The Reaping.
He'd known that something bad, something horrendous, would happen on that day. He could feel it. Feelings like that were common in his family – his father had been the same. Before he'd died. His mother called it intuition.
He called it luck. It hadn't saved his father in the end.
It wouldn't save him.
But he could try.
He made all of the preparations – careful, agonizing planning; every minute cementing the chances of this happening, with every seemingly casual conversation confirming his doom. Bringing it forwards.
He'd gone hunting in the woods at least once every two days for the last three weeks – ever since he'd first gotten that feeling.
Just in case.
It was silly really. Most of the meat would've gone off if he hadn't regained his senses and traded it down at the Hob. The people of District 12 had eaten well this week. He'd also spoken with the other traders – made sure they wouldn't try anything funny in his potential absence. Katniss would probably sort them out if they tried.
No.
She definitely would.
His family would not starve.
He'd spoken to his fellow students as well. They make sure that Rory, Vick and Posy were alright. Give them advice. No matter what, Rory was not to sign up for tesserae. The only person he hadn't spoken to was Katniss. He didn't know how to.
She'd refuse to accept it – the forty-two slips of paper with his name on that decreed the odds were not in his favour. Sure, she'd make plans to appease him, make empty promises that if he was right he knew she'd keep; but she wouldn't believe. That would be saying goodbye and being emotional.
For a girl, Katniss sucked at emotions.
She was tougher than anyone he knew.
But he knew her well. Too well. Under her defences she was fragile and afraid. Saying goodbye would be letting him go and Katniss wouldn't let that happen for the world.
On the day of the Reaping, they'd both tried to pretend they were fine. He tried to both reassure her that he would be fine at the same time as giving her hints – what to do if he was right. But he was strong – and it wasn't just for her.
Once, just for a minute, his own defences had slipped and he'd made a thoughtless comment that had made the pair of them angry with the other. It had been going so well – they'd been trying so hard. Both knew what the other's mind was focussed on. But he couldn't help it. His mouth had moved faster than his brain could stop, desperate to get this solitary thought out.
Like he'd known, even before he'd said it, she hated it. She was far too selfless for that. But he kept on pushing, and on this tense day they'd argued. Everyone was wired up.
Himself more than anyone. The last words they'd exchanged in person before the Reaping were half sarcastic, half truthful.
If he was right, he wanted to see her wearing something pretty, looking beautiful.
She always did anyway.
Prim's name had been chosen.
Katniss had volunteered for her sister because that was just what Katniss did. She gave everything she was to her sister. And now she was giving that last little piece of innocence, the small fraction of childhood she had retained through all of the hardships she had suffered.
Then the boy had been selected.
His name hadn't been picked.
It seemed the odds were in his favour – as far as the Capitol was concerned.
But for him they weren't.
He'd thought he'd planned for everything.
But he hadn't planned for this.
Katniss was going to die. (Even if she survived the arena, she wouldn't be his Katniss anymore.)
When he'd received that tingling warning that warned him that his world was ending, he hadn't imagined the world ending.
He just prepared for the tip of the iceberg, a minor distraction, and now that the world was fracturing around him, he couldn't do anything but watch.