Did someone say more? Cuz here it is!

Chapter 2: A Turn of Fate

[Asami]

The light to my father's office is on, illuminating the normally dark halls. That's the first thing I notice as I enter my home, the shadows flickering ominously as I enter. The second thing that catches my attention is the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

That's weird, I think as I close the door softly behind me. My father usually works late into the night the day before the Reaping, so I'm confused when I'm met with my father standing in the kitchen, opening a bottle of what looks like one of his expensive wines.

"Do we have guests?" I ask, startling him. He nearly drops the bottle, but stops himself in time as he turns around to face me.

"Asami, you're back," my father says, smiling broadly, but there's something oddly fake about it. The lines on his face are taut with hidden tension, and his face is a mix of worry and guilt, though I can't be too sure.

"Hey, Dad," I greet, wrapping my arms around him. My father returns the hug, squeezing a bit too tightly.

"No guests," my father says. "I just thought it would be nice to have a meal together."

I raise an eyebrow at him. My father isn't one to spontaneously do these sorts of things. He's usually too busy to even come home.

"Is something wrong?" I ask hesitantly, but my father immediately waves the question away.

"No, no, definitely not," he says. "Why don't you go take a shower while I finish dinner?"

I nod, deciding to let it slide for now, but his strange behavior bothers me. I wasn't even aware my father could cook. And, even if he could, he always asks the chefs and servants to prepare our meals. Why would he go so far as to prepare the meal himself?

.

When I'm finally out from the shower, my father has finished setting up the table. There are a few simple dishes—the only ones he would know how to make without ruining it on the first try—but I appreciate his effort.

We sit down and begin to eat, exchanging tales of how our days have been. I talk about my classes, while my father goes over some of his latest inventions. It's a comfortable atmosphere despite my previous misgivings, and I find myself relaxed and slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Asami, you've been going to your defense classes, right?" my father suddenly asks.

I jerk my head up to look at him, trying to figure out what he's thinking. "Yes."

He nods his head distractedly. "That's good. That's very good."

I set my fork down, no longer able to wait for answers any longer. The previous mood is gone, replaced by one of apprehension and worry. "Dad. Obviously, something is bothering you. What is it?"

My father pretends not to hear as he continues eating, but I know he did since his movements are slower, more carefully placed. I wait, knowing he'll answer eventually, like he always does.

After a few more seconds pass, he sighs and looks up. "I'm just worried about tomorrow."

I say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. The Reaping happens every year, and there's always a chance I'll get chosen, but he's never been visibly concerned until now.

"What if you get picked, Asami?" my father asks. "I don't think I can bare to lose you, too."

"Dad, relax," I say. "The chances are slim, and you know that."

My father hums, but it doesn't sound like one of agreement. I place my hand on top of his.

"And even if I did get picked, I promise I'll come back out as the victor," I continue. "It's like you say all the time. No one crosses a Sato."

My father smiles faintly. "Right you are about that, my dear. But the Arena is a deadly place. Your fighting skills alone won't get you through."

"Don't stress about it," I say. "The Reaping isn't until tomorrow. Why don't we enjoy the rest of the night while we can?"

My father nods agreeably, though I can tell he isn't completely placated. However, neither of us continue the topic, choosing to talk about other, more light-hearted things.

.

The next morning, my father is up before I am, brewing a cup of coffee. His back is to me as he thumbs through a pile of papers, muttering something under his breath. He's dressed neatly in his best suit, with his hair combed and beard trimmed.

"Morning, Dad," I say.

"Good morning, Asami," my father says, putting down his papers with what looks like reluctance.

"Am I interrupting your work?" I ask, eyeing the now disregarded stack by his elbow.

"No," my father says, hastily shoving the papers out of sight, but not before I catch a glimpse of what looks like designs for some kind of weapon.

My father clears his throat, drawing my attention away. "Why don't we get some breakfast, and then we can head over to the square together?"

I nod. "Sounds good."

The two of us eat a quick breakfast before heading over to the square, where the Reaping takes place. In Panem, the Reapings are staggered throughout the day, occurring at half-hour intervals, starting at nine in the morning in District One, and ending at two-thirty in the afternoon in District Twelve. Since we live in District Three, our reaping time is one of the firsts, at ten, which means we must be present and ready at the square at nine, an hour beforehand.

Despite being the District that provides electronics and technology to the rest of Panem, most of the citizens of Three are poor. We're the second poorest district, only beaten by Twelve. As my father and I make our way towards the square, I spot disheveled-looking people shuffling about, their eyes downcast, each dreading who will be picked on this eventful day. Most of the residents here look like they haven't had a decent meal in forever—which is most likely true. A few cast sidelong glares at my father and me, when they think I'm not looking, but I'm not one to miss these details. I can't really say their hatred is misplaced, though.

My father and I are the lucky ones. When he was younger, my father caught the interest of President Yakone, who asked my father to build certain things for him, paying him heftily while doing so. After both President Yakone and his oldest son Noatak died in an accident, President Amon rose to power. He was much more generous with his funding, helping my father to become the wealthiest person in Three. There isn't a single person in District Three who doesn't know the name Sato.

My father and I finally make it to the lines, and we stand facing each other, knowing we must go our separate ways now.

"I'll see you later, Dad," I say softly.

My father hugs me close to him, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Good luck, Asami."

He pulls away, and his eyes are watery.

"Are you going to cry?" I joke, but instead of a laugh, I'm met with my father's grim face.

"Asami, I just want you to know that whatever happens, I love you."

I nod, confused, but return the words, anyway. "I love you, too, Dad."

My father heaves a heavy sigh and finally breaks away. His eyes are sorrowful, but before I have a chance to ask, or even ponder about it, I'm nudged back into line by a Peacekeeper.

.

Asami Sato.

My name continues to travel across the plaza and there's stunned silence from the crowd—an event like this is so rare it's practically extinct in a District as poor as Three—and for a moment, it seems as if time stands still.

I blink a few times, slightly in shock, because that was not my name that just came from the escort's mouth. Someone shoves me forward, and unthinkingly, I follow the motion, soon finding myself standing in front of the crowd of District Three, next to the boy tribute. He offers a hand to help me onto the stage, casually running a hand through his hair while he does so. He smells strongly of perfume, as if he had been planning on going on a date rather than to a Reaping, and, like all the other wealthy children of Three, he's dressed in a suit and adorned with expensive jewelry.

Despite my better judgement, I accept his hand and let him pull me up, where I can get a good look at every single person gathered today. The entire population of District Three.

And all of them are staring at me.

In the distance, something catches my eye. It's my father. Though his head is cast down, so I am not able to fully make out his face, I know it's him by his clothing. No other adult—excluding the mayor and his family—would wear such a lavish business suit on the day of the Reaping.

"Well, let's give a round of applause to our two tributes this year!"

There's applause, and it's a lot louder than other years, though still not as loud as the ones in One, Two, and Four. I guess since the boy—vaguely, I recall the name Tahno—and I are part of the upper-class, the majority of Three aren't too sad to see us go.

After the mandatory applause dies down, the mayor forces Tahno and I to shake hands. Tahno's hands are sweaty, a sure sign that he's nervous despite his looks. I quickly wipe my hands on my dress as discretely as I can even as the mayor begins to ramble about the Treaty of Treason. I'm barely paying attention to his little speech, still dazed about the sudden turn of events, but I somehow manage to force a smile on my face. From now on, I'll have to be even more careful about my appearances. It'll be the only way to get me sponsors, especially since the Capitol, excluding the president, have taken a dislike to my father, with a lot of them claiming that he's trying to bribe his way in. Not that my father would ever do that. As wealthy and materialistic as he is now, my father has always been a people person, and he likes it here in Three. It's where he grew up; a lot of people tend to forget that he used to live in the slums, too.

The mayor finishes his speech, and the anthem plays. We all wait respectfully for the anthem to end, and then Tahno and I are ushered to the Justice Building.

.

It's a grueling few minutes in the Justice Building. Tahno and I are separated into our own rooms, where we wait for visitors. I sit on an extravagant chair, staring at nothing, knowing the only person to visit me will be my father.

How had I been chosen? My name was just a small percentage among thousands. I had better luck accidently being killed by one of my inventions than being picked as tribute.

As I'm figuring out my fate, the door opens, and my father walks in, his footsteps slow. He takes a seat on a chair opposite of me, avoiding my eyes as he chooses to clean his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his pocket.

The silence stretches on, with neither of us knowing what to say. What do you say to your only parent, knowing you are about to be sent off to die? Oh, sorry, but I guess I lucked out? How lame of a reasoning is that?

My father finally looks up, and there are tears in his eyes. His pants have wrinkles from where he twisted them earlier, and even now, his hands are at fists by his side.

"Asami…"

My father stops, lowering his eyes. He swallows, and then meets my gaze again. "Promise me you'll try your best?"

"Of course," I agree, reaching for his hands. He doesn't resist, holding onto me tightly.

After another pause, my father speaks up again. "I'm so sorry, Asami. This isn't what I wanted."

"Dad, this isn't your fault," I reassure him instantly. "It was just bad luck on my part."

So much for not using that excuse.

My father shakes his head furiously, muttering angrily to himself. He sighs and releases my hands, reaching into his breast pocket. From its depths, he procures a pin of sorts. He hands it to me, and I notice it has the logo of our company Future Industries on it.

"You're allowed a keepsake of sorts into the Arena," my father explains. "I thought you would like this, as a reminder of home."

Unable to stop the sudden rush of feelings, I choke back a sob, and my father awkwardly places a hand on my shoulder.

There's a knock on the door, and a Peacekeeper enters. "Time's up."

My father and I stand up, getting in one last hug.

"I love you, Dad," I say, not wanting to let go.

"I love you, too, Asami," my father whispers in my ear. "Please don't ever forget that."

The intimate moment is over, and there's a large gap between us, soon to grow even larger. My father nods, and he lets the Peacekeeper escort him outside.

The door closes, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. As I start to think, something comes to the forefront of my mind, a nagging feeling, like I'm missing something obvious.

My father's words echo in my ears: I'm so sorry, Asami. This isn't what I wanted.

What had he meant by that?

.

It's a short ride to the Capitol, a little over three hours. Tahno and I are shown to our quarters, though I don't really see the point of having a room here if we'll be arriving at the Capitol soon.

Our escort, a bald man with tanned skin and a gold chain from his nose to his ear, introduces himself as Aiwei. He asks if we have any questions, and Tahno and I look at each other, before shaking our heads. He shrugs and dismisses himself, leaving me alone with Tahno.

As soon as the adults are out of sight, Tahno turns to me, and I brace myself for a conversation.

"Hey," Tahno says, smoothing his hair back with one hand as his other hand reaches for a handshake. I avoid it, choosing to cross my arms, uninterested. We've already shaken hands once; there's no point in doing it a second time.

"The name's Tahno," he continues, undeterred by my obvious lack of interest. He retracts his hand, though he still wears that annoyingly confident smirk on his face. "And who might you be?"

"You heard my name being called," I say.

It isn't a question, and Tahno knows it. He shrugs and sidles up to me. "Yeah, but it's always polite to ask for a lady's name."

I roll my eyes. "We're not here on a date, Tahno. We're being sent off to die, remember?"

Tahno shrugs again. "That's true. But, hey, since we're going to die soon anyway, we might as well have a little fun, right?"

"And, trust me," Tahno's voice drops lower as he comes even closer to me, his breath hot on my neck, "I can be plenty of fun."

I resist the urge to grimace. "I'm not interested in doing anything with you. Besides, who would even want to be with someone like you? I'd rather date the girl from Twelve."

This seems to hit a nerve as Tahno steps back, looking highly offended. "The kids from Twelve have nothing on me! They're all so dirt-poor, anyway. What can they possibly have that I don't?"

"I mean, look at me," Tahno says, back at my side again. His hand casually reaches for me. "I was raised in the same area as you. We're both from the wealthy families. I'm much more civilized and educated than those losers from Twelve. I'm the only one who understands—"

Tahno's sentence is cut off as I grab his hand, twisting it painfully. He lets out a yelp, but I don't let go.

"I'll only say this once," I hiss, "If you touch me again, I'll make sure you have more to worry about than just a couple of bruises."

I let go, and Tahno scampers a few feet away, cradling his right hand as he yells, "You're not supposed to hurt me before we get into the Arena!"

I glare at him, and he seems to get my message well enough as he runs off without another word.

Once he's gone, I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. Things aren't looking so bright right now, but I touch the Future Industries pin on my dress, reminding me that I must give it my all, if not for my own sake, then at least for my father's sake. I can't abandon him; I'm the only family he has left.

The train continues to rumble along, flashes of peaceful scenery rushing by the window, oblivious to my worries. I sigh, and touch my pin again, this time with less sorrow and more determination.

No one crosses a Sato.