Thanks to piepin for the review. You're awesome! Next chapter is sorta filler, so hang with me.

My brain only restarted after everyone had filed out of the main square, the mayor had gotten off the stage and headed back home, and only Rome, Pendant, and I were left alone in the dirty square. Even then, I could only think about the future, dwelling on the extremely realistic images it conjured up for my viewing.

Pendant seemed much more relaxed now that the crowds had left. She breathes a sigh of relief and sits heavily in the rickety wooden chair next to us. Rome still hasn't let go of my hand, for which I am thankful.

Pendant daps a thick serum, looking almost like glue, on her forehead, giving a few extra puffs before she looks up at us with her yellow pendant eyes.

She smiles, still shaky. "Yes, well, I'm Hauna Gridley, if you didn't catch that. I'll be your representative for this year's Games." She doesn't look too excited about being assigned 12, that's for sure. Next to me, Rome tightens his grip, and I can tell that he's trying to mask his anger under a smooth blank façade. I squeeze back. For a moment, I'm glad he's with me. Then I remind myself that one of us, maybe both, will be dead by next week.

Hauna fiddles with her hair for another moment, until she looks up and says, "Um, we'll give you a moment to say…goodbye. And gather a few things." She hands both of us thin mess bags. "Anything that can fit in here and isn't a weapon or food is fine."

Gale immediately drops my carving into the bottom, and I watch as the bag slowly revolves back in forth.

Rome lets go of my hand and starts to walk off the stage. I follow, tripping down the steps. Hauna calls after us, "Be back before sundown!" We both ignore her.

I know that Rome is waiting until we're alone to talk, and so am I. I walk beside him until we reach the divide of our streets, far away from Hauna and her jittery personality.

As I look into Rome's face, so decisive, so set in stone, I start to become angry. It doesn't matter if we promised to be friends always, he shouldn't have done that. He took away my last piece of mind.

"Why?" I hiss at him, wringing the neck of my mesh bag, and keeping my eyes focusing on his unwaveringly. This always made him uncomfortable, ever since he told me that my eyes when I'm mad look like a hawks. He shifts his gaze to his own bag, but doesn't change his expression.

"Because I keep my promises," he said, voice hard. His gaze flickers up for a moment. "We'll get through this together, Philla. We always talked about it being this way."

I to remember sitting next to the television with him, as young as four, chewing my fingernails, but not dare cheering on the 12 tributes. They always died in the first few days, if not the bloodbath. It hurt too much to give them hope, even if they couldn't hear me. But we were going to survive, we told each other. We would do it together.

"It was stupid, Rome," I yell back at him, my emotions and thoughts finally fully returning to me, coming back in a flood of anger. I draw myself up on my toes and try my best to keep eye-level. "You think it's just some game, don't you? Do you think they doctor it up for your enjoyment? No! Everything is real and we don't stand a chance against any of the other tributes! They've been trained since they were born! And what are we? Nothing. We have families, Rome. Did you think about them?"

I know I hit him where it most hurt. His face breaks free from the mask, revealing hurt and pain. At once I feel guilty, but I push it down.

"Well?" I ask.

He just shakes his head, seeming unable to think of the words I knew he wanted desperately to scream at me. He swallows, and looks away.

"I know, Philla. That's why I didn't want you to be alone."

The guilt comes back, and I know I can't get rid of it, since it's righteous and true.

"Come on, let's get our stuff," I mutter. "Before Hauna has a nervous breakdown."

He flashes a small smile, then goes to his house, where he is immediately greeted by his sobbing family, who grab at him and yank him inside.

My family is less flamboyant about there grief. When I enter the house, the kitchen is empty, but I can hear them sobbing in the adjoining room.

As I walk in, they all look up. Mama is crying into her hands, her tear-streaked face looking crumpled with grief. Kona is crying because he sees Mama crying, and my father has a secure hand around his waist to make sure he doesn't fall off the bed.

Mama flies up and hugs me tightly, stroking my hair. She sits me down on the bed and onto her lap, making me feel like a child again.

"Philla, Philla, Philla," she croons in between sobs, still petting my hair. "You're so brave, baby, so brave."

I didn't feel brave, but her words made me want to be. So I rest my hand on top of hers. "It's okay Mama. It's okay." I put my other on Kona's shoulder. "It's okay, Kona. You don't have to cry."

He stops immediately, nestling into the crook of my arm. "Philly," he says, smiling. I try my best to smile back.

This makes Mama cry harder, snatching Kona and hugging him too.

"Dad?" I ask hesitantly. He looks up, face still stoic. "Can I talk to you in private?"

He gets up, and I stand up with him. Mom doesn't seem to notice. She's still clutching Kona and crying.

He closes the door behind him, then looks at me, waiting, his own hawk eyes wary.

I match his gaze. "I'm not coming back."

His face doesn't change. "I know."

"Rome has to win."

"I know."

His answer's were making me frustrated. "It's the only way!"

He takes my hand and squeezes, and there's a look in his eyes that I've never seen before. He leans forward until our faces are level.

"I know, Philla," he whispers, kissing my forehead. "But look out for yourself." I look up in confusion. "These things sometimes work out in ways you would never expect." There's a glint in his eyes as he takes the bag out of my limp hands and examines it.

"Why don't you go pack? I'll stay with your mother." He gives me a long look, then turns on his heels and strides through the door.

A tear drops from my eye and slithers down my cheek, but I don't cry anymore. His words make me feel stronger, somehow.

I root through the house, looking for the few prized positions I have. A picture of me and Rome from when we were little, my grandmother's red silk scarf from the Capitol, an old, long feather that my father gave me, and a royal blue stone that Rome had told me he would put on a chain for me one day.

The bag is still half empty, but I can't think of anything else that matters, so I say my last goodbye's, accept the hugs, and walk to the street, where Rome's already waiting for me.

"Ready?" he asks.

I shake my head. "But do I really have a choice?"

He contemplates that for a moment, but doesn't say anything. We head down the street in silence.