The rooftop meeting had shifted from a secret revolution to a masterclass in theater. We weren't just twenty-four tributes anymore; we were a production crew, and our lives depended on the reviews.
"The private sessions are tomorrow," Finnick said, his voice cutting through the wind. "The Gamemakers expect the Careers to show off their lethality and the outliers to show off their survival. If we want this to work, we have to lean into their stereotypes—hard."
I looked at Rufus and Bellona. "In your sessions, I want blood. Not yours, and not the other 'tributes'. I want you to destroy the training dummies. Be arrogant. Be terrifying. When you come out, tell the press that the girl from Twelve is nothing but a snack for the wolves."
Rufus smirked, crossing his arms. "I can do arrogant. I'll tell Caesar Flickerman that I've already picked out which part of you I'm going to mount on my wall."
"Good," I nodded. "And Organza, you and Chiffon need to be the 'Tragic Beauties.' Mention how much you'll miss the luxury of One, but how you're prepared to do 'what must be done.' It makes the audience sympathize with you, which makes your 'deaths' later more gut-wrenching for the viewers."
I turned to David, who was sitting on a crate, his small feet dangling.
"David, you have the most important job," I said softly. "You are the 'Child of the Games.' In your private session, don't try to be a warrior. I want you to be small. I want you to look like a lost bird. Use the Child Strategy. If they give you a task, do it with wide eyes and a trembling hand. Make the Gamemakers feel a flicker of shame—not enough to stop the Games, but enough to make them want to protect you."
David nodded, his face solemn. "I'll look for you the whole time, Mama. I'll make them see that I'm only staying alive because of you."
"Exactly," I said, my heart aching even as I coached him. "And I will use the Lion's Strategy. In my session, I'm not just going to show off skill. I'm going to show them a ferocity that borders on madness. I want them to see a mother lion who would tear the throat out of anything to keep her cub safe. If the Capitol sees me as a mother protecting her child, they'll forgive any 'kill' I make. They'll cheer for my violence because they'll call it 'love.'"
"It's a perfect narrative," Finnick whispered, leaning against the ledge. "The Lioness and the Cub versus the World. The Capitol will eat it up. They'll be so busy crying over David's innocence that they won't notice the bronze medallions hidden in everyone's gear."
"What about the rest of us?" Cordelia asked. "How do we fit into the story?"
"You're the obstacles," I said, looking at the Pack and the outliers. "You have to be the monsters that threaten David. The more terrifying you are to him, the more heroic I look when I 'defeat' you. Rufus, you need to target David in the training center tomorrow. Don't hurt him, but make it look like you're a second away from snapping him in half. I'll step in. We'll give the Gamemakers a preview of the show."
Rufus let out a low, rough chuckle and knelt down so he was eye-level with the boy. "Just imagine I'm a big, stupid dog, kid. A dog that bites."
"The interviews will be the final touch," I added. "We coordinate our stories. We create 'rivalries' that don't exist. By the time we hit those pedestals on Saturday, the entire world should be divided into teams—but every team will be watching a lie."
As the meeting dispersed and the tributes began to slip back toward the stairs, I felt the weight of the bronze medallion in my own pocket. We were about to walk into the brightest lights in Panem.
The strategy was set. David would be the heart of the Games, and I would be its sword. Together, we were going to give the Capitol a story so tragic and so thrilling that they would never see the trap until it was already closed.