District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-

"Here. Put this on," my mentor Chipson says.

I can't remember a time my heart has ever pounded this fast. My vision is like someone trying to adjust the zoom setting of a camera, zooming in and out and make everything go blurry. Cold terror blossoms through me and makes my stomach flip, my blood curdling at every sound. I could be dead in five minutes.

Heart hammering so hard I swear I can hear it, I slide into the jacket. The garment is made of a thin but rough material, with several designs etched into the sleeves and front. Chipson urges me to keep still as he buttons it up.

"Joule."

I don't respond. If there were butterflies in my stomach before, they've turned into pigeons flapping around my intestines. Every cell in my body wants me to bust down the door and make a run for it. I'm so nauseous it takes every ounce of my willpower to keep from vomiting. What if I passed out right here? Would they delay the bloodbath until I recovered?

"Joule!"

I still don't answer. Fleeting shivers dart over my skin like little pinpricks. These games are so horrible! So horrendous!

"Joule! You can't ignore me forever."

I turn toward him, my eyes wide with terror. My pupils feel like they must be the size of coins. "What?" I say quietly.

"Good luck in the games, Joule. You're going to face the hardest times you've ever faced in your life. Just remember how strong you are. Good luck, Joule."

For some reason, the overuse of my name is peeving me. "Why are you saying my name so much?"

"Because I want to make you feel a sense of identity," Chipson responds. "It's what'll get you through the games. Remember what you have to go home to."

Perhaps there's a miniscule second where I feel slightly soothed. The spinning of the world slows down slightly. The birds flying in my stomach stop to roost. But it can't last long.

"Thirty seconds until launch."

Fresh terror courses through my veins, worse than any I've felt yet. I'm going into the Hunger Games! I'm going to die! No, no, no! My heart pounds in my ears. I only vaguely feel Chipson grab my shoulders and steer me into the tube. My screams of terror sound like they're coming from somebody else, and I can't feel myself making them. I take a deep breath as the arena comes into view.

District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-

The blood pounds in my ears. My heart thuds in my chest. My hands shake. My vision flips like I'm viewing the world through a kaleidoscope. My feet tingle. I can't stare at that horrible tube any longer. In just a minute or so, I'll be standing inside of it. Even if I survive the arena I'll never be the girl I was ever again.

I take a slow, deep breath, fighting to force down the bile that rises in my throat.

"Put this on," Kasey instructs.

I extend my arms, fitting them into the sleeves of the jacket. It's made of a comfortable material, but it doesn't feel soothing. It just feels harsh. This is the uniform I'll be wearing to my doom.

"Lexie, look at me."

I slowly turn my head, locking eyes with her.

"It's going to be alright. Remember everything I've told you," Kasey says.

This suddenly strikes something in me. When I was first reaped, I felt more than lost. I felt like I was floating in the middle of a void, with nobody who cared about me as anything other than the words "District 6 Female" on a holographic computer screen. But Kasey has always been there for me, the motherly mentor most tributes will never have.

"Thank you. For everything you've done," I say quietly.

"You're welcome, Lexie," she responds. "And now you're going to go into those games. You're going to beat down the toughest of opponents and make it home safe and sound. And you're going to live next to me in the Victor's Village."

I take a sigh. "Just promise not to play loud music late at night, okay?"

Kasey laughs. "I promise."

I step into the tube, trying to control my choppy breathing as I feel myself begin to rise.

District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-

I can see why they call it the stockyard back in 10. The place where livestock are sent before being slaughtered. Everything in here looks menacing in a way I can't quite place. The coat hanger in the corner seems so sharp and sleek that I can't shake the image out of my head of it lunging at me. The lights harshly illuminate the white room, like the lights in a psychiatric hospital.

"I'm proud of you, Orford," Alexander says, fitting my uniform onto me. "You've done great so far. And now you're going to win."

For some reason, this makes me angry. The truth sets into my skin like a hundred knives. I'm not going to win. There are twenty-four tributes and I'm one of them. Just one data point on the gamemakers' computer screen that'll be forgotten about days if not hours after my cannon shot sounds.

"You don't know I'm going to win," I spit.

"I do," Alexander insists.

"How?"

"I know it in here," he says, placing a hand on his heart. But there's something to his tone that's so blatantly fake. How many times has he stood here, saying his final words to a tribute only to have them die? How many times has he "known" that his tribute was going to win, even if they didn't?

"Thirty seconds until launch."

I slowly walk toward my tube, terror truly dawning on me for the first time.

"Any last advice?" I ask, turning around.

"Grab the handrails. The elevator moves a little fast."

With that final warning, I feel my pedestal rising underneath me.

It's not long before sunlight breaks into the tube. Squinting, I make out the shining gem of the sun sparkling overhead…