I hadn't moved when he walked through the door. I stood and stared at him, and he stared at me from the other side of the room. Tears stung my eyes, but they would not fall this time. Why was I crying anyways? No one could see me now—not anyone who could or would target me.

"Johanna," his voice was soft as he walked to me, and I was in his arms. "It's going to be okay. You have to fight, you have to come home."

My arms were around his waist, and my face was buried in his chest as he played with the long hair falling down my back. Pulling away, I looked up into his eyes a bit confused. Had he really accepted those fake tears as real, "Of course, I'm coming home." I kissed onto his jaw, moving my way to his lips.

But his hands were on my shoulders, and he was looking at me. "You're not scared?"

"I'm not scared," I said back.

I could see his face was red with anger, "That was an act?" He pushed away from me and his hands were in his hair as he paced the floor.

"What's the matter?" I didn't understand why he was acting like this. "It's part of the plan. Underestimate me, I want them to underestimate me."

"But you'll never get any sponsors!" He threw his hands out in anguish. "This is a stupid idea, how do you plan to survive without help?" He had me by the shoulders, "You need to fix this—get sponsers."

I pushed him back, I was angry now. "I don't need sponsors. You fell for my weak act, it's going to work. It's how I'm going to live through this." I was glaring at him, arms crossed.

He came back to me, trying to hug me. But I pushed him away, again he tried and again I pushed him away. The third time he attempted it, I threw a fist into his chest—but his arms were around me and his lips were on mine. I wasn't mad anymore, I was consumed, calm. Every part of me felt on fire.

He broke away, and he leaned his forehead against mine. "I love you. And I care for you. I'm concerned for you. I thought you needed me, for once." His eyes were closed as he spoke, and then he sighed longingly.

I didn't understand. Of course, I needed him. I wanted him. What did he mean, "I want you here, and it's not that. I just—I know what I have to do." I stared at him, waiting for his eyes to open.

Slowly, the lids flickered open and I could see tears oozing out of the corner of his eye. "I thought you needed my help," he corrected. "I thought for once, I could give you some advice to follow—something that would help you. But you're already playing aren't you? You're already fighting for your life? Already alone? No allies, no mercy—you against the world." He paused for a moment, "Just think about sponsors. They could save your life."

"And paint a target on my back," I'd seen it before. I could feel the anger welling in me, my brother Liam, so strong in the Games. But sometimes, even sponsors can't save you. When a pack hunts you, you are only one—and nothing anyone can do can get you through that. He had been their threat, and they had seen to it that he wouldn't be anymore. "I can't do that."

"I know." We stood there for what little time was left. It felt like only seconds, and then the door was opening. He kissed me once quickly, and I saw him walking out the door.