I was never one for tearful good-byes. Not when my mother died. Not when my two older brothers decided to subvert my father's will and join the Peacekeepers instead of becoming tributes. Not when my various pets died. Not even now.

I look at my sisters, their eyes a blue like a warm, tropical sea and their small, innocent faces with freckles scattered across white china.

They look up at me and I can see it in those eyes that have all the depth of the deepest oceans, without the marks and scars that come with having your innocence ripped from clenched fists.

They look so much like Mom, I think, letting the thought flutter softly to the depths of silence.

"Archer?" Titania asks, taking a seat on the Persian carpet next to me. "You're coming back, right?"

The room is so opulent. Only a few of my closest friends could match the thick, soft rugs, the scarlet drapes and gold crown molding. I use the moment to compose myself before I look back at her.

"I should be, yeah."

They're both quiet for a while, Titania biting her lower lip like she always does when she's struggling to find the words for something. Levanna studies her sister closely without speaking, as she always does.

"Come here," I say, reaching my arms out to them. "I need a hug."

They scoot over without standing and attach themselves to me. Levanna throws her arms around me, burying her face in my shirt and against an abdomen that, when I'm completely honest with myself, is the only solid thing about me.

Titania opts for a more intimate hug from behind, so she can rest her chin on my shoulder. Her hair tickles the side of my face and catches in my jaw scruffle.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for just a fraction of a moment. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that I'll definitely be home. But think about it. Your brother has been training his whole life for this. There are only maybe five other people who have been too, tops. It's very doubtful, however. I have the best chance out of them all to come home."

Titania adjusts her arms to be more relaxed around my neck. Levanna keeps her face buried in my shirt. I wonder if she's going to start crying.

"I'll be fine," I say with that well-worn smile and a pat to her little blonde head. "You'll see. I'll set records. I'll be the last one out of there."

"But why?" Titania asks. "Why do you have to do all that?"

"Because that's what father expects and if I didn't go in, he'd make sure one of you did and I can't let that happen to you."

"Why not? What if you die and then we have to go in anyways?"

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

I shrug. "We're Kings. We're born to be victors."

We sit there for the rest of the time- there on the floor by the silken couches. Titania burying her face into my shoulder as I hold her hand. Levanna crying softly as she presses her cheek against my leg.

I stroke her hair.

I have to do this for them. Win for them. Protect them. Kings aren't just born to be victors. We're supposed to be defenders.

The door creaks open and I look up to see the white-haired escort with talons and slit pupils. He looks more like an animal than a man.

"Come along, Archer," he says. "We must be going. Finish your good-byes."

With one last, forceful hug, Titania's tears break loose and Levanna's tears become sobs.

"Please come back, Archer," Titania begs. "Don't leave us for good."

"I promise," I tell her, kissing her forehead. "It'll all be okay."

Mom and Dad sit across from me on the scarlet sofa. I took the armchair. Between us crouches a dark-wood coffee table with some of Mom's powdered sugar cookies.

"I've never known whether to be concerned or certain when this day came, Bubble," she says. "Whether to be comforted knowing I'd be welcoming home a victor, or to worry about you never coming home at all."

"But no matter what," Dad adds, reaching over and taking your hand, "Know that we're proud of you. That you found your dream, worked for it, prepared for it and that now you have the chance to fulfill it."

"How long have you two been preparing to say this?"

Mom smiles. "Since you came home telling us all about how you wanted to volunteer for the Games."

"If you're worried about me, you shouldn't be," I tell her, letting my lips curve into the glimmer of a smile. "I'm coming home. I know more about the Games and strategy for it than anyone else. I know how to fight better than anyone. It'll be a cinch."

"Pride comes before a fall," Dad says. "Confidence, not pride, is key. We believe in you. Just know that."

"Thanks, Dad," I reply before reaching for one of the cookies. It coats the inside of my mouth with the powder, making it instantly dry. The shortbread crumbles before releasing the taste of butter and sugar. I chew carefully, swallow and then wipe away the powder I can still feel stuck to the fine hair around my lips with your hands. "How're the others taking it?"

"About the same. You know Midnight- being a bit of a drama queen."

I laugh. "Yeah. She didn't want to come say good-bye?"

"She wanted to get back to training," Dad says carefully. "She wants to volunteer in the next two years and needs to be ready."

"Ah. I see."

But I don't. There's this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach instead.

I wonder if the cookie was a bad idea. I don't normally eat sugar.

Then I remember that this is what it feels like to be disappointed. My brow furrows and I grip the edge of my dress, kneading it between my clenched fists.

The feeling persists and the smile I'd tried to recapture fades into the blank mask I only reserve for family members and people who are trying my patience (which is often the same thing, to be completely honest.)

For other people, though- for the cameras, I'm always Bubble: the girl with the ever-present smile.

"She sends her love, though," Mom insists and I know she's lying to make me feel better.

Midnight doesn't love me. Midnight would never "send her love." That bitch.

"Knock, knock, family," says the white-haired man who is your escort without bothering to actually knock on the door.

I wonder if he's supposed to look like some kind of fox, with the pieces of his hair spiked and styled into ear-like extensions. Whatever he's imitating, it's just weird.

"It's time to be getting you off to the Capitol," he says, those yellow eyes disappearing behind the squint of his smile. "Can't be late now. Strict schedules."

I stand, nod to my parents and mumble a quick good-bye and exit with him. He puts one hand on my shoulder, and the other on Archer's, who had apparently been waiting in the hallway.

He pushes us out to the train and I can see the glint cameras lenses and reporter's eyes.

The gloom leaves my face instantly. It's a good thing they can't read minds, otherwise instead of seeing a friendly girl, they'd see I'm ready to start a massacre.

I'll be back, though. I'll be back, if only to deck Midnight.