The hard metal bench left marks on Annabeth's palms as she relinquished her grip. She didn't realize she was squeezing it so hard. She and Percy were the only ones left in the waiting room, district 12 always went last. Chiron's only advice had been "do your best" so Annabeth still didn't know what she planned to do to impress the gamemakers. Individual assessments often determined sponsors, so she couldn't fail.

The blue light buzzed above her. She glanced over at Percy; he tapped his foot at an irregular pace, hands folded, eyes downcast. He was just as nervous as she was. Finally Annabeth couldn't stand it.

"So what are you planning to do?"

Percy glanced over at her. "I dunno, I might throw a trident around, I was pretty good at it. What about you?"

"I'm still figuring it out. Maybe do some knife fighting? That's the only thing I can think of."

Percy nodded. "I've been meaning to ask, who taught you to fight like that?"

"I-Luke I guess. When you're fighting for food you learn pretty quick."

Annabeth felt a sharp pang. She hadn't had a happy life, but now, surrounded by the metal and glowing lights she would have given anything to return to it. Percy reached out and put his hand over hers.

"Annabeth, you're really brave. Growing up like that, I mean. I always had my mom. If I didn't have her, I don't know what I would have done. You didn't have anyone."

Annabeth tried to ignore the tingle that went up her arm where Percy held her hand.

"I had Luke. But thank you, Percy, I-" the door clanged open, revealing the crisp white of a peacekeeper uniform. "Annabeth Chase? You're up."

Annabeth stepped out into the training room, strangely empty without her fellow tributes. Athena and the other gamemakers were perched in their roost, glasses of colored liquids in hand.

"Annabeth Chase, district 12," the peacekeeper announced before returning to the post at the doorway.

Athena, eyes cold as ever, nodded to Annabeth. She walked over to the weapons station, and ran her hands over the knife handles. So many kinds of knives; serrated, long, thin, triangular, curved. Annabeth's fingers brushed the leather handle of one at the end of the row. Unlike the rest of them, this knife was bronze. She drew it, turned it over and over in her hands, admiring it. At 8 inches long, it was beautifully balanced, not so different from her knife back home.

Perfect, she thought. Annabeth and her training partner circled each other, the latter a faceless white mask holding a white knife.

When your opponent's bigger than you, strike first and get in close.

She still heard Luke's voice from their training sessions, remembered the intensity in his eyes.

This could mean life or death, Annabeth.

She struck first, a solid slash to the midsection. Her opponent twisted out of the way and swung at her head, forcing Annabeth to step back. She took two steps before attacking again, this time aiming for his legs. He caught her wrist, locking them together. She growled in frustration, and kicked upwards, straight into his crotch. His grip loosened, letting Annabeth twist away.

They circled each other again, this time her opponent struck first, a downward strike Annabeth caught on her own knife. Using her left hand for extra leverage, she twisted her opponent's blade downward until he was forced to drop it. She slammed her foot into his chest and as he wheezed for breath, pressed her knife to his throat.

"Thank you Reyna," she muttered.

"Thank you, Miss Chase," Athena said, her voice echoing around the room, "you may return to your room."