Claudius Templesmith's voice booms into the arena. "Greetings to the final contestants of the 74th Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

A burst of static, and then silence.

I don't believe it. It should have been obvious from the start. They never intended to let us both live. Watching the star-crossed lovers bond together and then have to kill each other is sure to be the most dramatic showdown in the history of the Games.

I can't even look at Peeta. I collapse to my knees and bury my face in my hands. I don't care anymore about looking strong for the cameras. Peeta bends down and whispers, "It isn't that surprising, you know."

I pick up my bow, which I've dropped. I see Peeta out of the corner of my eye, pulling out his knife, and then he throws it away, into the lake. I'm about to throw away my weapons away too, but he gently clamps his hand on my hold on the bow, and he shakes his head. "No. Do it."

"No!" I cry. If anything's worse than my killing him intentionally, it's him encouraging me to do it.

"Do it. I don't need a death like Cato's."

I look him fully in the eye. "Then you go ahead and shoot me! You shoot me and go home and live with it!"

And I know that there's no sense in arguing, because neither of us can do it. Finally, I understand. I never could marry Peeta, but I can't kill him.

"Rue…" I choke out.

He cocks his head at me, not sure what I mean. "Her last request… other than asking me to sing… was that I would win. And I told her I would… that I would win for both of us. Her and me."

I'm crying now, but there's no more use trying to hide it. Because there is no winning in the Hunger Games. You're the last one standing and you go home and there is food and plenty for the rest of your life, but so what? You've killed people, without a doubt. None of your family, your friends, even yourself is safe from being reaped. And the Hunger Games continue on, 23 people dying each year. So what has anyone gained?

I promised Rue I would win though, and I can't break that promise, not when I made it to her on her deathbed. But I've already decided that being the last one standing is not winning. Then I remember I also vowed to myself to make her loss unforgettable, and therefore to make myself unforgettable, so that all will remember her. If I can just find a way to make myself unforgettable…

Peeta shakes me, jarring me out of my thoughts. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us."

And then it strikes me. They need a victor. Without one the Gamemakers have failed the Capitol. One district having one survivor is how they keep the districts from reuniting and starting another war, and the Games also provide some actual entertainment—who will win?

But if Peeta and I were both to die…

Then we will have truly won the Games. My hand goes to my belt and I unfasten the leather pouch. Peeta sees this and hisses, "No, I won't let you!"

I shake off his hands and open the pouch. "You're right," I say. I dig out a handful of berries and shake some into his hand. "Why should they have a victor?"

His eyes slowly move, from my hand to the pouch to the berries in his hand. And then he looks up, and nods his head. "On the count of three," he says simply.

I nod, but first I must do something. I turn, face the wood and press my middle three fingers to my lips and then hold it out into empty air. I think of Prim and my mother, who are probably horrorstruck, but I know this is a better way. I will help them more this way than by winning. By living I give them food. By dying I give them a chance to eliminate the Games, a chance. Funny—I used to focus so much on eliminating starvation, thinking food—meat, plants, water—was how to survive. But now I see. This way, I can give them a chance to really live.

For the screens, I say out loud, "For Rue. For you, Prim. And for you too, Mother. I'm sorry. I love all of you."

I know the rest of Panem is hearing, but this is the only way I can say anything to them. Then I turn back to Peeta, and he kisses me once, very slowly. Then we stand with our backs pressed together. I squeeze his empty hand as a good-bye. We begin counting. "One." The trumpets begin to blare, but we don't stop. "Two."

Then Claudius Templesmith's voice shouts, clearly beside himself with panic. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you—the tributes of District Twelve!"

I roll my eyes. I laugh coldly and say aloud, "There is no victor in this Games." Then I shout with Peeta, "Three!"

The hovercraft is descending, but I don't pay any attention to it. The berries pass my lips and I begin crunching…

And then my world goes black, as I fall.