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JUPITER MARROW remembered everyone she sent into the arena to die.

The male and female tributes of District 2 would always sit across from her, the designated mentor for their district since she had won the 68th Annual Hunger Games when she was sixteen, paired with whoever else had been voted in that year to take on the mentor job.

The tributes for the year would look at the person beside her, and then focus on Jupiter. Some looked at her with awe, admiration, with frost or respect, eyes searching and narrowed, mouth begging to ask the questions she was used to. She had come to expect it now, answering them as coldly as she could and moving onto the job she had been given: keep them alive. Breed another Victor because she had survived all those years ago so she must have done something right.

For a time, she had been younger than some of the tributes she was mentoring, seventeen and then eighteen, a child teaching a child how to kill to live. But then she had gotten older, and learnt to not see them as children because that was not what Career Tributes were. They already knew how to kill to survive, it was in their nature from the moment they learnt to walk, and if their parents – like most from their district – were so inclined, they would sign them up to The Academy as early as birth.

Because that was how District 2 worked, earning the working title of the Career Tributes each year, the ones with an advantage who had been training since they were children and taught that violence and the horror of the Games earned them all the wealth, attention and admirers they could ever want. Certainly not because if they failed and grew too old for the Games they would be turned into Peacekeepers, certainly not because it was better to die a volunteer for what you had chosen to pursue than live a long life.

The 74th Hunger Games had not appeared to be any different. The tributes had been a boy named Cato and a small girl named Clove, both students at the Academy that, as a Victor, Jupiter had overseen at some point over the years.

She had distanced herself from the Academy over the years, choosing the mentor job each year without much resistance. The person accompanying her switched annually, but she was constant, always there, year in and year out. Because as it turned out, being sent off to the Capitol once a year for a few days was better than being home, suffocating between the cobbled streets of the Victor's Village and the family that had invaded the house she had won.

The boy, Cato, had stared at her, arms crossed over his chest. Jupiter had only stared back as the other mentor for the year, Lucius, was rattling on beside her. Tips on how to effectively get the advantage, land on top, the standard, direct strategies 2 gave their tributes. Clove was listening intently, dark eyes narrowed and unblinking.

"And what does the star have to say?" Cato cut in snidely, drawing the attention of everyone in the carriage to them with his tone alone.

Lucius had paused, looking offended by the interruption, but Clove had piqued interest in the other mentor, eyes turned to her now. The train shook slightly, light flickering as they passed through a small tunnel, the silence inside gripping. Their District's escort, Aurelia, had also gone quiet.

"What do you specialise in?" Jupiter asked simply after a few moments.

"A sword," Cato responded, smugly.

"Knife throwing," Clove chimed in. "I changed subjects when I was young since I wasn't big enough for the others."

"You can always make up for size," Jupiter had told her with a shrug. "Experience is everything out there. It's the one advantage we get."

"And forming an alliance," Lucius added. "Those from 1 and 4 will be your allies."

Jupiter watched him carefully out the corner of her eye. Lucius was older than her by almost a decade, he had won his games and passed through the Academy long before she had reached her spot in the Victor's Village, but he was by the book, stock standard and plain. And, as it turned out, passive aggressive.

Cato eyed the pair, glancing between them. "And how do I know they won't pull what you did?" he asked. He didn't need to gesture or point, everyone in the carriage knew who he was talking to.

Jupiter's jaw clenched but she kept her gaze even. "Because it was stupid," she told him.

Clove and Cato exchanged looks. Jupiter suspected they were friends, or at least knew each other from the Academy. In District 2, no one who took part in the games was an accident or luck. Each year, performance grades were compared and a volunteer was chosen, and it was known that no matter who was reaped, they would volunteer because they had earned it.

"Seemed to work for you," Cato pointed out.

Jupiter narrowed her eyes at him as she poured herself a drink. "Do as I say, not as I do," she sneered. "Make an alliance, see their weaknesses, and when the numbers go down, then you strike."

Lucius jumped in, taking the attention off her. "The Hunger Games are a chance to prove yourself and come home wealthy," he explained, as if he were announcing something great and not the morbid truth. "No one will root for someone who broke the rules. The Career pack is a staple of the Games and it is in your training to keep the show going."

Jupiter tipped the drink down her throat, face staying flat as she swallowed. She highly disagreed, but as time had passed, she had come to disagree with many of her fellow Victors and alumni.

"How do you do it?" Cato asked abruptly.

"What?" Lucius responded.

"When it comes down to the end– when the alliance has to break," he said. "How do you do it?" Cato repeated, eyes on Jupiter.

The female Victor regarded him carefully. "There's no difference between them and everyone else. Everyone must die for you to win," she said after a moment, voice dull.

To win, not to live.

The pair were promising, a boy who reflected everything District 2 wanted to represent, who thought ahead and knew what it took to be a Victor, and a girl who took after Jupiter's own skill set from her games. But at the bottom of her chest she knew it did not matter.

They don't know it, but it will be the last time Jupiter will ever see them alive. Even if they die cold and alone, even if they win and return bathed in gold, they will still be dead.

To volunteer is to die, a lesson Jupiter Marrow learned well a long time ago.