I will have to kill the girl sitting directly across from me; the one I've cared for and known for so long. The one I grew up with. To survive, I will have to make the ultimate betrayal to both my parents and her.

I will have to kill my little sister.

She's only twelve, still silly and naïve. Still a child. Still so fresh and young, and such a sweet girl she is. She's weak and small and blonde and, unlike me, has no experience whatsoever with any weapons training. At least I know how to fight from years of training for the failed Rebellion. All she knows how to do is scream for help. If it's not going to be me who kills her, it's going to be somebody else, and I can't let her die.

"Cicero?" she ponders in concern, undoubtedly noticing me staring dazedly out of the train window. What are the odds of both a brother and a sister being chosen to have to fight each other to the death? It's too cruel and unfair, especially since I am six years older than her and thus six years stronger. Six years bigger. Six years more brutal.

"I'm fine, Lia," I lie, smiling weakly at her. "How are you doing?"

Aelia sighs and fiddles with her thumbs, "I don't really know. I'm kind of…afraid." A very slight tear rolls down her rosy cheek. I hate it when little kids cry.

I reach across the table over the gigantic amount of food on my plate and grab her miniscule hand. "Don't be afraid. You're gonna be okay."

"You don't know that."

I can't respond to her statement, because I know she's right. I can't be sure that anything will or will not happen to her, but what I can be sure of is that I will do anything I can to protect her. If it means killing other tributes so that she can survive, then so be it. "As long as I'm around," I say, patting the top of her hand, "You'll be okay."

Aelia withdraws herself and leans back into her seat, drawing her knees up to her chest. This is the first time I really notice how small she is. She's short but also unusually thin for a District 2 kid. The people from the first four districts are typically better-fed than those of the lesser districts, but ever since the Rebellion, none of us have had sufficient nutrients. It really shows on her, with her bony knees and lanky frame. I push the remainder of food on my plate in front of her, but she refuses it.

"You eat," she says. "You need to maintain your strength."

I grab the fork and push around the potatoes so that they face her. "Eat your potatoes."

She forcefully shoves the plate back to me. "I'm too weak. It's not going to help me."

I jam the fork into the wooden table. "Aelia Rallant, eat the damn potatoes or I'll make you eat them!" She flinches at my outburst, thinking it's just about her not eating the potatoes. But it's not just about the food. It's about the fact that she's giving up so quickly. I'm a fighter; I've always been a fighter, so it irritates me when someone I love decides to throw their life away so soon.

Our freakish, sunflower-yellow-haired Capitol escort rushes in from the next car over. "Hey, what's going on? Did you stab that table?" He cries accusingly, pointing to the fork that I jammed deeply into the mahogany table.

I smile sinisterly and grind the fork deeper into the fine wood, destroying the luxuries the Capitol exploits from the districts. "Sorry," I grin. "Just practicing for the Games."

He raises a bleached eyebrow at me and attempts to yank the utensil from the table, but fails miserably. He huffs and runs a hand through his hair, saying, "You've got it in there pretty deep."

"I'm pretty good with sharp things," I warn him, freeing the fork with ease and rising to go to bed. I notice that Aelia must've snuck out of the dining room during my little rebellion. She's quiet; she can use that in the Games.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Wait," he says. "My name is Julius." He pauses and takes a sharp breath, quietly saying, "I'm so sorry that both you and your sister have to…compete against each other."

Julius's declaration of apology startles me, and I step backwards a little. Someone from the Capitol…apologizing on its behalf? After everything that has just happened as far as the Rebellion, most of which had nothing to do with my district, District 2? All of this is just too confusing. "Sorry?" I question in surprise.

"Yes," he starts, slipping a small muffin into my shirtsleeve. "Your district has always been very loyal to the Capitol. It hurts me that we have to punish such a civilized and trustworthy district."

"Oh…" I trail off. I don't let him know that I still don't like him. That I don't like anything associated with the Capitol. Not even their mahogany tables.

"I'll tell you what; you're going to get quite a few sponsors, handsome and strong boy like you."

I cross my arms defensively. Though I don't mind being put on display, if it's for my looks, I'm against it. I'd much rather be feared. "What about for me killing everyone else?"

"That too," he smiles. "Sponsors come in handy if you need food or supplies. They are supposed to supply the money to get you anything you need in case desperation. The more sponsors you have—"

I interrupt him in annoyance. "The more stuff I get. Right. I know. What about my sister?"

Julius's smile falls immediately, and I know by his expression that he has no hope for her. That I'm the one he's rooting for. It implies that no one should be expecting much from Aelia's sponsors. "I…well, I'll see what I can do, since I'll be getting you both sponsors."

"That's not good enough!" I scream, throwing the delicately crafted muffin he gave me across the room. "It has to be both of us, or none!"

He sighs and pats my shoulder again. "Like I said, I'll see what I can do. Her sponsors depend on how well she gets them to like her."

I smack his hand from my arm and storm off into my room. How am I going to keep her alive? More importantly, how am I going to stay alive? If I'm not alive to protect her, no one else will, and I will have failed both Aelia and my family. I begin to recall what my father whispered to me in the last minutes before I boarded the train to the Capitol yesterday. "Don't let her starve," he said passionately, almost to the point of anger as he gripped my face. "And don't you dare let her die."

Don't let her starve. Don't let her die. Don't let her starve. Don't let her die.

My mind snaps to the present as I find myself staring out the window at a new scene rather than just the barren landscape I had been accustomed to seeing for the last few hours: the tall, immeasurably high and grandiose buildings of the Capitol. I take in the buildings with a sick sense of awe. While we were dying in the Rebellion from starvation and war casualties, they were here crafting beautiful and strange buildings and perfecting their fashion-designing "skills." Gotta at least give them credit for rebounding so quickly.

We arrive in the train station as an odd crowd of eccentrically-dressed Capitol citizens gathers around the train. From the dining room, I hear Julius's excited cry of "Mr. and Miss Rallant, come greet the crowd!" Reluctantly, I fake a smile and step into the dining room to find Aelia already waving out the open window and making friends. And then it hits me. Maybe she does have something to be afraid of. She's always been very personable, so why can't she use that now when she needs it to get sponsors? How clever this charismatic little girl really is.

I smile genuinely for the first time in a while as we exit the train to go to the Remake Center. Protecting her may not be that hard. She's got quick wits and everyone loves her. Even my parents love her more than they love me. They were willing to sacrifice me, their oldest son, to keep her alive. "Don't let her starve. Don't let her die."

The blow of the realization of my parents' wish nearly knocks the wind out of me and almost sends me flying back into the train. My father didn't just mean to keep Aelia safe from the other tributes. He meant that if she and I are the last two tributes in the arena, let her live.

I'm supposed to die.