The final morning of training didn't begin with the sound of clashing steel or the thud of landing feet. It began with a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight in the center of the gymnasium.
The Gamemakers were perched in their gallery, clutching their crystal glasses and leaning over the railing like vultures waiting for a carcass to drop. They expected tension. They expected the Careers to be sharpening their blades and the outliers to be huddled in corners of terror.
What they got was a synchronized performance of a different kind.
I stood at the archery range, David gripping my belt loop. Across the room, Rufus was adjusting his weight at the throwing station. Our eyes met—just for a fraction of a second.
Then, he did it.
Slowly, Rufus raised his hand. He didn't wave. He didn't point. He simply pressed his thumb against the center of his palm and curled his fingers over it, tucking the thumb away. It was a simple, unassuming gesture—like a hidden heartbeat.
One by one, the others followed.
Bellona did it while she tightened her boots. Organza did it while she wiped sweat from her forehead. Even little Cachesta, standing by the knot-tying station, pressed her thumb into her palm and looked toward me with a steady, unblinking gaze.
It was the Hand of the Ghost. A sign that the person you were looking at was no longer there—that they had already transitioned to the "other side," to the manor in Twelve, in their minds.
The Gamemakers didn't even blink. To them, it looked like a nervous tic, or perhaps a District-specific way of centering oneself before a task. They were so blinded by their own arrogance that they couldn't see the invisible thread being woven between all twenty-four of us.
"They're all doing it, Mama," David whispered, his own small thumb pressing into his palm as he looked at the District 4 tributes.
"It means the promise is held, David," I whispered back. "It means no matter what happens today, we aren't twenty-four enemies. We're one body."
The performance officially began when Rufus suddenly dropped a heavy weight. The crash echoed through the hall, drawing every Gamemaker's eye.
"Watch where you're standing, Twelve!" Rufus roared, his face contorting into a mask of practiced fury. He stepped toward us, his massive frame casting a shadow over David. "You and the brat are in my way."