The rooftop wind was biting, but the twenty-four tributes stood in a circle so tight that the cold couldn't penetrate. This was the first and last time we would all be together before the bloodbath was supposed to begin.
Finnick stood by the door, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of Capitol interference, while David sat quietly at my feet, holding a small velvet bag.
"Listen to me," I said, my voice low and urgent. "The Capitol wants a massacre. They want to see you tear each other apart for the chance to go home. But I'm offering you a different way home—all of you."
I reached into the bag David held and pulled out a small, circular object. It was a medallion, crafted from a dull, weathered bronze. On its face was a subtle engraving of a mountain peak shrouded in mist.
"Each of you will be given one of these," I said, holding it up so the moonlight caught the metal. "Our stylists and the Peacekeepers have ensured these are registered as 'family heirlooms.' They'll be allowed into the arena as your District tokens."
Rufus leaned in, his brow furrowed. "A piece of jewelry isn't going to stop a spear, Zinnia."
"No," I replied, a cold spark in my eyes. "It's going to do something better. These medallions are equipped with a short-range displacement trigger. The moment you are 'struck' in a way that should be fatal, you activate the pressure plate on the back. It will project a holographic replica of your 'body' for the cameras while simultaneously teleporting the real you to the basement of my manor in District 12."
A heavy silence followed. Organza looked at the bronze disk in her hand, her voice trembling. "But if everyone 'dies' and goes to your house... then who wins? There has to be a Victor, or they'll hunt us all down."
"I will," I said, my voice as cold and clear as the mountain air.
The circle shifted. Some of the Careers bristled, their old instincts flaring for a brief second.
"Why you?" Bellona challenged. "Why do you get the crown and the life of a Victor while we hide in your basement?"
"Because I'm the only one who can keep you alive once you're there," I said, stepping into the center of the circle so I was eye-to-eye with her. "I have allies in the Peacekeepers and the Capitol. I have the resources and the manor. If I 'die' and teleport away, those allies are gone. The protection over my house vanishes. The sensors that keep you hidden will be shut down by the Capitol the moment they realize District 12 is empty."
I looked at all of them, letting the weight of the truth settle.
"If I don't stand on that pedestal at the end, none of you make it out of that basement alive. I am the anchor. I stay in the arena until the very last second to keep the lie standing. I take the risk of actually facing the Gamemakers' final 'surprises' so you don't have to."
The tension broke. They understood. This wasn't about ego; it was about the logistics of a revolution. I wasn't choosing to be a Victor; I was condemning myself to be the last one left in the cage.
"So we give them the most entertaining Games in history," Rufus said, his voice a low rumble as he gripped his medallion. "We fight you, we hunt you, and we make our 'deaths' look spectacular—all to make sure the girl from Twelve takes the crown."
"Exactly," I said. "You have to make the world hate me. You have to make them believe I am the most ruthless, lucky, and cunning tribute they've ever seen. The more 'enemies' I survive, the more the Capitol will believe I earned the win."
I began walking around the circle, handing a medallion to each tribute. As their fingers closed over the bronze, the look of the condemned vanished. In its place was the sharp focus of a conspirator.
"Act well. Fight hard," I whispered. "And I'll see you all for dinner in District 12."
In the shadow of the Capitol's towers, twenty-four hands clutched twenty-four bronze medallions. The "Wolves" and the "Ghosts" had found their way out of the cage. They just had to die to get there.