"And the girl from District 2…Clove Mason!"

It clicked in for him before it did anyone else. He picked her out in the crowd first. Saw the shock in her eyes before she had time to compose herself, before the crowd parted for her. She didn't see him. Was she purposely avoiding his gaze?

CATO POV

Look at me, Clove. Look at me. Give me some sort of signal. I need to know you're okay.

But she would not. Her gaze was fixated on something in the distance. The same concentration I saw when she was throwing her knives or fighting back tears.

Clove. It's alright Clove. Look at me. You'll be fine. Clove!

An ask for volunteers. There was almost always a volunteer in District 2. Please. Someone, spare her. But she stood there, embarrassed, as no one took to the stage to fill her place. And now, I understood the agonizing feeling of dread families felt when they were unable to volunteer. Unable to save the one's they loved.

Their escort had already moved on. Everyone had already moved on except me. My eyes pierced the stage as I again tried to make contact one last time. Clove.

"And the male tribute from District 2…David Murray!"

He has reached the stage, the escort beckoning him up the stairs. In a few moments, it will be too late.

"I volunteer." My voice is hoarse as I try to hide it's tone of desperation. I swallow, forcing myself to stay calm.

At first it seems that no one hears me, and suddenly that's my greatest fear.

"I volunteer," I say again, louder this time. This time, Clove hears. Her head snaps to the side and her eyes narrow. She knows why I've done what I've done.

Our escort squeals in delight. "Ooh, how wonderful! A handsome lad like you, volunteering to bring pride to their district! Splendid!"

There are pats on my back and congratulatory hugs. I hear whoops and whistling in the crowd, because they think I volunteered for my district. And why not let them believe it?

Because only myself and the girl next to me know why I really volunteered. We both know only one of us will be coming home, and I don't count on it being me.

I feel her eyes boring into my back as we board the train. I know I should feel upset, because I promised her. But when it actually happened, it was impossible not to. I do not – should not – feel any regret. I tell myself that she would do the same for me.