The next morning, I woke up early, the sky barely light outside.

Mmph. Do I have to exist today?

I got up and got dressed, in my usual, fitted black clothes. Tying my hair up into a high ponytail, I glanced in the mirror at myself. I might be seen on television today. That thought kind of really scared me. What if some Capitol official recognized me? That would be…unfortunate.

I put on makeup and pulled on my boots, thinking about what I could do if I was seen and recognized.

Then I sat on the edge of my bed, next to the little tv on the bedside table and I slid the disc that Dr. Gaius had given me into it. For the next two hours, I watched my parents in their Games, watching every movement, plan, mistake, and surprise that they went through. I stopped the tape at the night they had alone together, when both Marvel and Glimmer were gone. That part always made me emotional. And I hated feeling emotional. I took out the disc and pocketed it, and gazed out the window at the gray, empty street outside.

A short while later, twirling a knife absently around my fingers, I walked down the path from the house. A bird, perched up on the iron gate at the entrance, squawked at me when I came near it.

What an ugly noise.

Half a second later, the knife in my hand had pinned the bird, through the heart, to the ground. I retrieved it, yawning, and wiped the blood off of it on the grass before continuing on my way.

I didn't really know where I was going. I didn't feel like going to the training center; I was done with practicing for quite a while.

I slowed when I neared the town square, seeing countless workers cleaning up the place and making it look perfect to be on camera. Above was a giant screen, which was currently showing the Capitol and the celebrations and preparations being made for the receiving of the new tributes for the Fourth Quarter Quell. I absently wondered what the twist this year would be. Hopefully something horrible. The kids around here never looked scared, since they knew that there would always be a volunteer from Academy to take their place if they got picked, and I sort of really wanted to wipe the confident smiles from all their faces.

Die.

I climbed up in a tree nearby, concealing myself as I watched the workers turn the boring front of the Justice Building into a grand sight. The screen changed after a while, showing the Reaping in District One. A pretty blonde girl was chosen—I couldn't tell if she was Reaped or volunteered from here, but a close-up of her face told me she was happy. And the shot also told me that her IQ was definitely less than a hundred.

I rolled my eyes and dropped out of the tree, when other people started arriving to be signed in. I wasn't sure if I should feel nervous about signing in, since it involved my blood and DNA, which could be traced, but…hopefully nothing would go wrong, what with Zeke's configuration of my citizenship, and especially with the focus of the drama-hungry Captiol fixated on the tribute events.

I waited in line for what felt like a year, and then my finger was pricked by one of their needles. I watched in fascination as my blood welled up and oozed down onto the paper, which the official then scanned and nodded at me.

Sucking at my finger so it would stop bleeding, I made my way over to stand with the girls of my age group, feeling antsy. After another long while, finally the screen turned back on to show President Martius Snow himself.

"Greetings to the citizens of Panem." Formal talk initiated, and I tuned some of it out, instead taking interest in the minor scuffle between two boys nearby, until my ears caught the word "uprising."

"It has been 100 years since the Uprising," the President sneered down at us, "And 25 years since the second attempted Rebellion. This year, to celebrate the Fourth Quarter Quell, the 100th Anniversary of our beloved Games, we would like to remind the rebels that by rebelling, you do not just hurt yourself, but also your families: this year, anyone within the immediate family of a past tribute is eligible to be chosen."

His words echoed in my ears, and it was all I could do to keep myself from looking panicked. Three words pounded loudly in my brain, three words that I desperately hoped weren't true.

Did they know.

Did they know who I was? Did they know who my parents were? Did anyone besides Dr. Gaius know about me? Was it even true, what the doctor had told me?

I heard murmuring in the crowd, and I looked around. Some people looked terrified, others, particularly ones I recognized from Academy, looked furious. It was understandable, I guess. They had been training all their lives, and now they couldn't volunteer if they didn't meet the requirement.

I found Zeke in the crowd and I mouthed, "What about you?" He nodded and mouthed back, "My brother." He looked as though he wanted to say something else, possibly asking me if I would be eligible, but instead he turned and started pushing his way up to the front of the crowd, as the serious-looking Capitol official up there turned and went to one of the Reaping bowls.

"Gentlemen first," he droned importantly, his bright yellow hair glistening in the sun. He reached in and pulled out a card, opening it with graceful flair. The name was barely out of his mouth when Zeke lunged forward and volunteered, and applause and cheers exploded across the crowd.

Zeke was a popular guy, to put it very lightly.

When the people finally calmed down a bit, the official could be heard asking Zeke about his relation. With that smug grin on his face, he told him that his brother had won the 96th Games. More cheering drowned everything out again.

I surveyed the crowd, nervously noting that there were many, many police officers patrolling the borders of the town square. There was no escaping the area. My palms were sweating as I watched the official make his way over to the girls' Reaping bowl. He delicately reached in and pulled out a card, making his way back to the microphone.

I felt almost sick. What if I was picked? I had been training for the Games because I intended to enter, but not this year, and not like this. I had no intentions of going up there and announcing my parentage to the world. What if I had to? Should I just say Cato? Or just say Clove? No. I couldn't leave out one, just for the sake of lessening the awfulness of the idea. I would have to tell the truth—or what I thought to be the truth, at least. I'd have to divulge to Panem that their country, their precious Capitol, might have killed off expecting parents in the 74th Hunger Games merely for their entertainment.

He was opening the card. He was inhaling now. His lips began to move.

"Blaze Smith."

God…damn it.

There was silence. Dead silence. No volunteers. Why? Oh, I knew. I had been stupid enough to terrify practically everyone at Academy, and they were probably all thinking right now that if they crossed me, they'd be killed or worse.

The people around me moved aside, and I was forced to walk forward. I could hear faint murmuring now, murmuring, questioning either who I was or who I was related to.

I didn't even feel sick anymore; I felt empty, hollow, dazed, as if everything happening right now was a bad dream. I could hear my feet echo as they climbed the stairs up to the platform. The man grabbed my arm and led me to the microphone.

"Hello Miss Blaze," he smiled widely, "Tell us, who are you related to?" There was a silence, and I realized he was waiting for my answer.

"My parents were both in the Hunger Games," I said quietly, staring out past the crowd, into the distance. "Ah, lucky ones—they are both victors, I presume?"

"No." My voice rang out a little louder now. "My parents were both brutally killed in the same Games, the 74th Games. Their names were Cato and Clove."

The crowd exploded into an uproar. Everyone had loved those two, especially Cato. Cato Cato Cato. He had been a huge favorite, I had seen from the disc Gaius gave me.

The officials around me, including the one holding my arm, looked shocked, stunned beyond their wits. It took the police to calm everyone down, and while that was going on, I turned to look at Zeke for the first time.

Big mistake. His heated stare was alarming, terrifying; I didn't know whether he was more pissed that I was getting more attention than he was, or that now he would have to kill the girl he had been personally training for months.

But instead of looking away, I held his stare, my face expressionless, blank, unchanged after the past horrifying minute. If my rather terrible life had taught me anything, it was to quickly get over anything bad that happened to me, and keep going, not letting it drag me down. And that was what I had to do now. It may have happened a year early, and an inconvenient year at that, but that wasn't going to stop me from fulfilling my plan, my plan to win the Hunger Games and beat what had beaten my parents.