"Ladies and Gentleman, let the seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Plutarch Heavensbee rings in my ears.

My eyes are shut tight, hoping to hold onto the last image of my stylist smiling at me as I rose out of sight. I don't want to open them yet, but I don't dare waste another second. I force my eyes open to look at the arena around me, but I still can't see a thing. It's pitch-black and I have no idea where I am. I try to gather my thoughts during the sixty seconds we have before we can step off our plates, but I'm still panicking when the gong sounds. I stumble blindly forward, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the Cornucopia. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my back and I fall to the ground. Unsure of what happened, I begin to get to my hands and knees, only to be kicked in the head by whom I assume is my attacker. I feel the hot blood gush out of the wound on my back. An acute pain runs down my spine as they remove the knife and I cry out. Suddenly, I feel their breath on my neck.

"Don't worry, this will be quick," they whisper. The voice, it's so familiar. I can't quite place it, but I know at least that it's masculine.

He rolls me on to my back and I let out a small moan of pain. In the dark, I feel him straddle me, and place a hand on my chest, forcing the air out. I'm struggling to breathe, and my head is spinning. He lets out a small laugh and leans forward.

Suddenly, I can see. Not the Cornucopia, not the rest of my surroundings, not even the body of my murderer. But I can see his face, looming out of the darkness. The features are so familiar; I could trace them with my eyes closed. I try to speak, but he clamps his hand over my mouth.

"Goodbye, Anascee Crane."

And then Darrion slits my throat.