Chapter One

"Try not to do anything too stupid." the big man mutters, shooting a scowl over to me. I flip him the bird, biting my lip to hold back a smile. He scoffs and turns back to the mast, finishing wrapping the rope around the thick wooden pole in the semi-darkness of dawn.

I swing my legs over the stern of the small sail boat where I'm perched and let myself slide, inch by inch, into the freezing water. Instantly I feel the familiar goose bumps rush over my skin, and I'm shivering uncontrollably by the time I'm submerged up to my chin.

"Remember, only the gray ones." barks the man, leaning his head over the side of the boat to look down at me. The scar that runs from his right ear and over to the left side of his chin and across his mouth is bright red, just a shade lighter than the rest of his naturally beet-like face. Its an old scar - faded - but hard not to stare at when you look at him. You can tell that a long time ago, he used to be handsome. Before the scar, before years of sea water and overexposure to the sun took their toll and made his skin leathery and hard.

"O-ok." I stammer, trying and failing not to shiver. He smiles, one of very few, and his teeth are blinding white and perfect. When he smiles, you can see some of his son in him. I shoot a similar smile back at him, and plunge into the freezing ocean.

I feel my chest lock up along with the rest of my muscles. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, the only sound in a dark, silent world. I count to ten, preparing myself, then open my eyes.

It burns at first, as it always does. The salt water is hell on eyes, and if it wasn't for my sisters copious amounts of money that bought fancy medicine, I might have been blind by now, always opening my eyes underwater without protection.

I like it better this way though. It's the way Hannibal taught me when I was still too little to look over the side of the boat, and its the way I plan to do it until I died.

Which, with the Reaping tomorrow, might not be that long.

Five hours and some twenty pounds of oysters later, I haul myself back onto the deck of the boat. Before I have a chance to say anything, a large, plush blanket is around me. "T-t-thanks." I can't keep the shiver out of my voice any longer. I lean back against the wooden side of the boat and push a loose strand of black hair out of my eyes. The methodical rocking of the boat lulls me into an exhausted sleep.

"Aurora, get up." I feel my shoulder being shaken, and when I blink open my still stinging eyes its midday. The sharp smell of rotting fish and seawater plague the air, along with the potent, musty smell the fumes the oil tankers emit. I stretch, letting the soaked blanket fall off my shoulders when I stand.

The North Dock is packed with sailors, deckhands, fish vendors, various traders and a few deep sea captains who haven't been to port all year. Every man is bustling around talking, laughing, drinking or trading. I watched a few young boys dressed in dirty shorts chase a stub-tailed tomcat with a stick, and another boy no older than ten hawking trout prices.

One noticeable thing missing - women. I'd gotten used to the feeling of being an anomaly here, and I noticed a few of the younger men who had just docked after months on sea looking at me sideways. Most of the older captains thought nothing of my presence anymore.

Every sailor was docking today, getting ready for the Reaping tomorrow. The census that took place every year during the Reaping was chaos because, while the actual count was supposed to start a week before, most people didn't actually return to the district until a day before. Most of those people showed up here, the North Dock.

The North Dock, notorious for its illegal activities, is where Hannibal most often docked us. Prices were cheap, and nobody asked questions. The South Dock and West Dock were overrun with larger fishing barges belonging to old, haughty bloodlines that were always competing with one another.

As long as every Captain met his or her fishing quotas for the year nobody from the Capitol asked questions, which was fine with everybody in District 4. The only time anyone from the Capitol checked in on us was to interview Victors or take vacations at one of the coastal resorts.

Most people from District 4 didn't even know those existed.

I grab one one of the handles on basket full of oysters, and Hannibal tosses one of the skinny kids running around on the main dock a coin to come up and help. In a few minutes we're surrounded by filthy street boys, all clamoring for a coin and helping unload the small sailboat. We're finally standing on the dock, and I'm turned tying the boat to a post when I hear a gasp and spin around.

"Hey!" Barks Hannibal, grabbing one of the smaller boys, maybe nine, by the wrist. The kids bright green eyes go wide, and his mouth starts moving like hes talking but no sound comes out. Hes dressed in little more than rags, canvas breeches and a once white sailing shirt, all torn in various places from overuse. "What's in your pocket?" Hannibal snarls.

"I-I-I'm sorry..." He stammers, reaching into his pocket with his other hand and pulling out an oyster. "M-my sister is hungry and..." He trails off, looking like hes going to cry. The other boys are staring, wide eyed. Hannibal looks up at them.

"And how many of you stole then?" He growls, and slowly but surely almost all of the boys pull one or more oysters out of their pockets. I'm about to intervene - most of these poor kids are starving - when Hannibal lets the kids wrist go and smiles softly. "Alright, fill your pockets then." he growls again, but without any of the edge his tone had before.

The boys stare unmoving for a moment before falling onto one of the baskets like piranhas. When they're pockets are near bursting they sprint off as if they're afraid Hannibal will change his mind and call the Peace Keepers. I stare sadly at the over half empty basket of oysters.

"A morning wasted." I mutter, reaching into the basket myself and pulling out a unusually large oyster. I crack it open and am about to suck out the slimy inside when I feel a sharp smack at the back of my head. "Ow." I spit, turning to Hannibal, whose frowning at me.

"Not wasted." He murmurs, then turns back to hail down one of the vendors calling out carts to help transport daily catches to the Main Dock, the place where Captains go to deliver their quotas and trade whatever's left.

"Hannibal Odair!"

Both our heads snap towards the voice. I see a tall man dressed flamboyant clothes, reminiscent of the latest Capitol trends, walking towards us. He wears sunglasses and a strange looking hat with blue feathers sticking out the top.

"Mortimer." calls Hannibal, inclining his head towards the man.

"Old friend." laughs Mortimer, stalking up to Hannibal and embracing him. I recognize him now, Mortimer Boivin, the mayor of District 4.

He and Hannibal had grown up together in the slums of District 4, an area commonly referred to as Boontown. A long time ago, as rumor would tell it, it was an area that had been owned by Boon Crawberry, a wealthy man who owned half the docks and all the ships in them. After he died, his five sons had tried to split the wealth between them and the result had been disastrous. As a result, the once thriving Boontown had broken out into a hub for illegal trade and prostitution, and the two remaining bloodlines, the Craws and the Berrys, were forever at odds and still the two wealthiest families in District 4.

"What brings you out here?" Hannibal asks, keeping his voice even. Hannibal isn't a easy to read or open man, but when you spend almost every day with a man from the time you're six, you learn some things about him.

Mortimer had worked for a wealthy man when he was a boy, and when that man had died had left Mortimer, only 17, five strong fishing vessels. Mortimer had made Hannibal the captain of one, and he himself was the captain of another. Quickly he became rich, with Hannibal at his side. When they were 20, Hannibal had gotten into an accident, the same one he'd gotten his scar in. Thats another story, but he was physically impaired for two years. When he was able to walk again, Mortimer had cut him out of the fishing business, giving Hannibals ship to a man named Murdock Barson, son of Naylor Barson, a wealthy captain Mortimer wanted to become business partners with. When he was thirty he had been elected mayor over Segar Craw, now known only as Craw, the second most influential person in the district.

Hannibal, for Mortimers credit, was given a large sum of money every month since the accident, but not anything like he could have made if Mortimer hadn't left him.

"I'm looking for your son!" Mortimer booms, his voice strong for a man of sixty. Hes had much of the plastic surgery the men in the Capitol get, so you can hardly tell hes a day over thirty. About ten years ago Mortimer had offered Hannibal the same surgery to remove the scar and make him look younger, but Hannibal had refused.

"Finnick?" Hannibal asks, and although his mouth stays even I can see his frown in his eyes.

"The very same. Some camera people from the Capitol are here and they want to do a cameo of him! They're doing it of all the mentors this year I hear." Mortimers smile is huge, his teeth, which had once been famous for their crookedness, were perfect.

"Did you check the house?"

"Oh of course! Wasn't there. I was wondering if he was with you..." Mortimer trails off, noticing me for the first time. "Well hello." he smiles again, his eyes lingering on me for a second too long.

"Hello." I say without emotion. I'd met the man before, but not since I was twelve and Annie had won the Hunger Games.

"Mort, Aurora Cresta, sister of Annie Cresta." Hannibal says with a nod in my direction. His voice is pleasant but his eyes and mouth are hard.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Aurora." He says my name in a slow drawl, like he's tasting it. Mortimer was known for taking an interest in some of the younger girls from Boontown, something I'd listened to Hannibal rant about more than once.

"The pleasure is all mine." My voice is monotonous, my eyes hard. I see his smile slip to a soft frown as he turns back to Hannibal.

"So, any idea where he's at?" His voice isn't as blithe anymore. Hannibal shakes his head slowly.

"No idea, I haven't seen him all week." By the time Hannibal finishes, Mortimer is already turning around. I frown, recognizing everything Hannibal just said as a lie.

"If you see him, send him my way!" Mortimer shouts with a half wave as he slinks off. Hannibal turns to me, biting his lower lip.

"Hurry." Hannibal mutters, "If they find him first they'll be hell to pay."

"I'll get there first." I murmur back, pulling on supple leather boots that had been sitting in the boat. They're not real leather, real leather would be ruined by the sea water in a day. Its a type of leather alternate with a fancy name. I got them a few years ago from Finnick as a birthday present.

"I'll be back at the house in a few hours." Hannibal finishes, turning back to the vendor with the carts.

I turn and sprint down the dock and through an alley between a place that sells nets and another that sells other various boat supplies.

"Dammit Finnick." I curse under my breath, feeling my heart speeding up.

If anyone finds him...there really will be hell to pay. Not just for him, but everyone close to him.

And that could mean me.

I pick up the pace.