Hymitch Abernathy

The train rattled beneath them with a melancholic rhythm that seemed to mirror the emptiness in Haymitch Abernathy's stomach. He sat against the wall of the carriage, his gaze fixed on the floor, trying to ignore the nervous murmurs of the other tributes as District 12 slowly disappeared beyond the windows. Then he saw her: She sat across the aisle, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes lost in the scenery. Haymitch had always admired her silently: her calmness, her determination, the way she seemed to move through the district without leaving a trace. For a long time, he'd believed those feelings were just an impossible, safe fantasy. But not anymore. Now they were both headed to the Capitol. They were both tributes. Enemies. And suddenly, any plan for survival became muddled in the face of the urge to go to her and tell her that none of this was fair. She shouldn't be there. He shouldn't feel this way right before the Games. The words died in his throat. Maybe she would hate him when the arena began. Or worse… maybe she would understand exactly how he felt. For a moment, Haymitch imagined a world where the train never reached its destination, where they could remain trapped forever in the protected silence of the Capitol, but the locomotive's sharp whistle brought him back to reality. Then she looked up, and their eyes met. Haymitch expected fear, doubt… something that would make this easier. But he found only the same quiet strength he had always admired. And that hurt even more, because it reminded him that they could both survive, and perhaps they would have to do it against each other. He clenched his fists and looked away, trying to convince himself to feel indifference instead of that persistent pain in his chest. As the train continued onward and District 12 receded into the distance, Haymitch understood something: the Hunger Games didn't just destroy bodies…