It was sunny most of the time in District 4. In fact, it was sunny so often that sometimes people complained about it. It would be nice just to see a cloud once in a while, they would say. But the sun remained unrelenting as always, even on the most ominous day of the year.

Annie couldn't help but be slightly irritated that the sun still had the nerve to show it's blindingly bright face in District 4 on Reaping Day. It seemed exceptionally hot, in fact, beating down on her as she trudged toward the Justice Building. Her stomach felt like a fishing net that someone had tied in a million different knots.

The crowd of people began to thicken as she approached the Justice Building. She immediately began craning her neck for Finnick, hoping to get the chance to talk to him at least for a minute before they had to take their respective places.

"Annie!"

She turned around to locate the source of the voice and found Finnick rushing toward her. He immediately grabbed her in a tight hug and buried his face in her hair. She returned it in full, breathing in the scent of saltwater and something else that was uniquely him. Reaping Day had a way of making people want to hold onto each other and never let go.

He pulled away after a second and asked, "You alright?"

She nodded back, forcing a brave smile onto her face. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." He attempted to smile back, but she knew his face too well. She knew that he was just as on edge as she was.

"Take your places, please. The Reaping will begin momentarily," said a cool voice over the loudspeaker.

Finnick took Annie's hand and held on tight. "I guess that's our cue." They made their way over to the crowd of kids and teenagers in front of the Justice Building and exchanged one more hug.

"Hey, what do you say we head on down to the beach after this and catch some fish for dinner?"

"That sounds perfect," Annie replied, unable to stop herself from casting a nervous glance up at the Justice Building.

"Hey," Finnick took her face in his hands and made her look at him. "This'll be over before we know it. I'll meet you right back here when it's done and we'll go to the beach."

Annie took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Okay."

"Take your places. This is the final call."

Finnick leaned in to kiss Annie's forehead. "I'll see you soon." With that, he turned around and began to work his way through the crowd.

Annie did the same, trying not to let her nerves overtake her. It'll be fine. This is no different than any other year. We'll both be just fine.

She stumbled over to take her place among the other seventeen-year-old girls. The video from the Capitol kicked off the ceremony, as usual. She knew it by heart by now—even if she had wanted to focus on it, she couldn't have. She couldn't work out why she was so much more terrified this year than she ever had been before. She didn't have any brothers or sisters to worry about, and she only had her name in the bowl a few times. No matter how many times she told herself she had nothing to worry about, she couldn't shake the feeling of sick dread that had lodged itself in her stomach.

Once the video had ended, District 4's escort, Lucietta Gardner, came out onto the stage and began her usual speech.

"Welcome, District 4, to the selection ceremony for the 70th Annual Hunger Games!" She chirped. "In just a moment, we will bestow upon one young man and woman the honor of representing their district in the arena. I'm sure you're all just dying to know who it is—" Annie had to suppress a scoff at her choice of words—"So let's get right to it! As usual, ladies first." Lucietta pranced over to the large glass bowl that held the names of all the female candidates and plunged her perfectly manicured hand in. Annie dug her nails into her sweaty palms and echoed the thought that she knew was going through the head of every girl around her—Not me, not me, please not…

"Annie Cresta!"

…Me.

Time stopped. Annie could feel the blood pounding in her ears as every head within her line of vision turned to look at her. Was this really happening? No, surely this couldn't be happening. There had been a mistake. Someone was going to volunteer to take her place any second now, someone who had been training for years, someone who might have a chance…

Nobody did.

"Well, come on up, dear!" Lucietta said cheerfully, summoning Annie up to the stage. Slowly, Annie disengaged herself from the crowd and made her way up to the stage. She felt like she was moving on auto-pilot. She had to be. There was no way she could be the one telling her feet to carry her to what was surely her own execution.

"Wonderful!" Lucietta exclaimed once Annie had taken her place, shaking from head to foot, on the stage. Annie knew what came next, and she immediately scanned the crowd for Finnick. All she wanted was to see his face. She had to know that he was safe, even if she so obviously wasn't.

"Finnick Odair!"

Annie didn't think it was possible for her to feel more horrified that she already did, but it was. No. No, no, no, no, please no, not Finnick. Please, this can't be happening…

But it was. Annie could feel hot tears stinging her eyes as the person she loved most in the world came to join her on stage. He looked just as scared as she felt, but he also looked unbearably sad. She knew why. Even through the haze in her mind, Annie could do the math—24 tributes went into the arena. Only one came out.

She looked at his face, at the sheer terror masked by a front of bravery, and realized at last why she had been so nervous for this year's Reaping. She hadn't been afraid for her own life. Her worst nightmare had been losing Finnick. The possibility of the Capitol taking him away and throwing him in the arena to die was what had been causing her so much pain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you your tributes for the 70th Annual Hunger Games—Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair!" Lucietta said cheerfully into the microphone, clapping her hands together.

And as Annie looked out at the crowd, at the rows of houses and at the beach in the distance, she bitterly regretted every time she had ever complained about the sun. This could be the last time she'd ever see it.