When I wake up, the sun is still low in the sky. I lay there for a while, hoping sleep will find me again for a few hours. But as the sun rises higher, my eyelids get lighter and I become more and more restless. Finally, I give up, rolling out of bed and dressing for the day ahead.

The house is quiet, as it normally is when I get up. When I was little, my dad would tell me that the reason I got up so early was because my brain was overactive, and it didn't need as much rest as other people's. I really believed him then, but now it just makes me feel strange. And tired.

I start breakfast, scrambling eggs and cooking slices of ham. I cut off a few slices of raisin bread and sit them on a plate with some butter. When I finish everything, I put the food on three plates: one for me, one for each of my parents. Theirs I set on the table, and take mine downstairs with me. Even if my parents do get up before I finish eating, I don't think I want their company this morning.

The first floor is much more open, with a smaller room in front and a storage room in the back. Only a counter and a few display cases—holding hams, rib-eyes, chicken, and other various meats—adorn the front room. Most of the meat is imported from the livestock district, but in times of shortage we barter with the hunters from the Seam. Though it sells cheaper, the cuts are better and the meat is fresher. And it helps those who truly need it.

I sit outside on the wooden steps leading to the shop. It's already warming up, but the street is still quite—the other shops won't be open for another half hour. From here I can just barely hear the sound of the large screen in the Square, where the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games has been playing non-stop since it started a few weeks ago.

They're almost over now: the most exciting Games in years. For the Capitol, it's the drama of the "star-crossed lovers" that has them on the edge of their seats. But for us, for District 12, it's so much more. We finally have a chance to win. Everything Katniss does—every move, every word—gives us more hope. She's not like the tributes we've had in years past: She's determined, passionate, rebellious.

And now Twelve might be welcoming home not one, but two victors. The rule change is absurd, unheard of. But it shows that the districts are having some substantial impact on the Capitol for once. We will not stand by and let them bully us into submission.

I glance down the street, where the baker's shop stands dark and somber. They've been opening later and later the past few days, and I can see the stress on his family's faces. No longer are the pastels of Peeta's cakes and cookies displayed in the windows for everyone to see—his last one was sold a few days ago. If the boy with the bread dies, there will be little left to prove he ever existed.

Katniss was stranger to me, but I knew Peeta. I grew up with him, played tag and hide-and-seek with him when we were little. I sat beside him in class and ate lunch with him in the courtyard at school. We grew apart a few years ago, but in all the time we were close, I had never seen any indication that he was "in love" with Katniss.

Maybe that's why I have trouble believing the star-crossed lovers story. It's possible he may have had a crush on her, maybe even started to really adore her after we stopped talking. But it couldn't have been love. Not so easily.

I scrape the last bits of egg off my plate before going back inside. I turn on the television above the counter, which is already tuned to the station I want it on. Katniss and Peeta stand beside the cornucopia, their weapons on the ground. The scene seems grave, and it's Peeta's words that tell me what has happened.

"—they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us."

The rule change has been revoked. I know it immediately. The Capitol has tricked us into believing that love truly can conquer all, even the might of our pompous rulers. They've given us an abundance of hope, and taken it away just like that.

I grasp around blindly for the stool behind the counter, not wanting to take my eyes off the television. Katniss reaches for something in her pocket, and pulls out a handful of dark berries. They zoom in, and I hear Caesar Flickerman's commentary over whatever conversation Peeta and Katniss are having.

"That right there is Nightlock." He sounds nervous, something Caesar Flickerman has never been before. "Very deadly. When consumed, it will kill you within the minute."

Peeta leans forward and kisses Katniss, and for some reason it's the first one I actually believe is real. They stand there facing each other, until Katniss begins to count.

"One, two, three."

The tributes of District 12 lift their hands to their mouths and swallow the deadly berries. It happens so quickly, and I can hardly believe the Gamemakers haven't intervened.

The hovercrafts are there in an instant, but not before Peeta slumps to the ground, slowly followed by Katniss. Two claws reach down and pick them up, and suddenly the screen cuts to a view of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar.

Caesar is babbling away frantically, relaying whatever news the Capitol's doctors are giving him. But I'm not exactly paying attention. I can only think of one thing right now.

They're dead. Katniss and Peeta are dead.

"I've just received word that Peeta Mellark has passed away," Caesar says, his voice shaking.

Katniss is going to die now.

It's Claudius's turn to speak. He lets out a sigh of relief. "And now I am proud to announce the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen!"

This isn't right. Katniss cannot win if she's dead.

Suddenly, Caesar's expression turns grim. He nods slowly, avoiding eye-contact with the cameras. "And it seems now that…Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire… has also… passed away."

I've never heard anyone from the Capitol sound so devastated. They never really care when a tribute dies. But now, the star-crossed lovers have become their prized possession. And it has been taken away from them.

Katniss and Peeta are dead. Neither of them have won. There is no victor.

I jump when I hear a commotion outside. A group of men and women—most likely from the Seam—have gathered on the streets and are moving towards the square. I walk tentatively towards the glass storefront, watching as more and more people join the crowd—no, mob is a better term. Most of the merchant families stay inside, and I can see others like me peering out of their windows.

The upstairs door opens, followed by loud footsteps descending the stairs. I turn around, finding my dad standing at the bottom of the stairs, still in his pajamas.

"Evelyn, are you okay?" he asks, out of breath from his short run.

I nod my head, turning back to watch the swarm of people winding through the streets.

"I just… I figured you might be a little… upset."

I roll my eyes and shrug.

"I want you to stay here," he says.

I don't turn to look at him. I want to say, I can go out if I want. I'll be fine. I can do things on my own.

But "Okay" is all I mumble.

"Alright, alright." My dad has a way of showing concern for me when I don't need it, and being completely absent when I do. It's been that way for several years now, and though it's made me independent it makes it hard to really interact with him.

I hear the creak of the stairs as he goes back up them. The door closes, and I wait just a few more seconds to make sure I'm in the clear.

I spring to the stairs and grab my boots, hastily shoving my feet into them. There's a door underneath the stairs that leads to the coolers and—more importantly—the back door.

When I step outside, I can hear the crowd more clearly, but none have ventured around the back of the shops. I check on more time to make sure the coast is clear, then start jogging towards the Justice Building. As long as I stay behind the shops, I shouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing me.

I knock a few times on the back door of the mayor's residence. I can hear the discordant shouts of the mob and another amplified voice over them. I knock again, more urgently this time. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Madge's eyes go wide when she sees me. "What are you doing here?" she hisses.

Normally, Madge would be happy to see me. She's just about the only friend I have, and we've been close since we could toddle. I stare at her in confusion for a few seconds before shrugging.

She shakes her head at me. "Get inside," she says grabbing my arm and pulling me through the door.

"Is your father around?" I ask, looking down the hallway as we walk.

"Of course he's not here," she snaps. Her temper is short today, and I understand why she's so nervous. "He has to deal with the… the… riot."

She flings open a door that reveals a staircase behind it. Once we reach the top, Madge closes the doors on either side of the lavish living room, draws the blinds, and collapses on a couch.

I sit down beside her. "I've been thinking," I start, but she cuts me off before I can finish.

"I know what you've been thinking, Evie," she sighs. "It's all you talk about."

"And?" I ask, waiting for her to say more.

She looks up at me, confused. "And what?"

"What do you think?" I ask urgently.

She doesn't respond, so I take over the conversation.

"Something's going to happen; it has to. People aren't just going to stand by after that."

"After what?"

I lean forward and stare at her in disbelief. "What Peeta and Katniss just did! They would rather die than give in to the Capitol. Do you really think no one's going to stand up after that?"

Madge shakers her head, her blonde hair falling out of place. "No. They did it because they didn't want to live without each other. It wasn't to make the Capitol angry. It wasn't… rebellion."

She seems to have some difficulty getting the last word out. I frown and furrow my brow.

"Do you really believe that?" I say. "Do you really believe that they fell in love that quickly? That someone like Katniss—someone who probably despises people like Peeta, me, you—actually fell in love with him just because he confessed it in front of the whole country?"

I can tell Madge is distressed. She looks away from me, frowning deeply.

"Maybe you can believe that, but I can't," she says, just loud enough for me to hear. "Everything they do reflects on District 12, and everything District 12 does reflects on my father." She clenches her fists in her lap, wrinkling the fabric of her blue skirt. "I can't afford to believe in rebellion. To me it would mean losing everything."

She says the last bit more firmly, and I start to feel ashamed for making her feel so uncomfortable.

"I know… I'm sorry," I say. "But, if something does happen, shouldn't you be prepared? Isn't it your father's job to lead his people in times of crisis?"

Madge takes a deep breath, letting it out quickly. "His job is to set an example. And that example doesn't include preparing for war."

"I never said anything about war."

"Well, you implied it." Madge looks up at me, her eyes shining.

I open my mouth to counter her, but before I can someone knocks on the door.

"Madge?" calls a muffled voice. "Madge, are you in there?"

Madge stand up quickly, grabbing my arm. "Yes, mother!" She looks up at me, grabbing my other hand. "You should go. We can talk about this more some other time. I promise." And with that she lets go of me, slipping through the door without another word.

I walk quietly down the stairs, making sure no one is around to see me where I don't belong. All goes well, until just before I pass the alleyway between the Justice Building and the nearest shop. The crowd lets loose a chorus of screams, and then there's a loud bang.

A gunshot.

I stand frozen for a moment. The Peacekeepers in District 12 have always been uncommonly kind to our citizens. They look the other way as the traders of the black market do their business, and in turn there's little in the way of disorderly conduct. I've never seen any of them fire a gun, much less even arrest someone.

It should stand out to me more; it should be a sign that things are soon going to go very wrong. But as soon as I regain the ability to move, all I can think about is getting home safely.

The next few months are harsh in District 12. The Peacekeepers are being pressured by the Capitol to crack down on crime. Though they try to give some leeway, there is no more looking the other way. If someone is caught doing something illegal, they're trialed and imprisoned. Most of the merchants refuse to trade with the hunters, isolating their activity to the black market of the district—the Hob.

But there is one important figure who manages to evade punishment for trading with the poachers. The mayor still buys strawberries from a Seam boy: Gale Hawthorne. I remember buying meat from him and Katniss a few times. While she seemed grateful for our business, he'd always looked at us with distaste. This is why it surprises me so much when I find he and Madge seem to be seeing each other.

But talk of rebellion doesn't die down so easily. As the stragglers of the Seam find it harder and harder to get by, they begin to question why so little is done about their situation. Even those of us who find our trade in the merchant business are feeling their discontentment. With less income for our customers, they have less to spend on our products, and it's not long before the district becomes unstable. And when the much anticipated supply of food arrives rotten and rodent-infested, it only fuels the flames.

Security reaches its peak, and even then the small uprisings are hard to control. The only thing that does even the slightest bit to calm the district down comes around the middle of winter. During school, our teachers tell us that there will be an important announcement on television that night. The program is mandatory.

I come home from school and inform my dad of the announcement. He and I sit in front of the television at seven-thirty, leaving my mother in her room for fear that whatever it is might upset her.

The anthem plays and the screen cuts to a shot of President Snow on a stage. A little boy in a white suit follows him, holding a small wooden box. Snow begins to speak, reminding us of the Dark Days that led to the creation of the Hunger Games. It was dictated then that every twenty-five years the Quarter Quell would mark a glorified version of the Games. It was meant to keep the memory fresh of those killed in the rebellion.

I can't imagine how many other districts are rebelling right now, and how Snow seems to be pointing his words directly at them.

President Snow relays the past two Quarter Quells: On the twenty-fifth anniversary, the districts voted for their tributes. On the fiftieth anniversary, twice the number of tributes were reaped. That was the year Haymitch Abernathy won, and may have been a year some of my dad's friends would have been reaped. But he's never said anything about it, so I can't assume anything.

As the President announces that we will now honor the third Quarter Quell, the little boy in white steps forward and opens the box. Inside are dozens of tidy, yellowed envelopes that seem to predict centuries of Hunger Games. President Snow picks out the one marked with a 75, and clearly reads the dictation.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that the Capitol and the districts achieve more together than apart, the tributes from each district will work as teams. If both tributes from one district survive to the end of the Hunger Games, their district will receive twice the normal winnings, but must vote for their sole victor."

The anthem plays again, and then the program is over. Just like that. My dad lets out a thoughtful hum, then looks at me with just the slightest hint of worry on his face.

I look back at him and shrug. My mind is already racing with theories about the announcement, but I keep them to myself for now. There is only one person I will be revealing those thoughts to.