Kaelyn and I sit on the train, watching the Reapings. Brother and sister, 18 and 16, are called for District 1. A monstrous boy and a tiny girl are District 2's tributes. This angers me, because the girl cannot be over 13. The career pack won't want her. She doesn't stand a chance. But, to my admiration, she holds her head up high.
District 3 shows a pair of scrawny, pale tributes picked. The girl bursts into tears, and the boy is shaking like a leaf.
District 4 slides onto the screen. I see myself, cold and bored, stride up to the stage, staring defiantly out at the crowd. The breeze plays with my blonde hair as Kaelyn is called. The cameras zoom in on him, as he walks up to the stage. Is that... Is that wild happiness on his face?
I shoot him a curious glance, and his cheeks redden as he pretends not to notice my eyes on him. I shrug, and turn back to the television.
The only other tribute who catches my eye is a dark-haired blue-eyed girl from 10. She looks to be about 15, and her legs and arms are muscled and lean.
The truth hits me with a shock. All of these tributes must die, if I am to live.
In other words. They all must die.
Kaelyn turns to me as the train pulls into the station. For the first time, I see the blind panic in his eyes. I flash him a reassuring smile, then frown. What happened to hating one another? What happened to being enemies?
And then I realise. Only one of us came come out alive. Only one of us can reverse this journey. The odds are, neither of us will. And in this new, unknown, terrifying world, we only have each other.
Taking a deep breath, I take his hand. His eyes widen, but he doesn't pull away. He knows that this is for his benefit, and I can see the gratitude in his eyes.
We step out of the train, the bizarre capitol audience screaming. When they see our clasped hands, their screams multiply as they stretch out their hands, all hoping to touch some part of us. Us. When did "me" become "us"?
As we enter the building, I realise I have to let go of Kaelyn's hand.
I realise I don't want to.
His hand is warm and rough, comforting in mine. All too soon, he pulls it away.
"We still hate each other, right?" he asks, slowly. I nod vigorously.
"Sure."