The entire crowd seems to have stopped breathing. All we can do is watch in helpless silence as Sterling Winters' tanned, slender hand reaches into the glass bowl. Unlike some escorts, he does not linger. In fact, he gives a faint impression that he would like this reaping to end as soon as possible. Wouldn't we all. He swiftly plucks out a single paper and clears his throat before reading the cursed name.

"Rya Polwarth."

I am vaguely aware of the girls around me taking a step back. I am also aware of my heart suddenly turning to stone and falling hard into my stomach. No. This cannot be happening. Sterling Winters did not just announce me as District 10's tribute girl. I feel as though everything is submerged in water and my world has become an unfamiliar blur. Moving is the last thing I want to do, and yet somehow my feet begin to mechanically walk forward. A male voice suddenly breaks through the crowd.

"No! I volunteer! I volunteer to take Rya's place as tribute!"

I blink and whirl around to see the tall frame of Declan Breeding pushing through the crowd towards me. Even from a distance I can see his eyes blazing with intensity. For a brief moment, I forget the horror of my situation and have a new shock to absorb. Declan, the boy I have quietly admired for years, is volunteering to save my life. The boy who has lived at the farm down the road from me for as long as I can remember. The boy who taught me how to milk a cow. The boy whose dimpled smile is enough to keep me smiling for days. I had never plucked up the courage to tell him how I felt, but, now, here he was making the ultimate sacrifice for me in a display that all of Panem would see.

I shake my head as he approaches me, struggling to find words. "No, Declan. You can't—"

"No," he cuts me off, taking my hands tightly in his. "I won't let you do this. If anyone should go, it should be me. Not you. Never you." He lets go of my hands and pulls me close into his embrace.

"I love you, Rya," he whispers, his breath warm on my hair. "I've always loved you."

"I love you, too," I whisper back in disbelief, tears beginning to well in my eyes. "I love you more than anything."

I tilt my head up to study his face. His mouth trembles slightly, his dark hair disheveled. I have never felt more drawn to him than in this wonderful, terrible moment. He pulls me in again, this time closing the space between our lips. My first kiss. And all too soon it's over as a pair of guards forcefully yank Declan away from me.

"No!" I scream as I feel another guard restrain my wrists. "Wait! I'll still be a tribute! I'll still be the girl! Please!"

But no one seems to be listening. All eyes now fix on Declan as he approaches Sterling Winters looking pained yet resigned to his fate. He finds me again in the crowd and forces his mouth into a small smile.

"Please!" I scream again, desperate to be near him. To feel him in my arms. "Please let me be a tribute, too!"

I flail under the guard's grip, turning my head to look at him and beg for release. My heart instantly seizes with terror when I see his arm raised high, a solid black rod poised in his hand. I let out one last cry as the rod comes barreling at my skull.

Everything is black. Where am I? My eyes snap open, heart beating wildly. I'm alive. I'm sweating. I tear the satin bed sheets off of me in one frantic motion. I'm sweating so much. It was all a dream. A nightmare, really. I reach a clammy hand up to my forehead, half expecting to find myself bleeding, but I'm not. I climb absently out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. My presence triggers an overhead light to come on. I turn the golden faucet knobs with shaking hands and splash cold water onto my face. When I finally chance a look in the mirror, there is a mess of a girl staring back at me. Ashen face. Bloodshot eyes. Brown hair sticking up in all unflattering directions. Pele would surely have something to say about that later. Not that I cared what some stylist thought.

I glance over to a nearby clock and realize that training will start in one hour. The nightmare is only beginning and there's no waking up from it. My name really had been drawn from the bowl for District 10, but Declan Breeding did not swoop in to rescue me or declare his love; he only looked on with solemn eyes. It was for the best anyhow. Declan is 18 and finally free from having to participate in this hell. Even if he wanted to, he would never actually be able to take my place given the Capitol's strict gender rules about volunteering.

Knowing that Declan is safe brings me the smallest sense of relief, but even that feeling is dulled by my fear. My overwhelming fear. I swear it's so strong that it's all I can breathe or taste. The luxuries of Capitol living barely touch me. What does it matter that I'm wearing a pair of pajamas that cost what my father earns in the butcher shop over several months? In two short days, I will probably be dead at age 16. I have grown up witnessing the Hunger Games my entire life, but to actually be here as a tribute? To know I may be the person writhing and covered in blood on the big screen? The thought alone causes me to lurch over and retch violently into the pristine toilet. It automatically flushes up the mess when I'm done and freshens the air with a clean floral scent as if nothing ever happened. For a butcher's daughter, I never did tolerate blood very well.