twelve, Jake Thompson," Caesar announced dramatically, "with a score of... ten."
Effie squealed with delight while Haymitch nodded, satisfied but not surprised. A ten put me on par with Cato and Thresh, marking me as a legitimate threat.
"And finally, from District Twelve, Madge Undersee with a score of... eight."
Another round of celebration erupted. An eight was exceptional for a non-Career district, especially for someone without obvious combat specialization.
"Well, well," Haymitch said, raising his glass in a toast. "Looks like District Twelve has serious contenders this year."
"This is wonderful!" Effie gushed. "High scores from both our tributes will certainly attract sponsor attention!"
Madge and I exchanged glances, sharing a silent moment of acknowledgment. We'd done well—better than most would have expected from District 12 tributes.
"What happens now?" Madge asked Haymitch.
"Now," he said, setting down his glass, "we prepare for the interviews. That's where your romance strategy really comes into play."
"The interviews are your opportunity to establish your narrative for the Capitol audience," Haymitch expanded. "We've laid the groundwork with your training interactions. Tomorrow, one or both of you will make it explicit."
"A public declaration," Madge murmured, understanding immediately.
"Exactly," Haymitch confirmed. "The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve, finding each other just in time to be sent into an arena where only one can survive." He shook his head. "The Capitol will eat it up."
"And it needs to be convincing," Cinna added, speaking up for the first time. "The audience is sophisticated about entertainment. They can spot manufactured drama."
"So we make it real," I said, meeting Madge's eyes across the room. "Or as close to real as possible."
"Tomorrow we'll work on your interview approaches," Haymitch continued. "Content, delivery, timing. But for tonight, celebrate your scores. You've earned some satisfaction before the next challenge."
After the others had departed, Madge and I remained in the sitting room, the gravity of our situation settling around us like a physical weight. High scores meant visibility, which was good for sponsors but also made us priority targets for the Careers.
"Ten and eight," Madge said softly. "We've definitely caught their attention now."
"That was always the plan," I reminded her. "Better to be remembered than overlooked."
"Still," she sighed, "part of me wishes we could just... disappear. Slip into the arena unnoticed and survive by staying hidden."
"That's not how these Games work," I said gently. "The Gamemakers ensure action, confrontation. Hiding only buys time, not victory."
She nodded, accepting this harsh reality. "Then…together?"
"Together," I agreed, extending my hand to her.
She took it without hesitation, our fingers intertwining.