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( 003 ━ PAYING TRIBUTE )

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THERE WAS A SPLIT SECOND where Carminia didn't register the name being read. She could see the audience's faces, watch them erupt into into polite applause, but the clamor had gone deaf in her ears. It was replaced by the quickness of her breath and the erratic, tha-thump, tha-thump of her heart as it pounded and rushed in her ears.

The name that was announced was Enobaria's—not her own.

Silvanus Darling held the slip of paper high above his head, shaking it in his fist like it was the flag of Panem itself. His bejeweled grin was ecstatic, glittering, just as the rest of himself was. Everything, including the escort, moved in a sluggish manner, and she was the only one left unaffected. A statue, frozen, untouched by time.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Her mind raced. The choice should have been made for her—that's what she'd been holding on to—now, her entire future was being laid before her, and she had mere seconds to made a decision that could end in either victory, or her own inevitable demise.

Carminia's gaze darted across the sea of bodies, scanning until she found him—her father—sitting stiffly in his wheelchair at the edge of the crowd with the other Victor families. He sat tall and proud, but she saw it, the way his eyes met hers without blinking. There was no plea in his stare. No desperation. Just grim acceptance.

She forced herself to look away before her thoughts could shift.

Instead, Carminia glanced to Enobaria. Her face was unreadable—a sharp contrast from someone who was now not marked for death. There was no joy in her stance, no celebration in her eyes, only the calm stillness of someone who was acknowledging the outcome. Everything else seemed distant as Carminia noticed, almost imperceptibly, Enobaria dipping her head. A silent signal. Go on.

Then, the slow-motion haze shattered, and Carminia's hand shot up into the air.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The words ripped from her throat, startling even herself.

Silvanus blinked at her, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted in delight, recovering quickly. "Oh! A volunteer! How thrilling!" He clapped his manicured hands together with glee. "What a treat for my very first reaping!"

He gestured for her to come forward.

Carminia obeyed, her movements stiff, mechanical. As she reached the microphone, she found herself transported—six years back—to another reaping. Another platform. Another girl. That day, it have been all about pride. Now, it was just survival.

Silvanus continued, rambling brightly. "Now, now, there's protocol, of course. We announce the reaped tributes, then ask for volunteers...but no matter! This is the Quarter Quell after all—who wouldn't expect a few surprises here and there?"

A few in the crowd chuckled politely. Carminia looked at her father again. He wasn't one of them.

Silvanus turned toward her with a theatrical flourish. "What is your name, my dear?"

Carminia forced a smile, lips curling upward with practiced ease. It came naturally now, the way that she could lie and flatter and manipulate. It was like a second nature.

"Carminia Wythe," she said evenly. "Victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games."

"Oh, how could I forget! The red hair, the scar—your Games were such an interesting year. The darkness and the night vision had me on the edge of my seat." He paused, then winked. "Hopefully you'll have us on the edge of our seats this year."

Carminia thought quickly. "Don't worry, Silvanus—I'm here to give them a show they won't forget." 

Silvanus beamed, clearly pleased by her answer. He put his hands out as if to show her off. "There you have it! The female tribute of District Two, ladies and gentlemen!"

The crowd applauded, and Carminia fell into place, playing her part by waving out to the people of her district, and more importantly, to the people watching beyond the cameras. She had to be likable if she wanted sponsors.

"And now, for the male tribute."

Silvanus then turned toward the male tribute bowl, digging through the names with dramatic flair. The crowd waited, breathless.

"And the male tribute for District Two is... Pax Thalor!"

A ripple moved through the gathered Victors as Pax, a young, wiry boy with a tightly wound expression, stepped forward. Thin, twitchy, and barely scraping his late teens, he resembled a young deer, with his long limbs and uncertain step. In comparison to the majority of powerful and precise tributes that District Two pumped out, Pax wasn't anything remarkable. Carminia remembered thinking he wouldn't last more three days during his Games. But he had. He'd won. Now, he would have barely gotten to enjoy his winnings before being thrust back into the arena once again.

He moved toward the podium, but before he could take more than a few steps, a large shape forced his way to the front.

Brutus.

He was nearly twice Pax's size, broad and imposing. He shoved past the smaller tribute, who stumbled back, nearly falling, like he didn't weigh more than a leaf. Brutus didn't even look at him. His voice boomed across the square. "I volunteer."

The crowd roared. Silvanus was practically vibrating with excitement. "Another volunteer! Not that I am surprised—this is District Two after all."

Brutus stepped up with the heavy, confident stride of a man who'd been waiting years for this moment. Pax, who appeared disgruntled, but somewhat relieved, briefly caught Carminia's gaze, before he returned to his place among the other male Victors.

"Now, I know who you are. Brutus, correct?" Silvanus asked, his tone conveying the awe of someone meeting a celebrity. "I have to say, I am a huge fan of yours, and it is an honor to be your escort." 

Brutus's mouth cracked into a smug grin. "It will be an even greater honor when I win the Quarter Quell."

Carminia fought down the urge to roll her eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of him, but Silvanus was eating this up, looking as if he might swoon on the spot. Typical Capitol behavior. The fake fawning, the syrupy compliments, the exaggerated awe...like they were talking to children or pets. Vespara had been the same, but not nearly as dramatic. This was shaping up to feel much more like an interview with Caesar Flickerman than a reaping.

"What an exciting turn of events," Silvanus crowed into the microphone. He was now wiping at nonexistent tears with a sparkly handkerchief. "Not one, but two volunteers. Beautiful!"

Without a moments hesitation in between, the two tributes were ushered closer together on stage, and in a seeming "act of goodwill", Brutus reached out and shook Carminia's hand. But there was no warmth or camaraderie in his gesture. His grip was firm, his eyes cold. He clutched her hand with such ferocity that her scarred palm began to throb. Words weren't needed to know what he meant; this wasn't a partnership, this was a contest. Carminia suddenly felt dwarfed beside him, like she'd already lost before the Games had even begun.

Silvanus began beckoning to the crew behind the camera, one hand in his hair, smoothing his down his locks as if they weren't already set into place with some industrial strength gel.

"This would be a perfect time for a close-up," he said, beginning to arrange the pair of Victors so they were standing side by side. "You just stand there, and you there—Gloria, make sure to get my good side—wonderful. And here we go..."

He turned towards the camera with his radiant smile, and she could imagine his face and theirs, magnified on the large screen behind them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Silvanus declared, throwing his arms wide, "I give you the tributes of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games: Carminia and Brutus!"

Carminia supposed that, in that moment, she was expected to celebrate—Brutus certainly was—and yet, she found difficulty rejoicing. She remembered back to six years ago, when she had volunteered: smiling and waving boldly on stage, as if she had already won. But at the current moment, she didn't feel like she'd won anything. With Brutus as her partner and likely plenty of other capable tributes being reaped, Carminia was beginning to feel outmatched. Smiling and waving would only take her so far; she needed a plan and she needed one soon. Because the Games didn't start in arena. They started right here, on this stage.

Career districts, such as District 2, usually had no shortage of admirers from the Capitol, but that didn't mean that they didn't have difficulty getting sponsors. Carminia had seen tributes earn fewer gifts over the years if they showed less...desirable qualities. The ones who reaped the most benefits were either nice to look at or potential bloodthirsty killers, but of course, the tributes who were most favored were the die-hard Capitol supporters. The more you played to their image, the more sponsors you were sure to have.

She caught a flicker of a memory—last year's Games, the Seventy-Fourth, when a boy and girl from another district had stood hand in hand, displaying their alliance for all of Panem to see. The Capitol had just about fallen to their knees groveling over them, and that had been far before the Games had actually started. While their situation was far different from her own, there was some lesson to be learned.

Carminia's fingers twitched as she suddenly clasped Brutus's hand and raised it high above their heads. The action surprised her male counterpart; she could tell by the subtle tension in his muscles, especially those of his hands as he grasped hers far more ferociously. It was a clear indication—a warning—that simply stated, "I'll deal with you later". Carminia was sure her fingers would be crushed, though, for whatever reason, Brutus didn't pull away. Instead, he played along, brandishing their joined hands like they were a pair of Victors already crowned. ___.

After a few moments of applause, Silvanus made a quick motion across his throat and almost instantaneously, the broadcast ended. The screen behind them turned to black and the tributes faces were replaced by the rippling flag of Panem. Later, once all the names had been drawn, the recording of the reaping would be stitched together with the ones from the other districts, and the nation would get a side-by-side peek of all the tributes of the Quarter Quell. It would also be the Victors' first time seeing their competition.

Brutus wasted no time dropping her hand. He gave her a silent, but potent look of loathing, and their moment of "camaraderie" was over just as quickly as it had started. Carminia didn't care. Those few moments on screen had been everything she needed. He would surely thank her later when the sponsors came rolling in on account of her quick thinking.

The pair of tributes stood still and silent where they were until the Peacekeepers on either side of them—one of which being Crassus—directed them to exit the stage. Silvanus didn't join them right away, taking a moment to thank the audience and dismiss them. Now that the reaping had concluded, there was nothing keeping the people of District 2 in the square any longer. The Forum began to empty, people slowly trickling out around the edges; workers and families with children... even the other female and male Victors of Two started for the stairs, some looking displeased, while others didn't spare so much as a glance over their shoulders. Carminia and Brutus, however, we're lead towards the front doors of the Justice Building.

Like everything else in the Forum, the Justice Building was large, made of polished stone, and held a certain Capitol-esque quality in it's design. Sold marble pillars held up a triangular shaped roof, the front of which was inscribed with the words "IUSTITIA PER IMPERIUM". It was ancient writing, a language that she'd once overheard someone refer to as Latin. No one that she'd met knew how to understand Latin, so the engraving had always remained a mystery.

As she and Brutus passed under the inscription and stone columns, another pair of Peacekeepers opened the doors to the Justice Building to let them inside. Carminia glanced over her shoulder at the crowd that was slowly dispersing, trying to catch a glimpse of her father among the retreating faces. She couldn't find him. The area designated for the Victors' families had already been emptied, where many of them had likely made their way back to the Village.

The doors closed quickly behind them and Carminia told herself not to worry; she would see her father again in a only few minutes. Now that they were inside the building, they would be lead to separate rooms and given an hour—one short, miserable hour—to say good-bye. Carminia didn't have many visitors her first year, and she didn't expect many now either, but she counted that as a blessing. Parting with loved ones, possibly for the last time, was crueler than anything the arena had to offer.

Once in the hall, Carminia's feet began to lead her towards that familiar doorway, but Crassus, clutching her by the upper arm, pulled her in a different direction. They continued farther into the building, passing paintings, busts of forgotten officials, and eventually the room that would have housed Brutus and his family for the hour. It wasn't long before she realized something was wrong.

"What's going on?" she asked, glancing between the pair of Peacekeepers. To her disdain, neither of them answered. Even worse, Crassus wouldn't even look at her. Carminia's suspicion immediately turned to dread.

She stopped short, resisting the men's attempts to keep her moving along. "I asked you a question," she snapped, her voice sharp with panic. "Answer me!"

The Peackeeper on Brutus's side, a purple-faced solider named Leontes, prodded Carminia in the side with his gun. "Keep walking," he said gruffly. 

Carminia glared at him defiantly, refusing to move an inch. "Make me." 

There was a charged moment where it appeared both were going to spring at each other, but that moment never arrived. Brutus, looking considerably irate, intercepted, gripping Carminia firmly by the shoulder. His fingers dug into her skin as he jerked her around to face him. "Stop," he growled. "Get a hold of yourself."

But Carminia wasn't listening. She wrenched herself against his hold, twisting violently until she managed to break free. She spun around, her face flushed with fury, and jabbed a finger towards Crassus. "They promised us time!" She shouted. "An hour—we get an hour!"

No matter how truthful or moving her statement was, it didn't seem to matter to either Peacekeeper. Crassus stood firm, refusing eye contact, while Leontes, whose face had turned an even uglier shade of plum, flicked out the end of a cruel-looking baton. It was clear he meant to intimidate her into submission. Carminia bristled, ready to lash out, but the defiance didn't last long. The once-quiet hallway was now filled with noise: lilting cadences, the tip-tap of high-heeled shoes, complaints about strange sights and smells... all the unmistakeable sounds of Capitol people.

Silvanus appeared at the other end of the hall, trailed by a flock of colorful birds. No, not birds. People. Vibrant, feathered, twittering people, but people nonetheless. Like most that lived in the Capitol, they were dressed in the most obscene manner: bright, shiny fabrics in loud colors—fuchsia, chartreuse, turquoise, canary yellow—all with their hair and faces done up in absurd ways to match. Carminia recognized a few of them immediately as members of her prep team. There was Gloria, her hair stylist, who dressed almost exclusively in pink regardless of the season, and resembled a large, garish flower. Beside her was Lumea, with her twinkling hair and glow-in-the-dark wardrobe. She was in charge of makeup. Finally, there was Anatolia. Anatolia was a thin, severe looking woman who reminded Carminia more of a drill sergeant than a stylist. She always stood impeccably straight and dressed in such dark clothing that you would have thought she was in perpetual mourning. At the moment, she had a black birdcage veil fixed over her short hair and the same blood-red lipstick that she always wore, which made her downturned lips look like a gash carved into porcelain.

Silvanus and his entourage came to a halt in front of the scene—Leontes with his baton drawn, Carminia with her wild-eyed look—and the trilling stopped.

"Oh dear," Silvanus murmured. He was still dabbing at his face with his handkerchief, appearing remarkably less sparkly now that he was inside. "What is going on here?"

Carminia straightened instinctively, swallowing down the lump of anger rising in her throat. Her fists were still clenched at her sides, but she forced her voice to steady. "They're not giving us our hour," she said, her eyes flashing as she gave Crassus and Leontes a steely glare. "We always get an hour. To say goodbye."

Silvanus very quickly became uncomfortable. He cleared his throat awkwardly and began to shoo the prep team off. They filed to the door like birds retreating to nests, still fluttering and fussing but quieter now, their high-pitched coos melting into awkward silence under Carminia's tight-lipped glare.

"Yes, well," Silvanus said at last, his tone honeyed but strained, "let's not make a scene, shall we? It is unfortunate...no one regrets it more than I, I assure you, but...rules are rules."

Carminia's eyes narrowed. "What rules?"

"Orders changed. Direct transport. No family visits this year," Leontes replied, his tone dismissive and cold.

"What do you mean, no visits?" she demanded, louder this time. "Why? What changed?"

Silvanus opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced away, suddenly finding the marble tiling very interesting, while Crassus said nothing. Only Leontes smirked, satisfied by her confusion. Their silence answered her more honestly than words could. They weren't going to tell them anything.

"I want to see my father," she said. "Just him. Five minutes."

"No exceptions." This time voice the voice that answered her belonged to Crassus. They were first words he'd spoken to her all day. Then he added, sounding regretful: "I'm sorry, little fox. This is one thing you can't bargain your way into."

Carminia's lip curled in disgust. "Cowards. All of you."

Leontes stepped forward again, baton raised, but Silvanus waved a jeweled hand in the air. "That's enough. There will be no bruises. Not on the face, not anywhere. She's due for her stylists."

That seemed to hold Leontes back, though just barely.

Silvanus folded his handkerchief neatly, his glitter-stained fingers trembling slightly. "Let's move on, shall we?"

Carminia hesitated, then looked back—just for a heartbeat—toward the doors where she'd last seen sunlight, where her father had vanished into the crowd. She wanted to stay, to fight until they had no choice but to see her way, but with both Leontes and Brutus breathing down her neck, she had no choice but to walk.

"Marvelous," Silvanus said brightly, clapping his hands together. "Now, just through these doors here..."

The doors he was referring to let out behind the building, where a set of armored vehicles were waiting. One already contained both Carminia's and Brutus's prep teams, while the other awaited, empty, for it's tributes. The door to the back of the vehicle had been left open for their arrival and Carminia, who was now leading the procession, was forced to get in first. She scowled, displeased, but she obeyed.

As she gripped the cold edge of the steel doorframe, there was a brief moment where Crassus attempted to catch her eye, as if to give one last apology. Carminia didn't share the same sentiment. She didn't give him even so much as a sideway glance before she hoisted herself up into the armored vehicle.

The inside was dimly lit, the air stale and metallic, tinged faintly with the scent of oil and disinfectant. The hum of the engine vibrated through the floor beneath her boots. She paused for a beat, taking in the sight before her.

Two Peacekeepers sat rigidly on the benches lining either side of the vehicle, their white uniforms stained dull gray in the poor lighting. Their faces were obscured entirely by helmets—no eyes, no mouths, no names. Carminia didn't recognize them—not that it mattered. They weren't here for her protection. That much was evident by the way each was cradling a rifle across their chest, fingers loosely curled near the trigger.

She slid onto the nearest bench, away from the two Peacekeepers, with her back against the cold metal wall. A single breath passed before Brutus climbed in next. He didn't so much as glance at her. Instead, he settled as far from her as space allowed, slumping against the opposite wall with a grunt of relief that made it painfully clear he was glad to be rid of her. Whatever thread of alliance they'd forged in that moment of forced civility was already fraying.

The next to appear was Silvanus.

He hesitated at the open door, a look of utter disgust twisting his carefully powdered face. Clearly, he thought more highly of himself than to be transported this way, as he kept muttering about the quality of his treatment. "Well, I never...not even a headrest? Now, really, this is just barbaric..."

He pushed past Carminia with a wrinkled nose and perched delicately on the edge of the bench beside Brutus, who rolled his eyes. Silvanus continued to grumble, not once directing his complaints toward either of them. "Do they think I'm some livestock handler? Do they know who I am? I've shared cocktails with Gamemakers..."

Despite the ceaseless string of complaints, he never once looked to the tributes with any sympathy.

Everyone was seated now—two Peacekeepers, two tributes, and a disgruntled escort—yet two seats remained conspicuously empty. Carminia was still frowning at the vacant space when the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. She turned just as a shadow fell over the truck's threshold.

Enobaria appeared at the mouth of the truck, escorted by another faceless Peacekeeper on the outside. She wore a grim expression that should have twisted Carminia's gut, but despite this, her heart lifted. After their conversation in the earlier that morning, her mentor's presence brought reassurance and perhaps a little bit of hope. But then, another figure stepped up behind her.

Younger. Taller. Fawn-eyed. Barely more than a boy. The figure was Pax.

Carminia's face dropped. She wasn't sure who she expected to see join Enobaria as their secondary mentor, but Pax was certainly not that person. Prior to the Quarter Quell, he'd been responsible for only one set of tributes, which technically made him a mentor—although by the skin of his teeth. Now here he was, made out to represent them with next to no experience. Her eyes narrowed and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out, bitter as venom.

"What is he doing here?"

Pax raised an eyebrow as he climbed in, all false confidence and crooked smiles. He came off as more awkward than anything, but he didn't flinch at her tone, just tossed himself into the remaining seat beside her and crossed his arms.

"Good to see you too," he said, in an attempt at sarcasm. "I missed the warm welcome."

Carminia's jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists in her lap.

Enobaria sighed, as if she were already regretting everything about this arrangement. She stepped inside, and no sooner had she done so than the door behind her slammed shut with a clang so loud that echoed through the truck and shook the metal walls around them.

"He's here because I asked him to be," Enobaria said as she sat down.

Carminia was not pleased with this answer. "He's a child," she argued. "He's barely seen a Games through, let alone helped anyone survive one."

The words were sharp and cutting, and they landed just as hard. She didn't bother to hide the edge in her voice. "No offense."

"None taken," Pax mumbled in response.

Carminia purposely ignored him. "You didn't think to ask someone who was a little more, I don't know...experienced?" She asked bitterly.

She looked around at Brutus, half-expecting him to agree with her, but he barely gave her grunt of acknowledgement, much less a consensus. For a moment, she'd almost forgotten that he hated her guts.

Carminia's gaze returned to Pax and she scrutinized him with her one good eye. "How old are you anyway?"

"Seventeen," he answered simply.

"I thought so." Carminia scoffed, unimpressed "You're just proving my point for me."

She turned on Enobaria again. "Is he really your best choice? There wasn't anyone else?"

Enobaria didn't react to the accusation in her voice. "There was. But even if there wasn't, I still would've chosen him."

Carminia frowned. "Why?"

Enobaria leaned back against the wall of the truck, arms crossed. Her tone didn't change—calm, clipped, resolute. "Because there's only one Victor between the two of you. Maybe. And if one of you doesn't make it back—and don't fool yourself, the odds are you won't—then someone still has to be here to carry on."

The words landed hard. Heavy. Unavoidable. But Carminia didn't respond. Enobaria was right, although she wouldn't care to admit it. She wanted to be angry, but a bitter emptiness was welling up inside of her stomach as she finally began to come to terms with her decision. Then, all she could do was think of her father. So, instead of answer, she just stared at the metal wall across from her, the ridged surface suddenly feeling far more like a coffin than a vehicle.

Pax didn't gloat. He didn't smile. He just shifted slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. Quiet, but present.

Outside, a voice barked a command, muffled through steel. A beat later, the engine sputtered to life beneath them, shaking the floor with its low growl, and the truck began to roll forward.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carminia saw Pax glance at her, fleetingly, before his eyes returned to the floor. Then his voice came, low but certain.

"Looks like you're stuck with me."