I’m not hungry.  It’s quite the lazy excuse.  She knows this, understands how childish those words sound when strung together.  After all, it was baby Aven’s go-to excuse before Kin was even born—back when dinner only needed to be split between four siblings.

By the time Aven was reaped, she had long mastered the specific tone that inspires more feelings of reassurance than of burden.   But this time?  She doesn’t need to try to sell it.  It’s not as if she’s lying.   How could she stomach anything knowing that she’ll be sending Darby and Kin off to the Capitol?

So she strings those words together again and gives Kin the most reassuring smile she can muster before closing the door.  As much as she trusts everyone in that room with her life, this is the worst time to show them vulnerability.  What they need is strength and confidence.  Aven and her teenage bravado can’t provide that right now.

All things considered, at least Seven is right next door this year.  Aven doesn’t know how she could get through this if she couldn’t talk to the one person who just gets her.  Another player of the games that the Capitol made them lose outside the arena.

“Hey Dawn,” she calls out.  Aven feels a rush of relief when her eyes land on the stylist.  “I missed you.  There’s a lot we gotta catch up on.”  A beat.  She doesn’t know if she should address the... ghost in Seven’s car.  “I hope you don’t mind me pulling you away for a moment.”