His whip came down on the prisoner's legs with a tremendous crack. His head snapped back and he screamed so loudly that Thorn's neck hair seemed to stand straight up. She wasn't supposed to be there, this wasn't a public whipping so the offense wasn't serious. He had probably dared to steal a loaf of bread from a Merchant family. Things weren't serious unless they involved the Peacekeepers, lapdogs of the Capitol. It was also a way for the same lapdogs to unwind after a hard day's work. No matter what he did, he was clearly from the Seam, one of her neighbors. The whip struck the prisoner again. Red welts formed a maze on his back and his fists were clenched and trying to loosen the thick, rough ropes bound around his wrists.

Thorn turned away, hazel eyes squeezed shut. Her cheek pressed against the worn brick wall she was leaning against. Oh God, she thought, fully aware of the sling in her hand. What's going to happen to him? Should I help?

Stories flew through the Seam about men who were punished so harshly that they lost consciousness and the Peacekeepers, satisfied, tossed them to the side of the road and left them to die. Like dogs.

Thorn let the sling fall to the concrete.

It's not like they're true. She pressed her lips together. Just rumors spread by the Capitol to cow the Districts. And I don't want to end up on the whipping post. Her arm twisted around her head and she brushed the smooth, unmarked skin. I don't want to end up like that.

CRACK! And another scream. Thorn bent down to pick up the sling that lay innocently on the concrete. She closed her eyes, relishing the rush of power it sent through her. You're not helpless, it seemed to say. You have something. I have to use it.

She picked up a rock and took one step forward. Ice seemed to form in her muscles, freezing them in place. Thorn breathed out and swung her weapon. The weight of the rock was comforting in her hand and she felt like a rebel, a hero as she gathered more rocks to hold in her other hand.

She stepped into the sunlight. Any doubt was banished into the dark corners of her mind. Now was hardly the time to think.

Thorn gulped. But she brought the sling over her shoulder and by her head, relishing the sound it made. The Peacekeepers weren't wearing their suits, something reserved for the Reaping. This man is lazy; he doesn't wear his helmet. She tried to smile as she let the stone fly but found she couldn't. The moment seems to speed up. Blood began to flow as the Peacekeeper was struck in the temple. Bile rose in her throat as he collapsed to the sand. She may have just killed a man. Not a man, she corrected herself, remembering her sister's words. An enemy.

The prisoner turned around and she saw him for an instant. He nodded and she rose her chin. Her doubt was gone for a fleeting second. She felt invincible. But the moment ended too soon.

Thorn froze as the soldier turned to face her, grabbing his gun from his belt. He raised the muzzle and one gloved finger pulled the trigger.

She ran, letting the sling fall from her hands. She heard the roar of a bullet as it missed her, but she thought of what could have happened. Fear bloomed in her lungs. I'm scared. Makeitstop, she thought. Pleasepleaseplease. Another bullet streaked past her head, missing it completely.

Iron hands grabbed her arms and Thorn felt her head snap back painfully. She bit down on her tongue as something slammed into her lower back and she fell to the floor. Coal dust fluttered up and she winced as her knees pressed into the asphalt. I am going to die.

She can hear the smile in the mans voice. "You know what's going to happen to you. What happens to the worst of the worst in this godforsaken place."

Thorn's breath caught in her throat and she blinked back tears, feeling the hot pressure build up behind her eyes.

"You will not be executed." He says with grim pleasure. "I know your family."

"What's going to happen to me?" Thorn rasped.

No reply was given.

He let his hand fall onto her back and Thorn fought to stay still. Cedar had been beaten, tortured like this before. She had seen the thick, knotted scars that marred her skin. Like her mother, she had been pretty. Once. Now, she was rugged, hard. Strong.

"What's going to happen to me?" She asked again. Thorn's voice came out, high, squeaky. She could imagine the smirk on the Peacekeeper's face and anger and shame smoldered inside her.

The hand rested on her back, she could feel the fabric through her thin, threadbare shirt. "Oh, you'll see. I was sent from the Capitol. I take this job very seriously. Run along, Thorn."

She didn't bother to ask the man how she knew his name. She rose to her feet and stiffly nodded her head as she saw his rough features and the grey eyes. He looked like a brute, a thug trained to instill fear, but she knew. If you looked close enough, you could almost sense the cogs turning in his brain as he figured out how to serve his nation best.

And on one summer day, she smelled blood as the man beat her sister and smiled.

Later that night, her infamous sister holds her close as she explains some facts of life to Thorn. Such as how the Reaping really works.