Chapter 2: Ripped From the Seam

The morning comes quicker than I thought possible, and I rub my tired eyes in annoyance as the sun filters into the room. I had spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to keep my mind off of the Reaping, which would be taking place in just a few hours. Every time I closed my eyes I was met with images of six years ago, except this time it was my name that was called, a nervous version of myself shuffling up to the stage as the fear threatened to overwhelm me.

I let out a groan, and pull myself into a sitting position. It's pointless to think like this. I think back to what Mr. Fairbain said to me yesterday.

There's nothing I can do to change what today's outcome will be. It's out of my hands.

I swing my feet over the side of my bed and make my way over to my dresser, pulling out my outfit for today. It's a simple green dress, but it's undoubtedly the nicest thing I own. I roll my eyes and sneer in disgust as I look down at the piece of clothing in my hands.

It's sick; the way we're forced to dress up for these people, as if the Reaping is some sort of celebration rather than a death sentence. As if changing how we look, cleaning us up and making us look pretty, will suddenly make this all okay— will make sending children to their death okay. I change out of my clothes and pull the dress over my head.

Only the best for the Capitol.

I grab a pair of brown flats from next to the dresser and put them on before grabbing my hair and pulling it into a low bun. I make my way over to the mirror on the far side of the room, inspecting myself to make sure I look presentable.

I look ridiculous—fake. But I guess that's how the Capitol wants me. I heave out a sigh and turn away. Oh well, this is good as it's going to get.

I begin to make my way out of the room when something catches my eye. On top of my dresser lays a simple, worn leather bracelet—one I haven't thought about in a long time. For years I had worn it, putting it on as soon as it was placed in my hands and never taking it off. I had it on me everywhere I went, not matter what I was doing. It provided me with a feeling of comfort that I couldn't find anywhere else. But Mr. Fairbain had suggested I remove it the day I had starting working for him, stating that it might get ruined—stained by the blood. So I took it off, and I couldn't bring myself to put it back on. The comfort it had brought me suddenly turned into a burden that I couldn't afford to bear. But now, with thoughts of today weighing heavily on my mind, I find myself reaching out to grab the strip of brown leather, wrapping it around my wrist and securing it there.

The sense of calm I feel is almost instantaneous, but I know it's only a minor reprieve. This little piece of leather won't do me any good, just as it didn't for her seven years ago. But still, I feel a little better for having it on.

Feeling slightly calmer, I make my way into the kitchen. My father is sitting at the table. I give him a small nod in acknowledgment, and begin preparing a small meal.

"Remember, the Reaping starts at two," I say quietly from my place at the counter.

He grunts. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there."

We don't say anything else, so I sit and eat my breakfast quickly before heading out, beginning my Reaping day ritual. We don't hug or say any comforting words to each other as I walk out the door. I'm sure he's one of the few people here that's not worried about today. He's far more concerned about himself and the money he can make.

I take in my surroundings as I make my way through the Seam. At first glance, it looks the same as it does everyday: the same way it will look tomorrow, and the day after that, and most likely for the next few years. But the lack of people milling around, opting instead to stay home with their family for what could very well be the last time, reveals the truth. These people are terrified.

None of it makes much of a difference though. When the Reaping is over and done with, people will mourn the loss of one of their own, and then when sun rises tomorrow, everything will go back to the way it was before. It's depressing to think about, the fact that even if someone from the Seam gets reaped, nothing will change. The intensified anxiety that everyone is feeling today will be placed on the back burner, simmering under the surface until the next Reaping, and the one after that, and the one after that.

I'm lost in my own thoughts, not even realizing that my feet have carried me away from the Seam and into town. I walk past what used to be the Hob. The Peacekeepers of District Twelve used to look the other way when it came to the black market, many of them were even regular customers, but that is not the case anymore, not since they destroyed it, not since Twelve became flooded with them. My walk here has been short, but I've already seen more Peacekeepers than usual, a newly delivered bunch straight from the Capitol. Usually the Peacekeepers stationed here on Reaping day just look at the people of District Twelve with varying degrees of disgust or indifference, but not these ones. Their eyes are narrowed, looking at us like we are some sort of threat. I briefly wonder if they've increased presence as a result of last year's Games, wanting to keep everyone in line as much as possible. One particular group I walk past seems ready to pounce over the most minor of infractions, so I assume my guess is correct.

They watch me as I go by, but seem to determine that I'm not a possible threat because they turn their eyes to the few other people wandering about, appraising them. I face forward and continue my walk in peace, moving farther and farther away from town.

I stop when I come to a small clearing, and lie back on the grass, just as I have done on every Reaping day for the past four years. It's a ritual that my mother had started with my sister long before I was of Reaping age, one that I can't help myself from continuing.

She intended for it to be calming, to find a moment of peace before all the chaos begins and the paralyzing sense of dread takes over. I tilt my head back and watch as the clouds pass by. I'm sure if my mother were here she'd tell me to focus on the fact that it's a beautiful day. And I try to, I really do, as I lay there soaking up the heat, the sun beating down on me. But I know that when people remember today, it won't be because of the weather.

I clench my fists at my sides and will myself to remain calm, resisting the urge to scream. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, relaxing as some of the tension slips away.

I let my head loll to the side, keeping my eyes closed and my mind blank. I don't know how long I lay there, taking in the sounds of the forest in front of me and the light breeze blowing across my skin. After what feels like only a few minutes, though I suspect it to be more, I glance back up towards the sky. The position of the sun suggests that it's around one, meaning that it's time for me to head back into town. I can't seem to make myself move though, so I continue laying there until a horn sounds from the square, indicating that the Reaping will begin in a half an hour. Sighing, I push myself up off the ground and dust myself off, heading towards the Hall of Justice. It's really an ironic name when you think about it.

The square is crowded but relatively quiet, the only sounds that can be heard are the scraping of people's shoes against the gravel and the faint voice of the Peacekeepers in charge of checking us in. The mood is solemn. It's the same feeling that overcomes Twelve every year on Reaping day.

Parents stand all around the perimeter, worry marring their features as their children file in. Everyone looks cleaner than normal; each child bathed and dressed in their nicest outfits, just as I am. I briefly wonder if they all feel as ridiculous as I do, but it's impossible to tell when I can see nothing but wide eyes and shaking figures.

I glance through the crowd of people. I spot my father near the train tracks, looking positively bored. I shake my head and scan the group again, my eyes stopping their movement when I spot Mr. Fairbain standing along the far wall to the left of me. He doesn't have any children, but like all citizens of Panem, he is required to attend the Reaping. Unlike some of the others who have nothing at stake today, he never places bets on who will get reaped. He says it's cruel, and too great of a risk, but not everyone feels the same way he does. I wonder how many people have bet on me.

Mr. Fairbain's mouth is pulled down and his eyebrows are furrowed, but he sends me a small smile when he notices my gaze. It only lasts a few seconds before his face quickly morphs back into a melancholy expression. I can tell he's worrying over me, just as he has done every year since he took me under his wing. I know there isn't much I can do to make him feel better, but I try to return the smile anyway. I'm pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.

I face forward again as I'm pulled into the check-in line with the other children waiting to be herded towards their designated section. There is no pushing or shoving from the people in line. Everyone stands stiffly as they wait for their turn. From where I'm standing I can see many of the sections are already packed with people who are glancing around nervously. They must have arrived early, eager to get today over with.

I shuffle forwards as the line moves, continuing my survey of the area. There are cameramen perched up on every rooftop, sitting there like vultures, waiting to get the perfect shot of the Capitol's newest victims. It's repulsive.

Much like the town had been earlier this morning, the square is teeming with Peacekeepers. I can see people shoot them nervous glances every few seconds, most trying to stay out of their path and not draw attention to themselves. It's an impossible feat considering the number of them here. They're all standing at the ready, guns in hand, prepared to strike at a moment's notice. I almost want to laugh: they're just as afraid of us as we are of them.

"Next… Next… Next…" calls a monotonous voice from in front of me.

The girl ahead of me moves away, and I find myself at the front of the line. I walk quickly up to the table and extend my arm out to the person waiting to check me in. A female Peacekeeper grabs my hand and pricks my finger with some device that I never cared to learn the name of. The prick I feel isn't anything new, but I still flinch slightly at the feeling before she pulls my hand down and presses it onto a piece of paper. It's a familiar process, but I keep my eyes on her movements anyway. When she releases me from her hold, I place my arm at my side and watch as she scans the blood left from my finger. The machine in her hand beeps, and I am dismissed.

All around me people are moving towards the roped off sections, whipping their heads around to keep track of their friends and family. I spot a group of girls from my year in school, following them as they make their way towards the section designated for sixteen year-olds.

It's another stifling day, made worse by the cramped quarters we are forced to share. I can feel heat radiating off the people around me, and I began to sweat from both the temperature and my own anxiety. More girls file in behind me, and I find myself standing near the middle of the section, pressed up against Mabel Greenshaw. She gives me a quiet hello and a weak smile, and I give her the same.

Mabel and I had been best friends when we were younger. I have acquaintances from school and work, but to this day, she's the only real friend I've ever had. We met in school when we were six years old as a result of an assignment our teacher had given us. It was a project about the history of Panem in which we were supposed to explain what each District did and how they had come to be. Mabel had asked me if I wanted to work with her, and we had been practically inseparable for years after that. Neither of us had been very good at making friends, so it was just the two of us. That had ended when I started working for Mr. Fairbain though, but not due to any fault of hers. Between the Hob and his shop, I was stretched thin, and soon enough, she was faced with similar problems, having to work to help her family out. She only has two younger brothers, but considering that everyone in the Seam struggles to support their family, it was more than enough to have to deal with. Standing next to her today, with my stomach tightening painfully, I can't help but wish life hadn't gotten in the way of us being friends. More than anything though, I find myself praying that her name isn't picked.

I turn away from her to look at the rest of the crowd. My height makes it difficult to see anything other than the other people's heads so I have to strain my neck as I scan over the area, observing the different sections. The fear in the square seems to increase with every passing minute, becoming more prominent on the faces of the citizens of District Twelve as it steadily approaches two o'clock. I feel nauseous, but I try to remain calm. I can see a twelve-year old in the back section who's already crying while her friend tries to console her. I shake my head. The Reaping hasn't even started yet. If her name gets called, she's done for.

I'm jostled slightly as more people fill into the area, and I turn my attention to the stage set up in front of the Hall of Justice. In the past, there were only ever three seats: one for Mayor Undersee, one for District Twelve's escort, Effie Trinket, and one for Haymitch, District Twelve's only living victor. But two seats have been added this year for District Twelve's newest victors: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

They're all on stage already, sitting in their chairs and looking serious. Mayor Undersee looks the same as he does every year: his head is glistening with sweat as he shifts uncomfortably in his too small suit. I can see him glance every once in a while at his daughter Madge, who's located in the section just ahead of me as she's a year older. He must be worried for her.

Effie Trinket is seated to the left of him, and I have to blink rapidly as I try to adjust my eyes to her outfit. She's practically luminescent. Her dress is a monstrous green thing that seems to puff out everywhere: her shoulders, her skirt, her neck. Everything is puffy. Her hair is lighter shade of green, almost bordering on yellow, and it too has a strange puff emerging from it. I think it's supposed to be a flower, but I can't be sure. She's grinning out over the crowd, and I can see that her teeth are almost as bright as her dress. For a moment I'm glad to be horrified over something other than the Reaping. Still, I think its toned down compared to some other things she's worn.

I pry my gaze away from the fluorescent woman, my eyes and my brain thanking me, and I look to the three people to her left: District Twelve's victors.

Haymitch Abernathy sits next to Effie, but he isn't paying any attention to her, or the crowd for that matter. He's slouched in his chair, head lolled to the side and feet sticking out in front of him. I think he might be asleep, but it's hard to tell from here. He's wearing the same outfit he wears to every Reaping, a frayed blue suit that I doubt has been washed in years. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. It probably smells like alcohol and vomit. But I haven't seen him take a drink since he walked on stage, and he has yet to start stumbling around, so I have to concede this is an improvement from last year.

Next to him are Katniss and Peeta, both of which are scanning the crowd. They look tense to me: their faces serious and their hands gripping the arms of the chairs tightly. They're probably looking for their families. Peeta's eyes search through the male section. He seems to find what he looking, because he faces forwards again, but he doesn't seem to be starring at anything in particular. I assume he's worried about his brother, but he's trying his best to remain indifferent for the cameras.

Katniss' expression displays indifference, but with the way her eyes keep flickering over the crowd, I can that it's not how she really feels. A part of my brain notes that she doesn't have much to worry about because Snow would never risk rigging the bowl to pull Prim's name again. It would be way to obvious considering she was reaped last year. She has no reason to need to know where her sister stands in the crowd. Another part of my brain knows that I can't blame her for worrying. I'd probably do the same thing in her situation.

My inspection of the people on stage is cut short when the clock rings out, signifying that it is now two. It is time for the Reaping to begin.

Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and starts to speak. He recalls the history of our nation, how Panem was formed, as well as the story of the Dark Days. It's the same tale we hear every year, told to all the districts on Reaping day because it tells us all why we are here. To end the rebellion, the Treaty of Treason was signed and the Hunger Games were written into law to ensure everlasting peace among the nation.

To keep the districts in their place, more like.

I pay little attention to it. I practically know it by heart considering how many times I've heard it. Instead I chose to focus on the other people on stage, all of which are sitting up right with the gazes trained on the Mayor. Well, everyone except Haymitch who is staring at the ground.

At least he's awake.

The Mayor quickly reads another note that explains the rule changes for this year's Quarter Quell before he moves on to reading the list of past victors from District Twelve. The list is short since we've only ever had one victor aside from the three that are already seated on stage, and before I know it, he is introducing Effie Trinket to begin the selection.

If I were any less nervous, I'd probably laugh at how absurd Effie looks in her bright green dress as she bounces her way to the podium, but I can't seem to make myself do anything other than wring my hands together and bite into lip.

Effie stops in front of the microphone and shoots District Twelve what she probably thinks to be her happiest and most charming smile before calling out, "Welcome all as we come together to celebrate the 75th anniversary and third Quarter Quell. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," in that ridiculous Capitol accent.

She talks excitedly about how thrilled she is to return here. I think she actually means it this time too since she now has victors of her own and no longer needs to be promoted to a more capable district. It's obvious as she prattles on about how excited we all must be for the start this year's Games that she is oblivious to the discomfort we all feel, and subsequently the glares I'm sure some are sending her, telling her to hurry up and get this over with.

I shake my head and move my gaze over to the glass bowl filled with tiny slips of paper, fifteen of which have my name written on them. I can't seem to put my focus on anything other than the large bowl that holds my fate, so I miss the rest of what Effie is saying, until she says the same phrase she does every year, "Ladies first!"

My heart hammers in my chest as she makes her way over to the bowl, and my breath catches in my throat. Everyone around me seems to freeze as she reaches her hand down into the pile of paper, twirling it around before she seems to find the one she wants. She pulls her hand back, and trots back to the microphone. She opens the paper and faces the crowd, reading the name written across it. For a minute, all I can hear is the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

"Briar Kinross!"

My eyes are locked on Effie as my brain rushes to catch up to what she just said.

It's me.

She called my name.

For a second I feel nothing. Then my stomach rises in my throat. Someone squeezes my hand in a comforting manner. I turn to see Mabel staring at me with sad, teary eyes. I can feel people turn their gaze on me. I'm thankful that my mind somehow recalls that this will be televised to the entire nation. Everyone will see me. I force myself to take a deep breath before schooling my expression into something that I hope resembles determination. Or boredom. Or anger. Pretty much anything other than the fear that's causing my body to shake. I can't afford to look weak. I breathe deeply again as I pull my hand away and move out of the group.

There are four Peacekeepers waiting for me as I step out of my section and into the center aisle. They're there to stop me from trying to make a run for it. It doesn't matter though. My brain seems to be on autopilot as my feet carry me towards the stage.

The guards leave me as soon as we reach the steps, but I barely notice them as I look at what feels like the most daunting task I've ever faced. My heart stills feels like it is going to beat right out of my chest. I silently pray that I don't trip as I make my way on stage.

When I near the final step, I notice that Effie has made her way over to the top of the stairs to help me. When her hand makes contact with mine I come back to myself, the shock somewhat dissipating, only to be replaced by a restlessness in my limbs and a burning in my veins. My eyes snap up to look at the people on stage as Effie pulls me beside her.

Katniss is staring at me with unreadable eyes, but her lips are pressed into a thin line. She gives me a slight nod that feels simultaneously like one of apology and one of recognition, but I can't really tell. We aren't friends, but I know she knows who I am: another Seam girl who will have to fight for her life, just like she did.

My gaze slides to Peeta, who is looking at me with a pained expression on his face and sympathy in his eyes. I try to smile at him, but my lips barely move.

Haymitch is looking in my direction, but he seems to be starring right through me. I wonder if he's having flashbacks to seven years ago.

The Mayor looks sympathetic like Peeta, and I wonder if he too remembers that far back. Remembers a younger version of me standing with my father as people give us their greatest condolences. As they apologize for what these Games took away from us. I wonder if he thinks it unfair that they keep taking. I choke back what I'm sure would be a hysterical laugh. I guess the odds have never been in my favor.

I suddenly hear something over the rushing of blood in my ears. Oh. Effie is talking again.

She asks for volunteers, but I know there won't be any. She hums lightly under her breath, seeming upsets that there isn't entertainment like last year before continuing, "Well, isn't this wonderful! Everyone, let's have a round of applause for our first tribute!"

I look out at the crowd as they applaud lightly. Everyone still looks nervous. They have no reason to relax. There are still three more names to be called.

Effie seems disappointed by the reaction, but continues on, "Well, then, lets move along to our next tribute."

I try to stand still and keep my expression neutral as she makes her way back over to the bowl. She repeats the same process as she did before, pulling out another name and making her way back to the podium.

"Thalia Galloway!" she calls out.

I see movement coming from near the backend, either from the section of thirteen or fourteen year-olds, and for a moment I find myself glad that it isn't the little girl I saw crying earlier. I watch as the group of people part, and a girl emerges from the group of fourteens. I note that we look vaguely similar from a distance. She's another girl from the Seam. I hope that is the last of our similarities. She is a whimpering, quivering mess as she makes her way on stage. The girl doesn't stand a chance. She won't get any sponsors with the way she's acting.

"That's it dear," Effie says as she helps Thalia on stage. "Yes, yes, stand right there," she tells her before walking up to the podium again, asking for volunteers. There's another round of applause when no one steps forward.

It's a little louder than the one I received, but I find no offense in it. I can see the relief in the faces of girls and their parents as they watch us on stage, thankful that the situations aren't reversed. They are spared another year. It makes me feel a little bitter, but I can't really blame them.

Effie's voice draws my attention as she leans towards the microphone again. "And now, for the selection of our male tributes." I fight the urge to glare at her. Her voice hasn't lost an ounce of excitement.

Again, she makes her way over to the bowl and pulls out a slip of paper before she calls out, "Collis Allardyce!"

Another kid from the Seam. I don't know him well, or at all really, but I used to see him in the Hob from time to time. He's fifteen, and his mom is sick. I'm pretty sure I can hear her cry out from somewhere along the perimeter.

He steps out of the crowd and begins to make his way up to the stage. He's already doing better than Thalia by holding his head up and not crying, but he looks ready to vomit at any moment.

I don't move my head to look at him as he comes up on stage and stands on the other side of Effie. I don't need to see the face of another kid that I'm going to have to fight against for my life.

I don't even realize that Effie has moved before she's at the podium again, calling out the final name.

"Karn Ballatyne!" is the name that flies out of her mouth, and I have to consciously keep myself from cringing. I briefly hope that I heard the name wrong, but when a boy steps out from the section of eighteen year-olds, I know that I heard correctly.

I allow myself a quick glance at Karn as he makes his way towards the stage, but I immediately regret it. He's tall with a broad frame, and I can already tell he's strong. But that's not what worries me about him. I find myself drawn to his face, or more specifically the smirk that's resting there as he practically saunters up the stairs. I can see him throw his arm, a bit too roughly, around Collis out of the corner of my eye. He smirks at the crowd with Career-like confidence as they applaud him. I tell myself that most of it is just bravado, but I've never been good at denial. I can already tell he's going to be a threat.

The Mayor begins the required reading of the Treaty of the Treason, but I don't pay much attention. Instead I remain facing forwards, starring off into the distance at nothing in particular. My eyes flicker to the left a little, and I feel as much as see the camera trained on my face, trying to capture my reaction to the other tributes, trying to get something interesting to show the people of Panem. I briefly make eye contact with the camera, trying my best to seem non-pulsed before looking away.

When the Mayor finishes reading, he motions for us to shakes hands. Both Thalia and Collis's hands are shaking, but at least he looks me in the eye. Karn on the other hand, has a firm grip, one that's almost too tight to be friendly, and the smirk has yet to leave his face. I try to keep my gaze level with his, but I'm forced to look away when the anthem begins to play, and we are ushered into the Hall of Justice.

The room they put me in is possibly the nicest that I have ever seen. It's similar to Peeta's house, but a little fancier. It's not a large room, but all of the furniture is clean and sturdy. I'm not familiar with most of the materials, but that's how I know it's expensive. I sit down on the chair that looks the most plush, and I am immediately happy with my decision. May as well be comfortable while I wait for them to come and get me.

I play with the leather bracelet on my wrist as I sit there. My hand is still bandaged around my burn, and it reminds me of my thoughts from dinner the night before, when I had been thinking about tesserae. I can't help but wonder which one, which time I was so desperately in need of food, is the one that put me in here, ready to be shipped off to the Capitol to fight for my life. Not that it matters now. There's nothing I can do to change it.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the door opens. I hadn't expected anyone to come aside from Mr. Fairbain, so I'm shocked to see Mabel standing at the entrance of the small room. Seeing her fidget uncomfortably in the doorway, it suddenly hits me that this is real, that I've just been reaped for the Hunger Games. My eyes ache, the tears already forming, but I will myself to contain my emotions. Crying won't get me anywhere.

Mabel takes a tentative step towards me. We stand still for a moment before she quickly strides across the room and throws her arms around me.

"I'm so sorry, Briar," she sobs against my shoulder.

I don't say anything. I just hold her back tightly.

I realize that I shouldn't have been surprised to see her. We may not have been a constant presence in each other's life these past few years, but Mabel knows me better than anyone. She was my first friend, the person who was there for me during the hardest part of my life when my father couldn't even bring himself to care, always giving me a shoulder to lean on. She understands me better than anyone. She knows what this means to me—what it means to me to have her here. That she cares about what happens to me.

My throat aches and my eyes burn with unshed tears as I force out a shuddering breath. We step back from each other. She takes my hand and leads me over to the couch.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats. "This isn't fair. This shouldn't have happened to you."

The tears are still streaming down her face, and the sight makes me ache to comfort her even as she tries to do the same for me.

"It had to happen to someone," I whisper. "It might as well have been me."

She looks at me angrily for a minute. It's an expression I'm not at all used to seeing on her face. "Don't say things like that! Don't make it sound like this is a death sentence."

I smile sadly at her. Mabel had always been the optimistic one in our friendship.

"It sort of is, May. What chance do I really have?"

It sounds terrible when I say it out loud, especially because I can tell that it's making her upset, but it's true. I'll be going into the arena with people who've been preparing their whole life for this. Children who've been turned into ruthless killing machines.

She sniffles lightly. "Maybe…maybe you don't have as good of a chance as the kids from One or Two, but you're smart, Briar. You're one of the smartest people I know. And you're fast."

I appreciate that fact that she's honest with me, that she doesn't lie and tell me that I've got just as good of a shot as all the others, because we both know that its not the case. But I don't understand how she can have so much faith in me even with that knowledge.

I shake my head at her. "I don't know if that'll make much of a difference in the arena."

"It will! No one will be able to catch you. And the smart competitors always make it far. You'll be able to pick things up quickly, and you'll get sponsors."

She almost sounds hysterical now. It makes my chest tighten in a bittersweet mix, knowing that she still cares this much about me coming home, but that I might not be able to do it. I'm overcome with regret over not staying close to her all these years. I wish I could find something comforting to say like I won't die, but I don't want to lie to her.

"Briar, you have to try. You have to try and win." She looks down at our joined hands, spotting the bracelet on my wrist. "You know she'd want you to. Amelia and your mother, they'd both expect you to."

I swallow thickly as she looks back up at me with watery eyes. I know that if I try to speak, I won't be able to stop myself from crying, so I just nod my head slowly. I hope that my eyes convey my sincerity. Mabel is right. I can't give up. I can't let them down.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and tells Mabel her time is up. She gives me another tight hug, and tells me to have faith, that I can do this. I try to believe her.

The door closes behind her, and I am once again left in silence. Not long after though, I hear the door open again, and Mr. Fairbain steps into the room. I stand up from the couch and rush towards him. He pulls me into his arms, and I lean heavily against him, trying once again to control my tears. I don't know how long we stay like that, but I'm thankful for the comfort.

Eventually, he steps back from me. We only have three minutes, and I don't want to waste it all hugging. I can see the emotion written across his face. He is upset for me, angry over the cards I have been dealt, but he keeps it under control. He doesn't cry, so neither do I.

His hands remain on my shoulders as he holds me at arms length, but neither of us makes a move to speak. We just stand like that in silence for a few moments, him offering me his silent support.

Finally he speaks. "Chin up, kid," he says. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you." I don't think he expects me to respond because he continues on, "It's been a pleasure having you around. I have no regrets expect for the fact that I don't know how I'll replace you when you come back as a victor and have no need to work with an old butcher like myself."

A watery laughs brushes past my lips, and I smile at him. "I'm sure you'll be fine without me," I say. I don't mean for it to sound like I don't think I'm coming back, so I keep talking, preventing him from correcting me.

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Fairbain." I can feel my throat closing up, but I barrel on anyway. "I don't know what I would have done if it weren't for you. I don't know how I'll ever pay you back."

"You can worry about that when you return," he tells me in a steady voice.

I don't know how he can have so much faith in me. But he believes in me like Mabel does, and that has to count for something.

"You can do this, Briar. Don't let them take anything else away from you."

His words are different from Mabel's but they convey the same message. It's those words that fully and truly bring me back to myself. He's right. They've taken so much from me, from everyone here in Twelve. They just take, and take, and take, and nobody is able to do anything about it. Well, I'm not going to make it easy for them.

"I won't go down without a fight, Mr. Fairbain," I say, trying to implore just how much I mean this. "I won't let them win."

He pulls me into another hug as a Peacekeeper comes in telling him that his time is up. He smiles at me as he leaves the room and the door closes behind him.

I know that my father isn't coming, that no one else is, so I sit back down and lose myself in my thoughts. I meant what I said to Mabel and Mr. Fairbain. I may not have much to come back to, but that's not going to stop me from trying. I'm not going to give up. If I go down, I'm going to go down fighting.

I won't let them win. I can't.


Author's Note: AHHHHHHHH, thank you guys so much for the follows, favs, and reviews. This is my first venture into writing, so I really appreciate the support. All of the positive feedback is making me really excited to post more for you guys.

White Eevee: Seriously embarrassed by those typos in the Prologue. Guess I need to proofread a little more closely XD. Glad you like the final line. It was one of the first ideas I had when conceiving this story.

SylviaHunterOfArtemus: So glad you like Briar :)

Seriously guys, I can't stress enough how much I appreciate the support. Please keep reading and reviewing. All criticism is welcome from grammar to character to plot, so don't hesitate. Until next time!