Disclaimer: I own very little.

Chapter Forty-Six: The Spark

"No!" Obadiah screamed as I slid my arms underneath him, pulling him away from the sea of toys sitting beside him. There weren't many words that this child knew at one year of age, but "no" was certainly one that he knew very well.

"Obie," I said sternly as we walked through the apartment, the child squirming intensely in my arms to get out. "You know we have to go to sleep."

Though he may not have known how to string a phrased response to that, he certainly did not like where this situation was going. Already, it had been hard to get him into his pajamas and get the child ready for bed. When we entered into his beautifully decorated room with mint green walls and sleek black furniture to match with other stylish ornaments that Crystal had picked out, I sat him down in the large crib where he had two toys waiting to go to sleep along him.

As soon as I sat him down, his little brow furrowed as he shot me a glare.

"Momma!" He nearly growled, slamming both his hands down on the edge of the crib.

I put my hands on my hips, staring straight into his piercing blue eyes. I could have sworn I was looking right at a young Seneca.

"Obadiah," I said firmly, taking several steps back.

It was at this moment that I could see the meltdown coming and all the tears within this little child came spilling out as he released a blood curling scream. Rubbing the headache forming in my head, I turned away from him. He was not going to win this battle, not today at least. With a deep inhale, I turned to approach the screaming child to give him a kiss on the cheek. His tears continued to stream, but finally he plopped down on his bottom. This did not stop the wailing, but at least he was closer to a sleeping place.

"Goodnight," I whispered, placing my hand on his, now-drenched, cheek, before standing upright to turn away from him and shut off the lights.

As I descended down the hall, his wails turned to cries before the cries softened to a whimper. Normally, he was quick to go to sleep now, but putting him to sleep was the nightmare. Before I entered our room, I noticed the light in Seneca's room on. It was his third year as Head Gamemaker and the Reaping ceremonies had taken place that day.

Needless to say, it was hectic at our home.

Softly, I knocked three times on the door. When I entered, I saw my husband hunched over a desk, his back facing me as he scribbled fiercely on a piece of paper before groaning, ripping the paper from the tablet, and shoving it into the trash can. Quietly, I walked up behind the, clearly frustrated, man and placed my hand softly on his back.

"You've worked at this all evening," I whispered, rubbing my hand across his back tenderly.

"I've got to figure out something more unique," He yawned, grabbing a handful of his hair. "President Snow hates all of my ideas."

"I doubt that. He's always liked you, Seneca," I answered, leaning in closer to see what he was working on precisely. "It's a forest this year?"

"Yes," He answered delicately. "Apparently, it isn't dangerous enough."

"I wouldn't want to be stuck in a forest for the Hunger Games. Good lord, I can't imagine all the possibilities for hiding places, weapons, and dangers. That alone makes it perilous," I said, grabbing a piece of his sketches before looking at the tablet in his hands.

"Those in the outer districts have a heavy advantage this year. Their homelands are very similar to the arena, or so I've been told by the scouts," He answered, leaning back in his chair.

I turned my head to look at him as I leaned over the table," Any reason for the generosity, Mr. Crane?"

He shrugged before placing a hand on his chin," Hey, if it gives the crowd something else to gawk over…then I'll call it a success. No generosity intended this time. Though…outlying districts could surprise us I suppose."

I rolled my eyes at this," Not to put a damper on your spirits, but we've had many years since a successful outlying tribute. Do correct me if I am mistaken."

"That's why I've a feeling that maybe if an outer district were given a chance…it could at least make for a good show," He sighed, blinking heavily before leaning over his tablet once more.

Some days, I could sense reality striking down on Seneca. It was almost as if he were battling this dream he had of finding someone to help free the country and his Capitol-loyalty. It was moments like these that made him seem desperate for something, anything. His normally bright blue eyes were dragging with deep bags painted under them.

I kissed his cheek lovingly before patting his back one last time," Don't stay up too late. You really should come to bed soon."

He looked up at me and forced a smirk," I will soon."

Just as I was turning to exit, I felt him grab my wrist suddenly. I knew that something was off with him and perhaps this was a prelude to an explanation. He was a very dedicated Gamemaker, but sometimes I felt he went too far. The action caused me to jump and I looked at him with wide eyes, wondering what was going on.

"I haven't told you something. I think it is important that you know," He spoke very methodically, almost sounding robotic.

Tenaciously, I approached him again. This sudden outburst was very strange and concerned me that he was getting far too absorbed with this. Of course it was his job, but he was certainly being overworked with this year. Something was clearly wrong and I was about to find out.

"You know that the Reapings were today," He said quietly, running his hands through his hair before shooting a sideways look at me. "There was something unusual that happened."

"What?" I asked cautiously.

He exhaled before grabbing his remote, summoning one of the televisions on his wall to swing around for our viewing. I was slightly baffled, still by his behavior and hoped this screen would explain to me something more.

"There was a volunteer in an outer district," He said, almost inaudibly.

My jaw nearly dropped to the ground as I took a step closer to his desk. There were always only volunteers from One and Two, sometimes Four, but never, ever in an outer district. Wouldn't it simply be committing suicide? Was it not guaranteed death for them? Even I, one of the less skilled fighters from District Two, knew that volunteers were a risky move that really should only be done by the most elite.

However, a piece of me wished to know the rest of the story.

"Which one?" I asked, leaning on his desk as he brought up the clip.

"Twelve," He answered numbly. "A girl, sixteen years old. Just watch for yourself."

He pressed a button before a shot of the District's square was shown. I assumed that they had already gone through all the preliminaries and whatnot, for Effie (their incredibly extroverted escort whom I had heard many entertaining stories of) had began her little spiel before swirling her hand, as always, in the girl's pot of names.

It had been years since I saw a Reaping ceremony and though the sight of this alone disturbed me, I wanted to see what was going to happen. Surely, it wasn't true. Perhaps, it was just some sort of joke that Seneca was playing.

"Primose Everdeen!" Effie exclaimed, the name echoing through the swarms of children standing there.

Suddenly, there was a commotion that hovered through the crowd as all heads craned to get a look at their newest tribute. The camera panned to a little girl, who couldn't have been older than thirteen. Her blonde hair was tied in two braids and fear was radiating from her body. Looking at this little girl made me think of myself and how absolutely horrifying this moment is for any tribute.

This little girl was unlike me in many ways, however. She had never stepped foot in a training facility. For all I knew, she had never even seen a knife before not to mention try to use it for much of anything other than to cut what little cheese she could scrape up. Seeing her step forward gingerly was almost too much for me, even though I didn't even know her. Watching her take those steps toward her imminent death was…terrifying.

"Where are you?" Effie asked from the stage, looking all around before spotting the child step forward. "Come on up! Come on up!"

From the tone of Effie's voice, no one would have been able to tell much was wrong.

I forced myself to continue watching for as the child proceeded to join Effie on the stage, another voice is heard on the film.

"Prim!"

The camera shifts to show a much older, more developed teenager stepping forward. Her hair is dark and her eyes are wild with passion that none other than a family member could have. I watched intently as she was grabbed by Peacekeepers, but she continued to scream her sister's name before the words finally left her mouth.

"I volunteer!" She wailed wildly before finally pushing through their grasp on her and yelling much more firmly. "I volunteer as tribute."

Watching this sight was…inspiring to say the least. Who was this young woman? She most certainly was unlike any outer tribute I had laid eyes on before. My mind was so busy processing the shock of this that I only paid close attention to just as this volunteer was climbing up to the stage in front of her home. The Peacekeepers were dragging her screaming sister, I presumed, away from the scene; her face was still stoic and strong as she approached the stage.

"Dramatic turn of events here in District Twelve," Effie commented as the volunteer was nearly to the stage. "District Twelve's very first volunteer. Come on dear."

The Peacekeepers escorted her to the stairs before returning to their positions as Effie pulled her to the top of the stage before hastily returning to the microphone with her new volunteer close beside her.

"What's your name?" Effie asked the young woman, speaking into the microphone.

"Katniss Everdeen," She answered, quietly.

As I looked at Katniss Everdeen on Seneca's screen, I noticed something that I had never noticed before. This tribute was not arrogant like those in Two nor was she weak like nearly all the others. Something I had always mentally recognized about the Games was that there were the strong and cocky, but also the weak and unprepared. Her eyes were blank as she scanned those in the crowd looking at her. She was neither weak nor submissive; she was neither arrogant nor prideful.

A more proper word would have been strength.

"There is something unique about her, that's for sure," I answered, almost whispered.

"Isn't that what's exciting?" Seneca asked me, his tone brightening significantly. "She has a huge amount of bravery already. Is it more than just luck that she is competing in this Hunger Games specifically for her type?"

I blinked several times before realizing the reality of this statement and looked at him," Seneca, don't tell me you think-"

"I think she's it," He whispered severely, looking straight at me. "She can do it."

"Seneca," I grumbled running my fingers through my hair.

"Savera, don't tell me she doesn't have what it takes!" He nearly growled at me, pointing to the frozen picture of the brown-haired, green-eyed girl on the screen. "She's the bravest soul I've seen out of any of these Reapings. They already look down on District twelve and for her to volunteer…that's quite a bold move."

Though I knew that she had potential, it was more the certainty of what lie ahead that scared me. Deep down, my heart could feel the danger that Katniss Everdeen posed to the life of my husband. I also knew what good she could be for Panem, but I was far too absorbed in the selfishness of it, at the moment, to appreciate Seneca's dream. Whether I liked it or not, Katniss Everdeen was going to do something.

"I'm not telling you that, Seneca," I answered tentatively. "I'm telling you to…wait until you see her in action before you know."

He was silent for many moments," Of course, dear."

And with that, I turned from my husband's room and tried to tell myself that she could be completely different in the Games. I tried to tell myself that she would be just like any other tribute and had no clear advantage over the others…but I certainly didn't know that either. I bit down hard on my lip as I exited his study, strolled down the hallway, before turning into our bedroom.

Katniss Everdeen could be the death of my husband and I had to do something to stop her.

A/N: I've breezed through these chapters kind of quickly. I hope you all find them interesting and know that I am getting to the end of this story. There may be a sequel. I would appreciate some feedback on this chapter though and know that things are about to get intense! Happy Holidays, by the way! I know that's a little late. :)