Eve woke up and found that she couldn't breathe.

The cat was on her face. Again.

"Tenshi…" she groaned, pushing the furry lump off her. The grey-furred cat meowed innocently and licked a white paw.

"It's Reaping Day," she informed him, sliding out of her mattress. Tenshi snarled. She flicked the blankets half-heartedly over the cot.

"Eve, are you talking to that furball again?" It was Marly. Eve muttered several curses under her breath.

"He's not a furball! And he killed a rat just yesterday!"

Marly tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. "Whatever. Better get ready, huh? All that tesserae…"

Eve scowled and slouched her way across the floor, not bothering if she stepped on anyone's face. The orphans all slept together on the attic floor. The lucky ones—or the ones like Eve who got their way through threats—got cots. The others slept in a huddle.

Eve splashed lukewarm water on her face in the washroom and idly tugged a brush through her jet-black hair. She'd been told she had a pretty face, with her unblemished skin and almond-shaped eyes, but beauty wasn't worth a damn in District 8. They'd been hit hard after the Dark Days, with their factories burned to the ground. They were nowhere near done rebuilding.

"Eve, aren't you done?"

Eve slammed her comb down with a curse and shoved past Marly. "All yours!" she cooed.

Tenshi wove between her legs as she made her way back to her spot. The other kids were beginning to stir. She peeled off her dirty nightgown—she thought it used to be light pink, but she wasn't sure. Her Reaping Day dress was tucked away in her knapsack. Eve gently unfolded it and pulled it over her head. She smoothed out the creases. It was red—like blood, she mused. Ominous.

There was only so much breakfast available for the twenty-eight orphans of District 8's only orphanage. Eve scurried down the ladder from the attic and slunk in line. Nine kids were already down. She eyed the porridge Cook was scooping suspiciously. Well, it was better than nothing.

Eve ate alone, as usual, while Tenshi snuck into the kitchen for scraps. The atmosphere was still and smothering. The fourteen kids of reaping age quietly tallied up how many times their name would be in the bowl. The little kids looked like they were carved from stone.

Eve didn't bother counting how many slips would read Eve Taoreta. She was the lucky one taking tesserae for the entire orphanage.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Miss Markham, the middle-aged harpy of a headmistress, stalked into the dining room. At once, all talking and whispering ceased. Silence was strongly recommended in the orphanage, unless you wanted to get smacked.

Eve slurped up the last bit of her porridge and plotted her robbery of the sweet rolls Cook kept on the highest shelf in the kitchen while Miss Markham droned on about Reaping Day. Eve could practically recite the speech. How her dearest thoughts would go with the tributes, how they must remember to respect the Capitol, how much better their lives were after the Dark Days. When Miss Markham finally finished, with a feigned sob, the children quietly cleared their places. Eve cleared hers, too, then, while Miss Markham was distracted by an eight-year-old's nervous breakdown, snuck into the kitchen.

"Tenshi!" she whispered. The cat snuck out from behind a bin of flour. "Top shelf!" Tenshi eyed her disdainfully. "C'mon!" Eve hissed, glancing nervously over her shoulder. The last thing she needed on Reaping Day was a fresh set of bruises.

Tenshi stretched luxuriously, then prowled across the kitchen and gracefully hopped on top of the cabinet. He slunk down with the bag of pastries clutched in his jaw.

"Thanks, Ten," she whispered, scratching his ears. He purred. She quickly scarfed down a roll—mmm, cherry—and crept out of the kitchen. Safe.

Miss Markham and her demonic assistants prodded the children in line. Eve took her place towards the back, next to Marly. She clenched and unclenched her fists as they trekked across the square. Factories belched smoke on all sides. In the distance, she could make out the hunch-backed shapes of the ruined factories. She was lucky, she thought wryly. Reaping Day meant that the children of the orphanage got the day off from their jobs in the textile mills.

This was her fourth reaping she'd been eligible for and she went through the security by rote. A prick of her thumb, and she headed for the section with the other fifteen-year-old girls The ones with families who would miss them.

The mayor—a skinny man with glasses too large for his face—tapped the microphone. Eve fiddled with the skirt of her dress. It would be her, she knew. She had known that from the time when Miss Markham's frowns grew deeper. She had gotten into trouble one too many time, so she would be the sacrifice for the orphanage.

Honestly, she was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

The film started playing on screen. The Dark Days. Eve was seven when the war ended and the first Hunger Games began. Most of her childhood memories centered on crouching in the orphanage's basement while the Capitol's planes bombed the District. None of her memories contained her parents.

The mayor cleared his throat. "Please welcome our escort, Mr. Gideon Gilt!" There was a faint smattering of applause as the golden-haired escort ascended the rickety metal stage.

"Alright, District 8! Welcome to the Eighth Annual Hunger Games!" He flashed a lop-sided grin. "In a moment I'll be selecting your lucky tributes who will represent you. But first, I'd like to congratulate you on your tenacity. Your hard work. Your loyalty."

He jabbered on and on while Eve counted the number of Peacekeepers around the perimeter. Extremely unlikely that she could make a break for it. But she had vowed to herself that she'd get out of District 8 somehow, sometime. A little more scouting and spying and she could work out a route past the Peacekeepers. From there, well, why the hell would it matter where she went? Eve would be free, and that's all that would matter.

"So, it has come the time for me to select the tributes. What do you think, District 8? Girls or boys first?" Gideon Gilt paused, face frozen in what was meant to be a winning smile.

Silence percolated through the crowd until finally there was a half-hearted "Boys!"

"Alright, gentlemen it is then!" Gideon crowed. He fished around in the box. Eve glanced through the crowd to find the boys at the orphanage. Most of them looked like they were going to piss themselves.

Gideon fumbled with the paper, then cleared his throat. "Our male tribute is…Kain Cross!"

An anguished scream tore the silence apart. The Hunger Games were still a grotesque novelty that had devoured fourteen of District Eight's children. There was no resigned acceptance yet. Eve stood on her tiptoes to see a handsome black-haired boy move through the crowd. Kain Cross. She recognized the name. The Crosses were the first family to get back on their feet after the Dark Days. With bribery, blackmail, theft, and subterfuge, Eve thought.

Kain carefully stepped up onto the stage. There wasn't a trace of fear on his pale face. "Kain! Congratulations!" Gideon trumpeted. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Kain said evenly.

Eve pulled on a loose thread in her sleeve and twisted it around her finger.

"Any volunteers?" Gideon asked the district.

Silence.

All his family's money won't help him now, Eve though savagely.

"Alright," Gideon said, bouncing on his toes. "Well, the best of luck to you, my boy!" He grasped the other box. "And now for the girls!"

Eve realized that her finger was turning purple. She untwisted the red thread and let the blood flow back in her finger.

"Eve Taoreta!"

Eve nodded, once, then stepped out of her section.

Of course it was her. Of course.

She kept her chin up high as she passed through the children. She could hear the whispers.

Orphan.

All alone.

Freak.

At least it's not someone with a family.

Freak.

She gripped the metal railing. Her footsteps rang out as she ascended the steps.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

Who the hell would volunteer for a strange orphan girl?

"Alright," Gideon Gilt said. Up close, Eve realized that he was sweating. "How old are you, Eve?"

"Fifteen," she said, pleased that her voice wouldn't waver. But then, she'd prepared for this moment for a long time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes, Kain Cross and Eve Taoreta!"