"Do you ever think what would happen if you were reaped?"

I winced at her words, lowering the spear I had in my hands. "No. Why would I?"

"Not even what you'd say, what you'd do?" Gwylan, my training partner asked me thoughtfully. "What you'd say to the cameras and all?"

"No," I responded shortly, picking up the spear again and hurling it at the dummy. Bulls eye, as usual. Gwylan shrugged, picking up her own spear and following suit.

Around us, the training center was an echoing cacophony of noises, the clashing of swords, the thumps of weapons striking a target, the urgent shouts and yells of those running the assault course all blending together into a deafening racket. I'd long learned how to tune out the noise, and my mind wandered back to Gwylan's words . Do you ever think what would happen if you were reaped?

I had lied to her in my answer. The truth was, I did think about that, all the time. About what that would feel like, to have my name echo throughout the amphitheater and feel the eyes of the entire District fastened upon my slow walk to the stage. The truth was, it terrified me.

Involuntarily, my eyes flickered to the far side of the training center, zeroing in on a pair of pictures toward the center of the arrangement. The girl was unfamiliar to me, just another trainee I had met in passing. But I knew the boy's face.

"Breakman! Cresta! Get over here!"

We both jumped at the angry bark of one of our instructors, just now realizing that the gong signaling the end of the day had already sounded, everyone else congregating in the middle of the training center. Quickly stowing the weapons, we jogged over to catch the end of day brief, shrugging our way in between the other sweaty, tired trainees.

"...tools but it's up to each and every one of you in the end to stay alive," our head trainer, Damarion Surez, growled. "Now tomorrow's the reaping. Hopefully none of you are chosen, and hopefully none of you are stupid enough to volunteer." He paused for a second, his eyes sweeping over a few of the trainees with a skeptical expression that clearly expressed his doubt. "Try to get enough rest tonight. If you are chosen, well, just don't do anything stupid. Understood?" There was a general murmur of assent and he nodded, satisfied. "Alright. Last years, I want to talk to you all right after this. Dismissed."

Gwylan squeezed my hand then went with the rest of the girls to shower and change. I crowded around Damarion with the rest of those whose last reaping was tomorrow, nervous grins crossing our faces. We were almost safe. By this time tomorrow, we would all be celebrating our newly gained freedom from the Hunger Games. Already I felt giddy, electrical. Several of the guys playfully pushed each other, laughing. It was almost over.

"Okay okay guys." Damarion said in an attempt to quiet us, a small smile crossing his face. "I know you all are excited, but it's not done yet, you hear? It's happened before, it'll happen again. Hopefully none of you."

This sobered us up some, our smiles fading. Many stole glances at the picture I had been looking at earlier, the picture of my brother. It was everyone's greatest fear, almost being able to taste the freedom then having it cruelly ripped away in one awful, heartbreaking moment. When Mitch had been reaped, everyone felt it.

One of the trainers shifted uncomfortably at this, and I spared a withering glance in his direction. Finnick Odair, victor from 6 years ago, met my gaze then looked down, ashamed. As he should be. I felt the old anger rise up inside me, flickering in my chest and with some effort forced myself to calm down. I had better things to expend energy on. He wasn't worth the effort.

"Party in the training center tomorrow night!" one of the guys shouted, and he was met with loud whoops and cheers. Our excitement couldn't be held down for anything, and Damarion held his hands up in mock surrender.

"All right, all right, you guys win!" Damarion joked, laughing. "But until that time you all are still trainees okay? Don't embarrass me tomorrow, that's all I ask."

"You're coming to the party tomorrow aren't you?" one of the trainees demanded, hands on her hips. "You said you would!"

"Yeah! Finnick and Kai as well!"

The rest chorused their agreement, egging on Damarion, who was shaking his head emphatically, and Finnick and Kai, who shrugged and laughingly nodded, met with shouts of approval. Finnick and Kai, the most recent victors, were relatively young, only a few years older than us. Kai was only 22, having won 5 years ago at the age of 17. Finnick was even younger, winning his Games a year before Kai at 14, the current record. He was only 2 years older than most of us.

The sun felt abnormally hot today, beating down on the thousands of people within the giant amphitheater, but I barely noticed. I was the happiest I had ever been at a reaping. My last one. All of us in the 18 year section were chatting animatedly, making plans, trading gossip. Rumors of who was planning to propose to who after the Reaping was a hot issue as normal, and we all kept stealing glimpses of the boy's side, wondering who might have a ring in their pocket all ready to pop the question after the ceremony. Weddings were a common occurrence in the weeks after a Reaping, after the threat of the Games was removed, and everyone loved a good wedding. There was also a huge party in the training center planned for those who aged out, and from what we had heard from past trainees, it was truly spectacular. The other girls were swapping descriptions of the outfits they planned to wear, and of how they would spend their time now that we no longer needed to train for hours every day.

I spared a glance at Gwylan, my smile fading. The difference between my age group and hers was striking. While mine was buzzing with excitement, huge smiles on everyone's faces, the 16 and 17 year olds were pale, grim faced and silent. Gwynlan was no exception, standing quietly in the 17 year old section, nodding at me. I ached for her, remembering standing in her exact shoes just 1 year ago. It was an unspoken agreement among everyone that our district tributes would only ever be 16 years or older, giving them the best chance of survival in the arena. Thus, if a younger boy or girl was Reaped, one of the older teens, 16 or 17, was expected to volunteer. 18 year olds, being as close as we were to freedom, were not under the same expectations. Everyone dreaded turning 16, as that meant if need be, you were expected to volunteer. This had its consequences on the younger kids that were replaced as well though. Many times, those who had been replaced by a volunteer turned right back around and volunteered the year they became eligible due to a feeling of debt. It was especially bad if the volunteer was killed in the arena. Gwylan, thank goodness, was never reaped, but I knew she was preparing herself to volunteer in case of the worst. She needn't have worried, as there were several of what we called Debtors in her age group.

I could see several such teens now standing in the volunteer pool, their faces grimmer than most. Their volunteers never came back from the Arena, and I knew many felt as though they owed them their lives. Damarion had tried to reason with them before, convincing those intent on volunteering that they would just negate the sacrifice a volunteer had made. "They didn't volunteer for you so you could go in later!" he'd tell them angrily. "They volunteered to keep you alive! You need to honor that sacrifice!" But as usual, many could not be persuaded. And so the number of dead children increased.

A glimmer attracted my attention to the stage, and I looked up to see the amphitheater lights glinting off the victor's chairs. They were made to sit up at the front for every Reaping, in all their Capitol finery. We had quite a lot as of late. Kai and Finnick were the only ones under 25, but there was a range from late twenties/early thirties all the way up to Harold, the old man who had won the Games while they were still single digits. He now sat snoring in his spot. The other victors were chatting quietly, waving every so often at the cameras with false smiles that didn't fool anyone in Four. We all knew they hated the Capitol.

As my eyes were sweeping the stage, they happened to meet with those belonging of one Finnick Odair. He looked away almost immediately, flushing. My eyes narrowed.

I never was told how Finnick ended up in the arena at 14 with no one volunteering to replace him. I was 10 at the time, and all I remember were my brothers coming back from the center after the Reaping pale and shaken. Apparently Damarion had choicey words for the entire center, and it wasn't pretty. Mitch had been 14, Ian 18, so none of them were expected to step up, but we still heard the stories about what happened to the 16 and 17 year old boys that year. It wasn't pretty. I only remember so clearly because Mitch had been so upset. He and Finnick were best friends at the time…

A sudden blow to my right shoulder caught me off guard and I whirled around. Trishe had hold of my sleeve, a huge smile on her face. "Annie, we're almost there. We're almost done!" We had been together at every reaping, every year, and now it was almost over.

"I know!" I squealed, forgetting Finnick, hugging her and laughing. The giddiness was infectious, and even when silence was forced upon us, we kept exchanging glances, mouthing excited words back and forth, relief washing over all our shoulders. When Trianga went to choose the female tribute, we were bouncing up and down on the balls of our feet, unable to keep still. Only a few more seconds, and we would be free. She cleared her throat.

"Annie Cresta!"

Fitting.