The Gamemakers were waiting for me. I'm lucky I'm not in any of the bottom districts. They haven't been here for that long, and I have their full attention.

"Annabeth Chase, District 3," I introduce myself. All of their attention is on me now.

I walk over to the knife rack. Oh, how I longed to hold one of these bad boys again! Sure, I'd had a knife every dinner, but that wasn't the same.

I start by chucking a knife at a mannequin. I hit the bullseye painted on its head. I chuck two at the same time at a different mannequin. I hit the bullseye on its head and chest.

I look up at the Gamemakers, and most of them look impressed. Good. Now it was time to turn it up to another level.

I press the button on the wall that has a sign reading 'holograms' above it. I assume it does what it says. I'm not disappointed.

The lights turn off, and the room is filled with holograms of faceless human figures. They all rush towards me. I start throwing my knives at them, and dodging their attacks. Every time I hit them in a deadly spot, a.k.a whenever I hit them, they crumble into cubes, and across the room, another one replaces them. I did this for a solid ten minutes, and could've done it for another twenty, when I hear a Gamemaker say, "That's enough."

I smack the button on the wall, and the holograms turn off. I take a bow, and exit the room through the nearest doors, which take me straight to the elevator. The Avoxes who guard it let me pass, and I hit the 3 button.

When I get to the suite, I have a relaxing shower. I was proud of myself. I was sure I did well. I'd probably get a ten, which was a high score, but no so high that I'd be a target in the games.

When I got out of the shower, I dried myself off, got dressed, and walked into the Living Room. I wanted to see what they had on T.V in the Capitol.

But when I got to the Living Room, I almost fainted.

Vulcan was sitting on the couch, talking to a woman who I recognized right away. She had filed her teeth into points, and her skin had a more greenish tinge to it, but I recognized her from the photo that would forever be engraved into my mind.

Amphitrite.

"What's she doing her?" I demanded, causing them both to look at me.

"She's my friend," Vulcan replied. "We talk every once in awhile. We were just talking about her tributes. Is there a problem?"

"Yes," I demanded. "You killed my father!"

Amphitrite's expression didn't change as she poured herself another glass of wine. She looked bored. "Oh, yes, you're Fredrick's daughter, aren't you? He used to talk about your mother, you know. How when he got home, you'd be a big, happy family. How he'd use his winnings to pay for your mother's medical treatments, to make sure she was healthy enough to have you."

She took a sip of her red wine, and when she smiled, her teeth looked like they were stained with blood. "But I stopped that, didn't I? Tell me, did your mother survive? Your father told me she had trouble breathing, and his friend told her she probably wouldn't survive having you. Did I make you an orphan, Annabeth?"

It wasn't what she was saying that angered me, to say. It was how she said it. As if she was discussing the weather outside, not two people who she had played a direct role in the deaths of. It took all of my willpower not to leap forward and claw her eyes out.

"Yes," I growled.

There was a moment of silence as Amphritite finished her wine. "I know when I'm not wanted. I'll see you later, Vulture."

And with that, she left. Vulcan turned to me.

"Annabeth, I'm so sorry," He began. "If I had known I would've never invited-"

I cut off his sentence when I slammed my bedroom door shut, shutting me off from all noise being made outside.

***

Minevera knocks on my door a few hours later, calling me to dinner. I decide to go.

Our stylists joined us for dinner. Malcolm looked absolutely miserable, and was poking at his soup with his spoon.

"So," Vulcan asked, avoiding my gaze, probably still feeling bad from the whole Amphritite incident. "How bad were you two today."

"I chucked some knives around, hit all my targets," I said blandly, not looking at him.

"I failed miserably," Malcolm said. "Didn't hit a single one of my targets. The only thing I did right was start a fire. I'll be surprised if I get a three."

No wonder he was so miserable. No one would sponsor anyone who got below a seven. And in the arena, a sponsor could be the difference between life or death.

"Well, don't give up hope yet," Venus said. "We won't know for sure until we see the scores on television, will we."

One hour later, that was exactly what we were doing. First, they show a picture of the tribute, then their score. Octavian gets an eight. Hazel a nine. Frank a nine. Clarisse a ten.

Then Malcolm's on the screen, a three flashing under his name. Everyone pats him on the back, offering their condolences. He looks like he's on the verge of tears.

Then I'm on the screen.

"Annabeth Chase," Loki, the main announcer for the Games and the person who interviews us, said from the T.V. "With a score of, eleven."

Everyone shrieks.

I'm tackled with a congratulatory hug from Venus, and Blitzen pulls out a party horn he must've had in his pocket. Vulcan is clapping, and even Malcolm has a small smile on his face.

Everyone calms down in enough time to let me see Percy's score, which is a respectable ten. Rachel pulls by with a nine.

Jason Grace gets an eight. Thalia Grace a nine. Luke Castellan gets a seven. Julia Feingold a five. Grover Underwood a four. Juniper Bark a five. Piper McLean a nine. Will Solace a six. Meg McCaffrey a seven. Michel Yew an eight. Nico di Angelo a seven. Bianca di Angelo an eight. Travis Stoll a six. Katie Gardner a nine. Leo Valdez a five. And finally, Nyssa Barra with an eight.

Then it's over, and Vulcan turns the T.V off.

"Well, you should both get some sleep," Venus told Malcolm and I. "You'll be practicing for your interviews tomorrow, and you'll need all the energy you can get."