"Happy birthday!" a voice exclaims. I open my eyes wearily. Tilda pounces on me, smiling. "Happy birthday!" she repeats.

I've completely forgotten that it's my birthday. She settles herself in my lap as I groggily sit up. Any awkwardness that could've possibly filled the space from the night before is gone, replaced by the urgency of the day at hand. "What a better way to spend it than riding a train to my certain death," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

Tilda frowns, disappointed. Feeling bad for my harsh remark, I take her head in my hand and gently kiss her forehead. "You never know, they might never even pick you," I murmur.

She doesn't say a word, just puts her head on my shoulder. I can feel the goose bumps on her arms.

Mother calls me from downstairs, and Tilda climbs off my bed. "I'll see you before the reaping?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's already eleven; your mother wouldn't let me wake you up before then. She said the more sleep you had the better. Plus, you came home late…" she blushes and then leaves the room, and I can't help but think that that encounter might've been the last one we ever have.

Dressing quickly in a light blue shirt and jeans that I find lying on a chair, I walk downstairs. Mother is flipping eggs, her hair braided down her back. She kisses me on the cheek. "Happy birthday, dear. I just wish we could've spent it in better conditions," she says.

"Where's Annie and Ginnie?" I ask.

"Left last night," she replies shortly.

Father walks in next. "Well, everything is all set. The reaping is at two." I notice mother bite her lip and blink her eyes a couple times. Prim sits down at the table heavily, no emotion on her face.

"Happy birthday," she says eventually.

"Thanks."

Silence fills the room. I can't stand it so I run upstairs and sit on the roof, staring at District 12, the only place I've ever known. I can't stop my mind from producing images of Ginnie lying beneath me, blood all over her, and a weapon in my hand… I shiver, but not from the autumn cold.

The two hours pass too quickly, and before I know it, I'm being huddled to the Town Square. "Come here for a second," father says before I go to stand with all the confused looking boys.

"Yeah?"

He seems unsure of what to say, and I find that weird. My dad, Peeta Mellark, the man who's known for his way with words. "Stay strong okay? Not for you, but for her," she says, nodding towards mother. "I've seen her fall once, I couldn't do it again."

He seems to hear the hesitation in my mind, because he adds, "I know you want her out alive. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel, I was in the same position. Just….just stay the same man you are now, and it'll be okay. Alright?"

I nod. He claps me on the back and goes to stand next to mother, very boldly holding her hand. I notice the cameras are focused on them, the star-crossed lovers from the poorest District in Panem, still together. Gale stands behind them.

I see Matilda. Her hair is braided down her back, like mother's. She's dressed in a light blue dress that matches the color of my shirt. I have to stop and wonder if our parents planned this. I try for a smile, but I find out that it's not going to work and mouth the first thing that comes to my mind, the thing I've wanted to say, "I love you." She doesn't see me though, because at that moment a women in a bright pink wig and teal dress walks on the stage, smiling a fake smile. It's obvious she doesn't want to be here, but 12 has a certain magical air. After all, the Girl on Fire was born here.

"Hello! Hello!" she exclaims into a rusty microphone. Her voice is squeaky and she carries a strange accent.

"Effie!" mother squeaks behind us.

"The time has come to select one brave man and women to participate in the 76th Annual Hunger Games!" she says cheerily. "To refresh our memory of the history of the Games, let's watch a short video clip!"

The video talks about how cruel the Districts were during the Rebellion. I see a brief flash of mother shooting an arrow.

"Well, ladies first!" Effie says, and runs her fingers in a big glass ball full of tiny slips of paper.

I look over at Tilda, but her face is hidden behind a big, chubby girl. Effie looks at the paper dramatically and says, "Matilda Hazelle Hawthorne."

There's a pause in which seems to go on forever, and Matilda, looking striking, walks on the stage, head high. Gale's faces flash on the screen, but their eyes are unreadable. I notice Hazelle, tears streaking down her face, but not making a sound.

"And now for the male tribute," Effie says, walking over to another glass ball and picking out a name. She makes a dramatic gasp and says, "Finnick Haymitch Mellark." The cameras swing in on my parents, but when I turn back and look at them they just nod, stone cold expressions.

As soon as I stand on the stage, Effie says, slightly uncomfortable, "Shake hands, tributes." Instead of shaking my hand, Tilda runs and jumps in my arms. Unthinkingly, I wrap my arms around her. She's not crying, I know she would refuse to cry in front of anyone but me. After about a minute of me comforting her, a Peacekeeper comes and takes her away.

"Finnick!" she shouts, eyes desperate.

"Go," I say sternly, a lead weight in my stomach.

"Well, that was certainly moving," Effie says, wiping a tear from her eyes. A pair of Peacekeepers comes and takes me into the Justice Building. I've never been here before, but I don't take any time to admire any of it.

The room they throw me in is like a prison cell.

Not one minute later, the door bursts open, and what feels like a second later, she's pushed out of the room and Primrose runs in.

I've never seen her so human looking. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, her blue eyes wide, swimming with tears. "Live, okay?" she asks urgently. "Live. For me." I don't know what to say. "FINNICK."

"Yes," I say. "Of course." And I know that because it's Prim, I'll have to.

"You swear?" she asks, holding out her hand. I take it in mine.

"Yes."

She deflates, relieved. "Good. I love you, Finny. I don't tell you that enough." She kisses me on the cheek before leaving, pushing the Peacekeepers hard on the shoulders. My sister has always seemed to get away with stuff like, but that might just be because the men were looking at her with drool on their faces.

I sit on the couch, wondering if anyone else will come and visit me, and decided against it. Mother and father will both be my mentors, both training me to fight to the death. Will this give me an edge, the fact that both of my parents have survived two Games and a war, or will the Gamemakers keep me under lock and chain? I amuse myself with this question until a scarlet-head women walks in. She has the profound air to her of the Capitol, just as I probably radiate District 12 with my grey eyes and tan skin.

"Mellark, Finnick?" she asks. She's dressed in a tight navy blue pencil skirt and frilly white shirt. Her eyebrows are high above her eyes, giving the impression of permentant shock on her pale face.

"Yes," I say, standing up. I wonder if I should shake her hand, but she seems to read my thoughts and shakes her head slightly. I can't help but smirk at the fact that I tower a good head above her.

"I am Avery, you're designer," she says. The way her eyes size me up and down makes me feel as though she's imaging me in every sort of suit imaginable. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"The fact that I'm Katniss Everdeen's son?" I ask dryly, figuring this is the point.

A sudden smile appears on Avery's face. "No, although that is rather peculiar isn't it?" something about the way she says peculiar makes me think she knows that the Capitol rigged this. "I was going to say that the fact that you and the girl tribute match quite well. I'm deciding if I want you to change before leaving or not."

I don't say anything. "Are you two a couple?" she asks.

"I fail to see how that matters," I snap. She looks up at me, amused.

"It changes everything, Finnick," she says, and doesn't say a word. After a moment of looking me up and down, she pulls out an electric gadget from her purse and presses a few buttons. When she puts it away, she looks me in the eye. "So, are you two a couple?" she repeats.

"Childhood friends," I say shortly.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Childhood sweethearts, eh? Well, I can play up that angle quite nicely." There's a sharp knock at the door. "Good." She opens is barely enough, and I can't see who is standing there, but when she turns she's holding mother's old hunting jacket.

"You recognize this, I assume?" Avery asks.

"Mhm."

"Put it on," she orders, and tosses it to me. When I ask why, she answers, "Because I said so." I make a sound of annoyance and her expression seems to soften. "You don't like to be told what to do, do you?" she asks quietly. I let out of a scoff at this. She smiles wearily, brushing a piece of her red hair away from her eyes. "Okay. I want you to wear it because it's a piece of your history that Panem knows well."

"You don't like the Capitol either?" I ask, finally throwing on the jacket. It smells like home, or bread and perfume.

Avery doesn't say anything, but she winks. I decide she might be okay. "Come on, they're waiting for you." We walk outside, the breeze kissing our faces.

Matilda has played the strong angle, not shedding a tear. Or if she has, she doesn't show it. Oddly enough, she clutches onto my mother's hand and I wonder when they became such good friends. They're both staring straight ahead, and as soon as mother looks at me, she releases Tilda and runs towards me, hugging me like so many people have. For the first time through all this mess, I'm at threat of tears.

"Don't cry mom," I whisper into her ear. "There are cameras everywhere."

She smiles a watery smile and strokes my cheek. Father slouches behind, arms open when mom walks back to him. I can't help but envy them, they at least know the other will be there in the morning. Tilda avoids me gaze. They've added a touch of makeup to her, giving her face a pinkish glow. She bites her lip, looking down at her shoes.

Our goodbyes are short and brief. Primrose surprises me yet again by grabbing mother by the shoulders and looking her in the eye with such a fierce expression it seems out of place on her peaceful face. "Listen to me," she says, almost yelling. "Listen!" mother won't look her in the eye. "Don't cry. Don't cry, okay? Okay? If I see you cry, I will go on that train and take your place, and we all know how that would end. You've been through so much and you're going to let this tear you down? Don't cry! Dammit mother!" Prim hugs her, looking straight ahead. Mother seems so weak at that moment. "I love you. Now go."

Mother gives the camera a parting glance with sixteen years-worth of hatred in her eyes. Father, more peaceful, the calm to the storm, takes her hand as they walk on the train.

"Wait!" a familiar voice yells. Gale runs onto the train station and picks up Tilda, twirling her around. Any resolution not to cry resolves at that moment, because Tilda starts balling in his shoulder. "I love you, Matilda," he says, getting down on his knees and looking her in the eye.

"I love you too," she says in between sobs.

"You're my girl. My little girl… I love you, okay?"

When the Peacekeepers come and try to drag Gale away, I have to hold Tilda back to stop her from running towards him, but I can't stop her from screaming, "Dad! Dad NO! Dad!" every sound she makes breaks my heart. I'm forced to carry her inside the train.

The train is huge, with lavish furnishings and a velvet blue carpet. Mother is sitting on a chair, head between her knees, with father's arm around her. He seems glued to her side, but somehow I doubt it was like that the first time they stepped on the train. Was it this very one? Somehow, that seems crude to ask though.

Slowly, Tilda coaxes herself back to reality and redeems her usual, serious expression, detaching herself from my arms and walking to the end of the train, leaning against the large window and thinking. Everyone is so silent, it startles me when Effie walks on.

"Katniss dear!" Effie exclaims, arms open as if to embrace her. Mother looks up, a look full of anger on her face. Effie's arms drop, a surprised look on her face.

"All these years," mother says, her voice shaking. "All these years you had the chance to pick up a phone and ask me if I was still alive but no, you stayed in the comforting arms of the Capitol, dying your precious wig." The sarcasm droops out of her voice like acid, and Tilda turns to look at her. Effie's mouth has made a prominent o shape that I would've normally laughed at if the situation were different. Avery walks on, not taking notice of the tension in the room, or if she does, she does a very good job of hiding it. A short, balding little man walks next to her. He has a present, smiling face unlike his partner. It seems as though him and Tilda have already met, because he smiles at her and she nods back.

The train gives a lurch, and we speed off. Matilda gasps at the noise. Father gets up and grabs a bottle of wine, drinking right from the bottle. I wander down the train, looking around. The doors open automatically, my room locked only by a passcode that I design. I notice the windows are locked, firmly in place, and I feel a sense of claustrophobia. Something in the air makes me look around the airy bedroom, and I finally place the feeling. It feels as though someone is watching me, observing my every move.

A bell rings for dinner and we gather in a surprisingly large table, food piled on. Sure, my family has more money than anyone does in District 12, but we've never had this much food. All types of meats, potatoes, vegetables, breads dedicated to all thirteen districts.

It hits me.

"There's going to be twenty-six tributes this year, isn't there?" I ask dryly, fingering a piece of bread the color of the ocean from District 4.

Mother and father look at each other, and I can tell this hasn't hit them. Dad recovers first. "Well, uh, yes I suppose so."

"Or maybe 28, if they're sending two from the Capitol," Tilda says. Twenty-seven other people to watch die. Or maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die early and just hope that Tilda makes it out alive. I shake that thought out of my head, I will fight to the end, even if that means taking my life and making sure Tilda goes home with a beating heart, and I have to go home in a cold wooden box.

Am I imaging things, or does Matilda ever so slightly shake her head at me? Her green eyes hover on me for a moment and then fall back down to her plate. Father's fork hovers in his hand for a second before it all goes downhill.