The train ride to the Capitol was long, but not long enough. You wished it could stretch on forever, carrying you further and further away from the fate that awaited you. But nothing could stop the inevitable. The moment you arrived, the moment those golden doors slid open and the blinding lights of the Capitol flooded in, it became real.

You barely had time to take in the towering buildings or the sea of perfectly groomed citizens before someone was ushering you forward, guiding you through the grand station like cattle to slaughter. And then, amidst the noise, the cameras, the suffocating scent of perfume and artificial luxury, a voice cut through it all.

“Hey—wait!”

A young man pushed through the crowd, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his uniform a little too stiff on his broad frame. He wasn’t like the others, who looked at you with cold calculation or sick fascination. His brown eyes held something else entirely—worry. Regret. Maybe even guilt.

“Sejanus Plinth,” he said, almost breathless, as he finally reached you. “I’m your mentor.”

You stared at him, silent for a moment, taking in the Capitol accent, the expensive clothes, the way he seemed… out of place, somehow. You knew that name—Plinth. The son of a District merchant who’d bought his way into Capitol life. He wasn’t one of them. Not really.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” you asked, voice flat. “That you’ll be the one making bets on how long I last?”

His expression flickered with something—pain, maybe. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It means I’m the one who’s supposed to help you survive.”