Chapter 1

"Norah Frazier."

The two words ring out, and hang in the air, suspended. An interval on a piano, the rightmost pedal to the ground.

I will not yell. I will not scream. I will not cry.

My survival depends on it.

I make my way through the crowd, shoving people to the ground if at all necessary. Move aside fish, and let the shark come though.

No nonsense. Just business. All strategy.

As I expected, no one volunteers for me. Not even my brother, eighteen years old. Maybe he's shell-shocked. Maybe he's not. Maybe he just doesn't care. I'd bet on the latter.

My eyes hadn't even focused on the vast crowd of District 11 that lies before me when they call the boy tribute up.

"Kaden Lindell."

The two words hang, but not as nearly as long as mine did. A seventeen year old boy stalks up to the podium, seemingly strong-hearted to fools, but not me, I can see through him. I can see him up close. I can see his eyes, his glazed eyes. His tear-stricken face. He had given up.

I hadn't.

The glass elevator door slid shut, and my stomach lurched as the small silver capsule shot up. My stylist, Ferris, was far-gone out of sight, and he will most likely be the last face out of the arena I will ever see again.

The top of the capsule opens up as my speed slows. Deposited onto a golden plate set into the ground, my eyes dart up. The time for lamenting is done.

"Let the 71st Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice rang out from above, from the unknown.

We couldn't move in the first minute, or a bomb would explode from beneath us. Looking around, I see twenty or so other tributes, each on their own equidistant plates. The others must be hidden from view by the Cornucopia, a massive solid gold horn, filled to the brim with supplies and weapons of every trade. The Cornucopia is right in the middle of everything, with supplies scattered out in every direction, their value decreasing with increasing distance. What to do, what to do.

The golden horn glistened tauntingly. I was fast. I could make it. I looked to the girl on my left, a District 3 tribute. She had always been sneaky and suspicious, though not exactly physical.

She reached into her pocket, to retrieve a black rock. It could have only been her district token. The girl threw the rock toward me with alarming speed, but she wasn't aiming for me.

The rock whistled past me and hit the ground near the plate of the tribute to the right of me. He was a District 2 boy, a Career and a favorite to win these Games.

A favorite no longer.

The motion sensors were set off and his plate exploded with enormous magnitude.

The 71st Hunger Games hadn't even started yet, and already one fatality was added to the inevitable list of deaths.

KILL LIST –

-District 2 male