Chapter 32: Reaping of Champions

For a long moment, the only movement to be felt is the tremors at our feet of the Capitol train flying two of us to our likely deaths… and even then, there is no way for me to tell that I myself won't leave the Capitol again alive.

It is actually Effie who stirs first, her movement prompting us all to morosely take our seats, my son and my goddaughter side by side. Tributes once again.

It is surprisingly difficult for me to reconcile how I feel about this. On the one hand, I am, of course, devastated, to have just gotten them back only to lose them again. And I will lose at least one of them this time, though really, it will probably be both of them. Snow and the Capitol are through with District 12's wit and chicanery in the forms of its Victors and tributes – whether it is Katniss and Peeta, or me, or Haymitch Abernathy with his forcefield magic act, or even Lucy Gray Baird (I've only seen a minute or two of her Games, but something tells me that the ability to tame a mutt – even in those mad, early years of the death match – was not something above-board).

On the other hand, a truly strange part of me is relieved. Bizarre, I know. But no one has ever said that being a Victor is an easy life – in fact, it's quite a hard one. Had the Quell twist been anything other than what it is, Katniss and Peeta would have been by my side this year, mentoring two and perhaps possibly more scared children (or adults – a Quell twist like that hasn't happened yet, but depending on who is Reaped this year, we're probably about to get a taste of that soon enough). They would have been required to haggle with sponsors, and almost certainly have been coerced into doing unspeakable things, all in the name of keeping our tributes alive. Never mind that they are promised to each other. Never mind that my son has managed to woo the formerly hardened heart of my goddaughter. These two kids before me would have been whored out, no question – so, in a way, I can thank the arena and Snow's shrewdness that they're not. More than a few of my colleagues have spoken about how killing in the arena seemed easier compared to what they've been made to do after. I am inclined to agree, and I've been luckier than most. I don't know how much Katniss or my son know about the prostitution I've needed to do over the years (though I did allude to it, with Katniss back in March), but I can say unequivocally that I only got through it because I married a man who loves me, and started a family with him that I love more than life. I had someone – multiple someones – to come back to. Loved ones who gave me the happiness that outweighed the pain and trauma… and a purpose to see that they wouldn't be harmed should I refuse to toe the Capitol's line. Every horrible thing I've done or been manipulated into, I would do again, if it meant my husband and my sons, my sister and brother-in-law and my niece, my best friend and her babies, would not be touched. I probably should have done it all and even more, for that might have ensured that Peeta and Katniss would never have been Reaped in the first place. That this Quell twist would have been declared invalid or never been written into stone by the simple fact that we wouldn't have had the numbers. There would have been no male Victor to represent District 12.

Once upon a time, when he was a little boy, Peeta had asked me, "Mommy, why is there no male Victor living in here, in Victors' Village?" He was probably about eight. I had told him we had never had a strong enough boy tribute – a weak answer, in retrospect, and also a little dishonest, as I remember thinking painfully of Haymitch in that moment. Haymitch should be here, not me. But then, it would probably be him as the tribute once more, with Katniss by his side and no mentor to guide them, because without me, Peeta wouldn't exist. Anyway, young Peeta had then declared how he was going to be the first male Victor from District 12. "That's nice, son," Danny had said, even as my husband and I looked at each other before I fled from the room so that none of them would see me weep.

Even if everything had played out last year exactly as it did, up to the stunt with the berries, it is painful for me to admit that in the Top Two battle that the Capitol was denied, Katniss would have come out on top. Bows and arrows beat a knife any day.

My greed is the reason we have all been placed in this position. My refusal to choose – and my gall in daring the Capitol to choose instead, forcing them to essentially punt – has damned us all. And I will lose what I have fought so hard to hold onto anyway. Oh, many of my old friends – both those being deployed back into war, and those who aren't – will blame the Capitol, and rightly so, but if they were really looking hard enough for a scapegoat, they would be well within their rights to blame me. Some might even blame Katniss and Peeta, who appear to have started the most serious rebellion in generations almost completely by accident.

I shake my head to clear it. Running through what-if scenarios dating back a year, and even decades, is pointless. The past is the past. The present is here, now. I am the mentor once again… and as I settle into my role as easily as putting on a coat or a new skin, I realize that Katniss did the right thing, by volunteering for me. That I did the right thing, by not fighting her harder on it. In a Hunger Games as brutal as this one is likely to be, we will all have our roles to play, and better to play to one's strengths than to be put in a position where you have only your weaknesses in your arsenal. I haven't been a tribute in twenty-five years… and despite how I am still able to maintain the rigors of an active sex life and keep my husband satisfied, I am not at all certain that this same energy would have translated well to murdering again in the arena. I may be in shape, even more so now after Peeta's breakneck training regimen that he insisted we all undergo in preparation for the Quell, but I am still a 41-year-old woman. No longer the 16-year-old girl I once was. I have no idea how I would have fared trying to keep up with my son and other tributes younger and stronger than I… and seeing as how I will never know, it is probably just as well that I didn't try and find out.

The dinner is lying on the table, untouched. Not even Effie has reached for the culinary delights, probably out of politeness. Once it becomes clear that none of us are in the mood to eat (though the kids will need to, to bulk up for the arena), Effie dabs at her lips with her napkin and breathlessly squeaks, "Well, why don't we watch the recaps of the other Reapings?"

This is going to be fun. Pulling out a file folder I prepared weeks ago and have kept with me, I take out a guidesheet and pass copies out to the kids. In the history of the Hunger Games, there have been 75 Victors. Only 16 are deceased. They are, in order of Victory:

Ahenobarbus Romero (District 2)

Luxe St. James (District 1)

Orchus, surname unknown (District 11)

Wheaton Vale (District 9)

Platinum Wesley (District 1)

Tiberius Drake (District 2)

Seaward Docker (District 4)

Lucy Gray Baird (District 12)

Vera O'Rourke (District 7)

Gates Gramdan (District 3)

Wren Lessia (District 11)

Thisbe Everett (District 4)

Cora Shutter (District 8 – she passed six months ago, during this past Winter Festival)

Eamon Sullivan (District 7, and another recent passing – he died suddenly of alcohol poisoning just days after we left his homeland on Katniss and Peeta's Victory Tour)

Wonder Spicer (District 1)

Crystal Flute (District 1)

Peeta studies the Deceased List with intrigue. "Half of the names here are Careers, so we won't have to face them. That's good, right?"

I smile at him tightly. "Not quite. Sounds like you need to brush up on your class notes from Hunger Games History. There's more."

I provide my students with a second sheet. This one tabulates the number of wins for each district:

District 1: 13 Wins

District 2: 17 Wins

District 3: 3 Wins

District 4: 10 Wins

District 5: 3 Wins

District 6: 3 Wins

District 7: 6 Wins

District 8: 4 Wins

District 9: 5 Wins

District 10: 3 Wins

District 11: 4 Wins

District 12: 4 Wins

Below that, a table factors in the sixteen dead based on this and lists each district's "existing pool of Victors" based on their gender:

District 1: 9 Living Victors (4M, 5F)

District 2: 15 Living Victors (9M, 6F)

District 3: 2 Living Victors (1M, 1F)

District 4: 8 Living Victors (4M, 4F)

District 5: 3 Living Victors (2M, 1F)

District 6: 3 Living Victors (2M, 1F)

District 7: 4 Living Victors (3M, 1F)

District 8: 3 Living Victors (1M, 2F)

District 9: 4 Living Victors (3M, 1F)

District 10: 3 Living Victors (1M, 2F)

District 11: 2 Living Victors (1M, 1F)

District 12: 3 Living Victors (1M, 2F)

My goddaughter is poring over the stats with increasing dismay. "The only districts who have multiple options for each gender are the Careers!" she gasps. "Everyone else, there is going to be a single Victor for at least one gender."

Peeta tssks, shaking his head. "The pools, benches or whatever you want to call them aren't very deep at all. These Reapings are going to be horrible!"

I nod grimly. "Exactly."

My sons sighs loudly. "Well, we'd better get them over with." At his nod, Effie purses her lips tightly and almost reluctantly turns on the TV.

We start predictably with District 1. 4 men and 5 women are all roped off on the stage before the Justice Building. I recognize their names and run through them rotely. The men: Gleam Cobble, old and teetering. Luster Lancaster, grey-haired but still well built. Brilliance Rosencrantz, triumphed two years after Chaff. And, of course, Gloss Delacroix, still shiny and beautiful and on the cusp of 30 years of age. The women: Silk Seville, deep lines in her face. Ermine Butler, who won two years before Chaff. Jade Boleyn – she got the Crown the year before I did. Cashmere Delacroix, Gloss's twin sister and a blonde bombshell. Song Nuo is last of all, a sweet-faced woman with light brown skin who won the year after Finnick. She wasn't a classically trained Career, and has managed to make a quiet life for herself; I heard she married a Peacekeeper, and they now have a baby son.

Their escort reaches into the girls' bowl with a flourish. "Cashmere Delacroix!"

Cashmere bounds over to stand with the escort, beaming. The Capitol representative then moves on to the men.

"Gloss Delacroix!"

On the screen, it looks like Luster is trying to open his mouth to say something, prompting Gloss to step into his personal space and cower the ruggedly older man with a look. To my surprise, Luster backs down, supporting Gleam Cobble and his walker while Gloss springs over to join his sister.

Siblings in the arena – and consecutive Victors, no less, only the second and still most-recent time a district has managed such a feat. The twins will be lethal, and I hope my kids will be on their guard. Before I forget, I whip out a notebook and begin to write down who has been picked:

Gloss Delacroix

Victor: 63rd Games

Age: 30

Cashmere Delacroix

Victor: 64th Games

Age: 29

District 2 is next, and Peeta's jaw drops at the image that now appears – there are so many Victors to choose from, there is barely enough room on the stage to hold them all and their escort and the district mayor. This district has 9 men and 6 women to choose from. My brain quickly flips through the names again, straining a little this time, but managing. The men: Granyte Tanner, District 2, slumped in his wheelchair. Honorius Manchetti, the first of three relatives to all win the Games – a legend. Virtus Manchetti, his brother. Their cousin, Justus Scavo. Bartimaeus Pastier, who has never been the kindest to me - probably because he mentored both of the boys I killed in my Games. Ares Valerio, who mentored the District 2 girls during my Quell. My eyes narrow on my old mentor, Brutus Barsetti, swaying a little on the balls of his feet and with an absolutely psychotic grin on his face. Phoebus, who brought the Crown back to District 2 after nearly a decade of shut-outs by outlier districts during the 50s – the worst record any of the Career districts have ever experienced. And finally, Lupus Pagano, who won just three years ago. The women: Boudicca, the madame who has been running District 2's tribute training academy for over half a century. Antigone Frey, who won just a few years before Kaydilyn and I were born. Dido Castremi, a Victor whom everyone says is severely, chemically imbalanced. Lyme Tanner, the niece of Granyte who won my first year as a mentor and was the only Career to win in that entire decade. Enobaria Malachite, who mentored Clove last year. And finally, Berenice Equita – she won the summer before Katniss's father died.

The escort turns to select the women first: "Dido Castremi!"

Dido starts towards the center of the stage, giggling madly and clapping her hands, when someone hollers:

"Sit down, you insane bitch! I volunteer as tribute!" And baring her fanged teeth, Enobaria Malachite takes her place.

The escort grins tightly, openly relieved that District 2 has been prevented from nominating their most unstable Victor. She turns to the men: "Lupus Pagano!"

Oh no… Lupus is only 21 years of age; he would be a force to be reckoned with….

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Brutus literally shoves Lupus aside, so hard that the younger man is thrown clear off the stage, and people in the crowd barely scramble to sort of catch his fall.

All the color drains from my face. I should have taken him at his word that he would do it, but still… I didn't think he actually would. Only four years older than me and still stacked, Brutus will take to the arena in the way a wrecking ball takes to a building. Katniss is wincing so hard, her teeth are drawing a bead of blood from her bottom lip. Beside her, both of my son's golden eyebrows have vacated his forehead to jump nearly into his hairline.

"I'm starting to think the Dido gal was more OK in the head."

"He's still in remarkable shape," Katniss squeaks, her grey orbs overwhelmed by Brutus's sheer muscle.

"Yeah. You should have seen him in his heyday. He was my mentor." I mention.

"WHAT?!" Katniss and Peeta shriek.

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Peeta cries out. Drat. I probably shouldn't have said anything. At my quick prompting, Effie pauses the tape.

"Guys, by the time I was a tribute, Lucy Gray Baird had been gone for years. There was no Victor from District 12 to mentor us. If a situation like that arose for any district, it was a tribute's right to have the Capitol provide a mentor for them. Thus, a mentor from another district would be assigned to that district out on loan. Brutus had only been a Victor two years when he was tapped to mentor my friends and me. I've known him for a long time. He's…. a complicated individual." Katniss raises her own eyebrows at this, but says nothing. I busy myself with scribbling in my notebook.

Brutus Barsetti

Victor: 48th Games

Age: 45

Enobaria Malachite

Victor: 62nd Games

Age: 32

I turn back to Effie. "Resume the tape."

Here is where the Reapings will begin to get painful. Only a single, solitary man and woman each stand before the District 3 Justice Building. I honestly wonder why the escort is bothering to go through the Reaping at all. But he does:

"Wiress Okamoto!" The woman who captured the Crown the very night of Danny's and my first wedding anniversary sways to her place with a vacant stare in her eyes. It has been said that she suffered a stroke not long after being pulled from the arena, and has struggled with aphasia ever since then.

"Beetee Latier!" Wiress's partner, a bespectacled man with dark skin, adjusts his spectacles over his nose and dutifully takes his place beside her. He's been a fixture in the Capitol for forty years, and his Games finale is the stuff of lore – electrocuted six tributes at once; the entire Career pack.

Beetee Latier

Victor: 35th Games

Age: 54

Wiress Okamoto

Victor: 53rd Games

Age: 38

District 4 is up next. Interestingly, they are the only district to have multiple options for both genders evenly distributed: four Victors on each side. The men: Manannan Ulmo, Mags' first successful protégé and who was born the year the Hunger Games came into existence. He still has lean muscle in some places, but it is beginning to become flabby with old age. Halibut Shore, who won when I was pregnant with my first child, Jonadab. Finnick Odair, the handsome and charismatic boy who was crowned a decade ago at 14 – the youngest ever. Odysseus Wheeler, who claimed Victory the year before Katniss and Peeta. The women: dear old Mags Flanagan – the grandmother I never had. Briseis Barrington, who won the year my parents got married. Cerulea Larson, Victor just three years after her. And finally, Annie Cresta, who is visibly trembling.

And then screams when her name is called.

"Annie Cresta!"

"NOOOOO! NOOOOO! I can't go back! I won't go back!" The camera is shaking dangerously, and across the way, I can see Finnick watching Annie fall apart in absolute terror himself. The shot zooms back out. And that's when Peeta notices:

"H-hey, that old lady looks like she wants to volunteer!"

And indeed, Mags is raising her hand and jumping up and down, but the Peacekeepers are ignoring her, as they physically have to manhandle Annie into place. I start yelling at the TV myself.

"There's a volunteer! A volunteer, you fools!" I choke up and silently curse the misfortune of Mags suffering that stroke a handful of years ago, which has rendered her almost completely unable to talk.

"They won't abide by her. She…. she has to say the words…" Katniss's voice is breaking. I think she may have hit the nail on the head. If you want to take a tribute's place, you have to say the words 'I volunteer as tribute.' Except Mags can't.

Peeta is now screaming at Briseis and Cerulea to do something; Annie is coming disturbingly unglued, causing such a commotion that more Peacekeepers have to be brought in. "SAY SOMETHING, damn you cowards!"

The escort is now trembling himself as he dithers over to the male bowl.

"Finnick Odair!"

Finnick smiles almost good-naturedly and saunters over to stand beside Annie. As soon as he is within reach, the auburn-haired beauty throws her arms around him and kisses him full on the mouth. Finnick holds the kiss for a moment, amidst cries of shock and wolf-whistles before drawing Annie back by her shoulders and giving her a meaningful look. She whimpers, but nods, and he rests his forehead against hers.

As the feed cuts away, Peeta puts his hands over his eyes. "What a fucking disaster." I don't even have the heart to reprimand him on language as I take down the Reaped names in my notebook.

Finnick Odair

Victor: 65th Games

Age: 24

Annie Cresta

Victor: 70th Games

Age: 23

Katniss looks in danger of becoming physically ill. "I can't take much more of this…."

But we have to – we're only a third of the way done.

District 5 is next: two men and a single woman. The woman, Circe Montoya, is selected without fanfare; the escort doesn't even completely pull the slip of paper from the bowl, much less unfurl it, before calling out her name. In that crucial next moment, the two men look at each other: Emrys Avery, who won the year immediately following the First Quarter Quell, by rigging an elaborate trap that literally started catapulting fireball bombs throughout his arena, eliminating the remaining competition and sending most of the arena landscape up in flames. People still call him 'The Gamemaker Victor,' and the Gamemakers themselves have tried multiple times (with mixed success) to replicate the pyrotechnics he created. The other man is Matthias Fletcher, a severe alcoholic who won the 46th Games, immediately after Chaff.

"Matthias Fletcher!"

Matthias leans over and vomits over everyone gathered in the first three rows. He is still doubled over, hacking and wheezing, as Peacekeepers helpfully guide him to his proper place. I take down the names.

Matthias Flecther

Victor: 46th Games

Age: 45

Circe Montoya

Victor: 59th Games

Age: 33

District 6's Reaping is exactly identical to the district preceding it. Two men and one woman are on the stage. Their escort draws the woman's name so fast, we almost miss it.

"Maeve Collins!"

The woman who won the year immediately before Chaff doesn't move.

"Maeve Collins!" The escort hollers louder, after clearing her throat. A Peacekeeper jabs Maeve with the butt of his gun and she actually stumbles a few steps to the left. It's not the exact center of the stage, but it's close enough.

Now it's time to choose amongst the men: Chevy Anderson, who became his district's first Victor by mastering an arena taking place in a trainyard, and giving hope to his people after they had waited for a champion for 28 years. Mitt Compton, who won the year after I had my first child in the biggest clusterfuck of a Games anyone has ever watched. It is the latter's name who is chosen, and I groan.

"Mitt Compton!"

A pair of stoned-out morphling addicts getting thrown back to the wolves. Now their mentor, Chevy will be at least competent in trying to get them sponsors, but I wouldn't blame him if he just threw up his hands and called it a day.

Mitt Compton

Victor: 55th Games

Age: 35

Maeve Collins

Victor: 44th Games

Age: 48

District 7 unwisely opens with a close-up shot of Johanna Mason's face, and she is livid. She actually puts a hand up in front of the camera lens, forcing the media to back off. They pan out, to show the three men and one woman being selected for death, and my heart cries out in agony. As Vera O'Rourke has been dead for many years, that leaves Johanna Mason (the fierce and beautiful girl who won four years ago after pretending to be a weakling) as the only living female Victor from Seven. Two of the men are now getting their arms under the third and hefting him out of his wheelchair to stand with dignity. The elderly gentleman is Jules Elmer – the earliest-winning Victor still alive in Panem today. The Victor of the 7th Hunger Games. He is 84 years old. At his left is Blight Gavin, the terrible rogue who won the year Danny and I got married. To Jules's right is Connor Murphy – mid-30s and handsome, and whom Blight coached to Victory only four years after he himself won the Crown.

The escort considerately waits until Jules is stable before crossing to the girls' bowl. Like the escort in Five, she makes the selection that we all know is a formality quickly, but at least she has the justification that Jules might not be able to stand for long.

"Johanna Mason!"

Johanna promptly makes a rude gesture at the camera, and the editors fuzz out the image of her middle finger a second too late. The escort cringes and scampers to the bowl containing the slips for the men, probably moving quickly so as to get the hell away from her.

"Jules Elmer!"

The audio actually picks up groans and agonized cries coming from the crowd, but Jules holds his head high bravely. "I have had a good journey in this life…. I am ready to go to rest. But mark my words: if this Quell is allowed to proceed…. Panem falls!" Jules says this with such passion, he momentarily lurches out of the grasp of his friends. Swaying dangerously, he starts to fall backward himself, and Blight and Connor cry out as they barely catch him. Blight snaps his head to the Peacekeepers.

"He can't do this, for pity's sake, please!" When the officers are unmoved by Jules's advanced age, Blight swallows hard:

"I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute."

Connor sends him a grateful look, but Jules tries to protest. "No, boy, leave me! I'm old, I've lived my life!"

"I volunteer, Mr. Head Peacekeeper!" Blight calls, louder and more forcefully this time. Connor eases Jules back into his wheelchair as Blight stands beside Johanna. I let a whimpering sob escape. Blight was actually coerced, blackmailed into volunteering by his own people the first time he was Reaped. And now, he has been behooved to do so again, though this time of his own volition. But, really, it is unclear how much choice he really had.

Peeta's eyes are glassy, as he nods with deep respect. "Magnificent valor…." he murmurs, half in awe.

Blight Gavin

Victor: 52nd Games

Age: 39

Johanna Mason

Victor: 71st Games

Age: 21

The feed cuts away to District 8 so fast, we almost get whiplash. The two women there are: Cecelia Rheys, the stunningly beautiful young woman who Brutus has been hopelessly in love with since she triumphed the year I had to bring Rye to the Capitol. Beside her is Cotton Rivers, who's grown taller in the eight years since her Victory. She's openly sneering. The single man, Woof Barton, is shouting something unintelligible, so that the escort can barely overpower him in volume when she announces:

"Cecelia Rheys!"

There is a commotion from down below, Peacekeepers shouting, and for a second, I think protestors are making a go of bullrushing the stage, and may even actually get up the steps. People do get up the steps, but they are only Cecelia's three children – Cardella, Aaron and Milo, all ranging in age from 15 down to 2. Cecelia's husband, Bert (I met him on Katniss and Peeta's Victory Tour – a lovely man), also manages to join them, and pulling his wife close, he kisses her deeply. She kisses him back sweetly, also drawing her babies close as they sob and cling to her. The Peacekeepers mercifully give the little family a moment, letting Cecelia painfully extract herself from her little ones on her own.

To announce Cecelia's district partner, the escort doesn't even bother to cross the few feet to the mens' Reaping Bowl.

"Woof Barton!"

"How's everybody doing today? Who's ready for a concert?!" Woof shouts out with jubilation, eyes shifting a little uncertainly. He truly doesn't seem to know or understand what's going on, as the Peacekeepers have to just about frog-march him into position.

"Concert?" Katniss's jaw drops.

My son is digging his nails through his scalp, wracked with sympathy for the octogenarian. "Oh no…"

I am gripping the edge of the table by now, my knuckles bone-white. This spectacle bypassed painful a long time ago and is rapidly approaching unbearable. Still, I must take down the names.

Woof Barton

Victor: 13th Games

Age: 80

Cecelia Rheys

Victor: 57th Games

Age: 33

District 9 has four Victors to choose from, their existing pool identical to that of Seven: three males. A single female. The female is Evelyn Morris – she looks grandmotherly, but walks slower than her 68 years would suggest as her name is called. The men: Ben Cooper (I remember Brutus and I watching his Games on TV hours before we left for my own Victory Tour). Nolan de Naro, a hothead with a notorious temper. And the young man who may or may not be Ben's illegitimate son, Abram Mills – the Victor with the lowest training score in history.

Alleged father and son stand on opposite, uncomfortable extremes of the age spectrum – the father is somewhere in his sixties, the son in his mid-twenties. So it is probably District Nine's best bet to send in the average between the two.

"Nolan de Naro!"

The hulking and intimidating wrestler, after thirty-five years on the outside, is a tribute once more.

Nolan de Naro

Victor: 40th Games

Age: 50

Evelyn Morris

Victor: 23rd Games

Age: 68

District 10 is a harbinger of what we all know will come for our own district; there is one man and two women on the stage. Bovina Martinez, standing remarkably straight even while using a cane that still is probably just a prop for her, was Mags' immediate successor. She's a dear, dear lady, feisty and always acting forever young. Elena Perez, who had to watch both her children die in my own Games.

The man, Roan Tully, won when Peeta and Katniss were only a few months old. I was largely healed from giving birth by the time I left that summer to mentor in the Capitol, but I remember having a mild bout of post-partum depression – a melancholy which only got worse once I lost both my tributes.

"Elena Perez!"

I really hope Katniss and Peeta will not have to kill her. Had I been Reaped, I know that Elena would have made it her mission to hunt me down and kill me in revenge. For coming home instead of one of her own flesh and blood.

"Roan Tully!"

Roan seethes with hatred and resentment; when he takes his place, he points directly into the camera. "Everdeen, I'm coming for you, bitch."

Uh oh.

Roan Tully

Victor: 58th Games

Age: 35

Elena Perez

Victor: 34th Games

Age: 59

When District 11 comes on, I stand up out of my chair, turning away.

"No – I can't watch this…"

I feel a warm presence by my side, and my son wraps me in a hug. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

But through his arms, I do anyway. As with District 3, there is only a single man and a single woman to choose from. Knowing this is a formality, the Eleven escort actually approaches Mayor Sasse and appears to ask why they can't just whisk the Reaping Balls away; what's the point? No, comes the reply, via a hot mic. Even so, the escort insolently stands there in the center of the stage, not crossing to either Reaping Ball, not even looking at them, as he calls out:

"Seeder Crue! Chaff Habarti!"

My two dear friends come to the center of the stage, Chaff brazenly nudging the escort aside with his elbow, and laughing when the meek little man topples to the ground. Seeder shakes his one good hand, and the feed suddenly monkeycams dangerously and winks out. We hear screams splitting the air before the sound is cut off.

Chaff Habarti

Victor: 45th Games

Age: 48

Seeder Crue

Victor: 31st Games

Age: 61

We are watching ourselves. I am called… and Katniss volunteers. Then Peeta is conscripted. The seal of the Hunger Games appears, and the broadcast ends.

I don't need to write down these names - I know them just as well as I know myself - but I do anyway, trying not to let my tears fall and splotch the paper.

Peeta Mellark

Victor: 74th Games

Age: 17

Katniss Everdeen

Victor: 74th Games

Age: 17

Effie's manicured nails are quivering violently so that it takes her three attempts to click the remote's off switch. Stepping out of my embrace, Peeta lifts a hand to his mouth. "Excuse me." And he runs from the dining car, retching. I hope he makes it to the toilet in time.

I collapse back into my chair, a severe headache coming on. Through my graying vision, I can feel my goddaughter's eyes on me.

"…. Auntie? Are you all right?"

It's a stupid question, even she must know it, but I don't snap at her. Tears pricking, I shake my head. "No…" I almost moan. A long, lingering pause, and then I manage to get out:

"Katty?"

"Yes?" A slight tremor goes through her voice, at the pet name I don't often use.

"Why did you volunteer for me?"

Her answer surprises me:

"For the same reason I volunteered for Prim: to protect you." Silence reigns again, and I think that is the end of it, but then my goddaughter continues. "And also because I couldn't bear to think of watching Peeta fight, from the outside looking in, and being helpless to stop any harm from coming to him. Besides, I don't know anything about mentoring. That would have ensured your death – I refuse to lose either of you due to my own incompetence." She sighs. "That is why…. when the time comes…. I want you to keep Peeta alive over me."

I lower my hand from my eyes and sit up. "What?"

Katniss is just gazing at me sadly, with wisdom far beyond her years. Wisdom no girl her age should ever have. "Auntie Maysilee, it's me Snow wants anyway. I'm the one who pulled out the berries; I'm the one he threatened. If he wants me to die so that no more people get hurt in some uprisings, then I have to give him what he wants. Which means you now have to give me what I want. And that is to do whatever it takes to keep Peeta alive. He's your son." She holds my stare. "Promise me."

I nod weakly. "OK," I croak. But dangling between my back and the backrest of my chair, I cross my middle and index fingers together. Katniss may intend to give Snow what he wants… but I don't.