Hazel's steps slowed until they stopped in the center of the grand marble dance floor. Couples beside them adjusted their movements to avoid the sudden blockade, and the music, once a backdrop to their evening, diminished in significance.

The ambient chatter and laughter were replaced by a hushed silence as a few of the Capitol's elite watched the scene unfolding before them. The weight of countless pairs of eyes pressed down on her.

"And what could my father possibly have to do with all of this?" Hazel retorted, her voice laced with a defensive edge that cut through the air. Her father, often lost in his own world, possibly entangled in the machinations of the Games, seemed far-fetched. Her mind flickered back to a memory of him, tipsy, saying he'd eat popcorn while karma caught up with Oren. She had never taken his drunken musings seriously; how could someone so frequently inebriated have any real influence or insight?

Aaron's eyes bore into hers, his voice low and intense. "You truly have no idea?" he asked, his grip on her arm tightening. "Wake up, Hazel."

Their intense exchange was interrupted by an authoritative voice. "Tributes, is there a problem here?"

As Hazel turned, she was met with Senator Snow's glacial gaze. Standing beside her, Aaron tensed, his hands betraying a faint tremor.

"Everything's perfectly fine, Senator," Hazel responded with a fake calm, her voice smooth and composed. Snow's gaze lingered on them, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of skepticism.

"If that's the case," Snow then turned his attention to Aaron, his tone courteous yet commanding. "Aaron, would you mind if I steal her?" he asked, extending his hand toward Hazel. Dancing with Snow was the last thing she wanted, especially now, but refusing wasn't an option.

She swallowed her apprehension, a lump forming in her throat, as Aaron stepped back, giving Snow the floor. "Of course, Sir," Aaron said, yielding his place with a mix of respect and reluctance. Snow's hand was steady as Hazel placed hers in his, it was firm yet surprisingly gentle. He guided her into the dance with practiced ease, his other hand resting with a light but assertive hold on her waist. The onlookers from the Capitol cast curious glances their way, their eyes like prying daggers.

Snow's voice was a soft murmur as they danced, almost like he was engaging in a casual conversation rather than a calculated exchange. "So, what did the mayor's son say that upset you?" Hazel hesitated. The pause was a moment too long, and Snow, perceptive as ever, prodded, "You can tell me."

Weighing her options, Hazel decided to offer a partial truth. "He made some unkind remarks about my father," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Snow appeared to ponder her words. "Ah, and here I thought District Ten had a high opinion of Oren Starling," he said as if the name brought back memories. Hazel's eyes met his, trying to read the intentions behind those icy blue depths. She was torn between relief that he didn't hear Aaron's words regarding Heath and concern that he knew of Oren. More importantly, he knew District Ten appeared to have a relationship with him.

"You know of him?" Her words came out slow and hesitant.

Snow responded with a charming, almost disarming smile. "Miss Marlowe, I think you are underestimating me," he said.

Hazel's scrutiny swept across the room, "Perhaps I am, but you haven't answered my question," she pressed.

Snow's expression was mild amusement, yet his words had an underlying seriousness. "I make it a point to stay informed about significant individuals across all districts. It's important to keep a pulse on things."

"I see." She muttered, afraid to ask anything else in fear of giving away what she knew. Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you always dance with tributes?" Hazel inquired as they swayed to the music, very conscious of her palm resting on his shoulder while his hand remained at her waist. Hazel was keenly aware of the many eyes on them, both in the room and through the ever-present cameras. "It might appear odd and like you are displaying favoritism," she added, keeping her tone measured.

Snow adjusted his hand on her waist as they continued to dance, his touch firm but not overly familiar. "No, not typically. Maybe you are just lucky after all," he replied. She couldn't help a small scoff from escaping her lips. One corner of his mouth curled at her reaction. "In reality, I was just saving you really from embarrassment and public scrutiny with whatever was going on between you at Aaron Shepherd," he said.

"So favoritism then." She concluded.

"Something like that, I suppose," Snow replied with a knowing smile, and they continued to move to the music. Hazel struggled to keep up with the intricate steps, her nervousness getting the better of her. She wished she were dancing with Ruby; it was far less pressure and intense. "It also might be that I have a bet on you winning."

Hazel arched an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her eyes. "Are you allowed to place bets as a Gamemaker? Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?"

Snow chuckled. "I'm joking, Hazel. Besides, if I had to place a bet, it would definitely be on Silus."

Hazel stared into his eyes for a long moment, trying to discern if he was playing games with her. "I would agree; that's a smart bet."

"You think so?" Snow asked, his gaze unwavering.

"I would wager my life on it," Hazel replied, a surge of defiance surfacing in his presence yet again.

Snow regarded her with an intense gaze that seemed to acknowledge her conviction. "I fully believe that," he said, his voice carrying a tone of sincerity mixed with something unreadable. As the music that had been the backdrop to their dance began to fade, he concluded their interaction with the polished demeanor of a statesman. He offered Hazel a small, formal bow and added, "Try to stay out of trouble, if that's possible." His lips curled into a fleeting smile.

Snow turned and returned to his table, and the atmosphere around Hazel shifted. The moment's intensity dissipated, replaced by the familiar voice of Lucky Flickerman resonating through the room. His announcement marked the transition to the next phase of the evening—the highly anticipated auction for the tickets to the unveiling of the new arena.

Hazel practically ran back to the table with Silus, trying to shake off the remnants of the dance and the conversation with Snow.

Silus, watching a deep line between his brows and his injured hand tightly clenched, looked at her with deep concern. "Is everything all right?" he whispered, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. Hazel forced a smile, mindful of the many eyes on them.

"Of course," she reassured him, maintaining the facade. She leaned in for a quick hug, using the opportunity to whisper in his ear, "I'll tell you everything later." Silus nodded and resumed his seat, sipping his wine glass.

Hazel considered the wine in front of her. If any day she deserved it, it would be today. However, an image of Heath flashed through her mind, and she couldn't bring herself to indulge, afraid of the person she might become if she did.

"It is kind of crazy they are giving us alcohol," Mia chimed in, apparently noticing Hazel's contemplation of the glass.

"Almost as crazy as watching us fight to the death," Hazel replied, her attention shifted to Aaron, who observed her from his side of the table. It was clear that their conversation wouldn't continue now, but Hazel's curiosity burned with a million unanswered questions.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Turning her eyes away from Aaron, she scanned the room, and her attention was drawn to a table where tributes from Districts Nine, Six, Three, and Five were crammed together. Unlike the other guests, who were absorbed in the evening's festivities, these tributes were engrossed in conversation, their heads close together in a tight circle.

With his blond hair and blue eyes, Owen from District Nine spoke animatedly, his hands moving in large, wild gestures. Beside him, Grace, with her long curly hair cascading down her back, listened intently, nodding. Ryan and Lara from District Six contributed to the discussion at the same table. Ryan's amber eyes were focused, reflecting a seriousness that belied the festive atmosphere of the hall. Lara, agile and quick, her dark eyes scanning the room, added her insights in a low, steady voice.

Iro and Zoe from District Five exchanged glances as they joined the conversation. Though physically more petite in stature, the tributes from Districts Three and Five held their own in the exchange. The sight piqued Hazel's curiosity, and she observed them closer. She was still trying to push her interaction with Snow from her mind.

Soon, Lucky Flickerman strode onto the stage dressed in his trademark flamboyant style. He wore a high-collared blue suit that sparkled with rhinestone accents and complemented his dark, coppery, gelled hair. His very presence electrified the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lucky announced, his commanding and theatrical voice, "may I have your attention, please? It's a true pleasure to be here, among the distinguished residents of the Capitol, on this extraordinary evening. I am Lucretius." He paused dramatically, his fingers flicking his signature coin into the air. The coin sparkled as it arched, catching the light before Lucky continued his speech, "Lucky Flickerman. Your loyal weatherman, amateur magician, and tonight, your humble Auctioneer."

Lucky's charismatic smile spread even wider, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he surveyed the opulent room. He gestured with a flourish toward the elevated table where Dr. Gaul sat in her imposing elegance, flanked by President Ravinstill, his wife, and Senator Snow.

"For three long, arduous years," Lucky proclaimed, "the brilliant minds of Dr. Gaul and Senator Snow have toiled tirelessly, their creative genius weaving an arena that exists beyond the wildest of your imaginations. Tomorrow, my dear friends, we shall unveil this masterpiece to the world."

Ever the showman, Lucky paused, allowing the weight of his words to linger in the minds of the captivated audience. "Now, you must understand, this new arena is so shrouded in secrecy that not even our esteemed President Ravinstill knows its exact location. Why, I've heard whispers that he might not even be able to afford a ticket for himself!" Laughter, hearty and indulgent, rippled through the crowd in response.

"It's a spectacle of such magnitude that it will leave you breathless, an awe-inspiring marvel to behold," Lucky declared, his enthusiasm radiating. "And you, my friends, have the chance to be among the privileged few who shall have the honor of beholding its grandeur before anyone else."

Pausing for dramatic effect, Lucky leaned in closer, "But do remember, my dear audience, that these tickets are not just precious—they are a rare commodity. There are merely twelve coveted tickets, and I assure you, they won't be available for long. And yes, I must confess, they won't come cheap."

A hushed murmur of intrigue rippled through the crowd, their curiosity piqued by the auctioneer's words. "So, I implore you," Lucky continued, his voice earnest, "if even the faintest inkling of curiosity stirs within your hearts, if you yearn for adventure if you dare to be among the very first to set eyes on this wondrous creation, then seize this unparalleled chance. Join us, and become not just spectators but active participants in making history."

"If you weren't already sold on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," Lucky Flickerman exclaimed with enthusiasm, " prepare to be captivated further, for the mastermind herself, Dr. Volumina Gaul, would also like to share a few words." His voice carried a tone of reverence and excitement as he welcomed her to the forefront of the gathering.

Dr. Gaul stepped forward to address the gathering. The crowd fell into an anticipatory hush as she began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Capitol," she began, her voice silky smooth, "Tonight, we stand on the precipice of a revelation, an unveiling of unparalleled proportions. For the past three years, as Lucky Flickerman so aptly put it, I have dedicated myself to a singular purpose—to create an arena unlike any the world has ever witnessed."

As she spoke, her eyes shimmered with intensity, capturing the rapt attention of her audience. "It is a realization of my vision, a testament to the boundless potential of human ingenuity, and an exploration of the essence of humanity itself." Dr. Gaul's words were almost hypnotic, "In this year's Games, we shall traverse the realms of light and dark, good and evil, as never before."

With a knowing smile, Dr. Gaul concluded her speech, "Tomorrow, I will present to you not just an arena but a masterpiece born from the depths of human nature and our unyielding thirst for the spectacle. Prepare yourselves, for you are about to witness a spectacle like none before, where the thin veneer of civility masks the untamed beasts within us all." As Dr. Gaul's speech continued, a ripple of excited murmurs swept through the audience. The thrill of this unexpected privilege electrified the air, and the prospect of gaining insider knowledge about the Games straight from the architects themselves was an irresistible lure for the Capitol's elite.

Lucky hesitated for a brief moment, his expression flickering with unease in Dr. Gaul's presence, but he swiftly regained his composure. Addressing the audience with his characteristic flair, he announced, "Thank you, Dr. Gaul. The auction will now commence, and I urge you to seize this unique chance. May your odds be favorable!" As he spoke, a glint of metal caught the light. With a practiced flourish, Lucky caught the object and tucked it into his pocket, eliciting a wave of applause from the captivated Capitol audience.

The audience's enthusiasm and Dr. Gaul's beaming countenance against the impending horrors of the Games made the smell of the gourmet dishes nauseating. It was as if they were bidding for tickets to participate in some morbid safari, where the prey consisted of innocent tributes fighting for their lives. Dr. Gaul reveled in the spectacle, her eyes shining with excitement.

Hazel's gaze wandered over the faces of her fellow tributes as they prepared for the auction. A mixture of fear, uncertainty, and longing colored their eye that she suspected was mirrored in her own. They all looked like they wanted to run like they wanted to escape this nightmarish reality, but the cruel truth was that they were trapped, just like caged animals.

With the desperation that came from feeling trapped came a brutal, primal instinct. She knew that despite their shared fear and apprehension, they would not hesitate to tear each other apart when the Hunger Games began.

As much as Hazel wanted to deny it, Dr. Gaul was right. The Games had a way of bringing out the worst in people, turning them into ruthless predators. The very idea of it was sickening.

The atmosphere in the grand hall became charged with excitement as the auction commenced. Lucky Flickerman, with his characteristic panache, orchestrated the event, eliciting ever-increasing bids from the audience. The wealthiest citizens of the Capitol, adorned in their finest attire, eagerly raised their paddles, and the amounts called out escalated to dizzying heights. The sums reflected not just the wealth of the bidders but also the Capitol's deep-seated obsession with the Hunger Games and the allure of the newfound privilege being offered.

The winners clapped and cheered, elated at securing their exclusive tickets to the unveiling of the new arena. People of all ages and backgrounds had their dreams realized in that hall, dreams that cost them a small fortune. She saw the eager smiles, the sparkle in their eyes; there was a strange disconnect. They were thrilled to witness something she feared more than anything else—the place where she would most likely meet her end.

As the auction continued, Hazel struggled to maintain a facade like the rest of the tributes. She forced a polite smile and clapped when prompted, but a storm of conflicting emotions raged inside. It was a surreal experience, surrounded by people so excited about something so dreadful.

Among the winners, Festus Creed was among the first to secure a ticket. His ability to purchase a ticket at such a hefty price filled Hazel’s mouth with a bitter taste.

Next was Persephone Price, known for her striking beauty and her family's dark legacy. The Prices had long held a prominent position in the Capitol's social hierarchy, but scandals and rumors had marred their influence. Persephone's presence in the room only heightened the unease that had settled within Hazel.

As the auction proceeded, the atmosphere within the grand hall grew more electric, punctuated by the spirited calls and fervent bids of the Capitol's elite. Ticket after ticket was sold, each fetching a staggering sum of money—more wealth than Hazel had ever fathomed.

The last ticket, the twelfth and final chance to witness the unveiling of the new arena, was eventually claimed by Augustus Trask, a rising figure in the Capitol's elite and a known enthusiast of the Games' betting circles. His dignified demeanor and air of authority contrasted with the frenzy of the auction, but Hazel knew that beneath that facade was a shrewd mind and a calculating heart. His winning bid had been substantial, the most expensive ticket in the room. The applause that followed was thunderous, mingling with the satisfaction of the elite who had successfully secured their golden tickets. Dread washed over her; she was one step closer to the impending horrors of the Hunger Games.

After the auction, the tributes were herded onto buses to return to the Manor. Hazel exchanged glances with Silus, knowing they had pressing matters to discuss. They needed to find Leo to address the missing suture kit, and Hazel also had to share what Aaron Shepherd had said earlier. However, the presence of others and her overwhelming exhaustion prevented her from speaking her mind.

On the bus ride back to the Manor, Hazel found herself yearning for the simplicity of District Seven, for the comfort of her home, and for the reassuring weight of her axe, Oliver. When they finally arrived at their room, the weariness in her bones weighed her down. Silus, eager to unwind, pushed the door open.

"What the hell happened to our room?"