Pre-Author's Note:

Forgot to put this in the Author's Note for last week's chapter, so putting it here.

Many of the Hunger Games elements in this story borrow from two of my all-time favorite Hunger Games fan fiction stories — The Victors Project by Oisin55 and Cheating Death: Those That Lived by CragmiteBlaster. They're both stories that explore (fictional) Victors from the previous seventy-three Hunger Games before Katniss and Peeta's, with compelling worldbuilding woven through to bring more life to the original trilogy (both were, coincidentally, published before Songbirds and Snakes, by the way). I totally recommend you read these stories if you have the time (and if you don't they both have TV Tropes pages that could summarize things for you).

Secondly, I haven't read A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (for those of you unaware, it's a prequel novel exploring the Start of Darkness of Coriolanus Snow, the main villain of the original trilogy and the President of Panem by Katniss and Peeta's time) or watched the movie (which came out last month). So some elements of the Hunger Games half of the story may contradict what was established in that story.

Finally, the TV Tropes page has been published! I will put the link on the AO3 version. For those of you on FFN who don't want to venture there, you can find the link to the story on both the Arrowverse and Hunger Games respective Fan Works pages.

Laurel

Six Years Later

Come on. Just get on with it already.

But the clock didn't listen to Laurel, like always. It just ticked away at that snail-like pace that was driving her and the rest of her classmates insane. Laurel was just about ready to throw her pen at the door and have at it, and only the fear of being detained and stuck in school even longer stopped her. She'd endure. All those exercises in patience that Sandra had forced her through had to be good for something, after all.

Five minutes later, that ending bell rang, and the entire classroom was filled with unrest as everyone tried to leave as quickly as possible. Their teacher shouted over the crowd, reminding them of the homework they'd have to complete the day after tomorrow that they'd all probably forget until the last minute. Laurel dutifully jotted it down in her planner, just in case.

When she got outside into the halls, she could hear the entire school was abuzz with anxiety, fear, and, in the case of the oldest kids, excitement. She wasn't surprised. Tomorrow was Reaping Day, after all.

My last Reaping Day, to be exact, Laurel thought, and she felt a shiver of that excitement the rest of her age group had to be feeling. If she made it through tomorrow, she'd officially age out. She'd never have to worry about going into the Games again and could finally be free to live out the rest of her life — as much as anyone could in an outer district in Panem.

The euphoria she felt at that thought was only tampered with by the reminder that the Reaping hadn't come and passed yet. She had her name in the bowl twenty-eight times this year, thanks to the tesserae she needed to take out for her and her family. It was not nearly as bad as many of her classmates, some of whom had their names in the bowl hundreds of times thanks to the multiplier being vastly unkind to those with large families, but it was still worrying.

And, of course, Sara. Laurel might be free by the end of tomorrow, but Sara would still have to go through the Reaping for another three years. And if the worst happened, if she were actually reaped, Laurel wouldn't be able to take her place. Just the thought of that suddenly made her wish tomorrow would never come.

As if to remind her of that, she found Sara waiting for them at their usual place by the fence. Despite her dark thoughts, Laurel couldn't help but perk up at the sight of her baby sister, her best friend in the entire world. Sara similarly brightened when she saw Laurel and the two sisters exchanged a quick hug.

"Ready to go home?" The younger girl asked as they let each other go.

Laurel sighed. "Yeah. Let's go."

Usually, they'd go to Wildcat Gym to train under Sandra (who had insisted they drop the 'Miss' now that they were older), but that wasn't possible today. Uncle Ted and their teacher had given the sisters the day off and closed down the gym in preparation for the Reaping tomorrow. Laurel knew them well enough that the two Victors were probably heading to the nearest bar to get drunk — they always did every year. Their traumatic memories of the Games and all the children they had failed to save over the years weighed on both of them. Even Sandra could never hide her melancholy the closer Reaping Day and the year's Hunger Games approached.

And then, of course, there was what came after the Reaping Ceremony. They'd be off to the Capitol tomorrow, whisking away two more poor kids to their probable deaths. If that were Laurel's job every year, she'd find the nearest bar to get plastered, too.

"Do you think Mom will be home when we get there?" Sara asked hopefully as they trudged down the street to their house. Many children were out, the younger ones rushing home to be with their families on the off-chance it would be their last time together. Then there were the older kids, who were getting ready to celebrate aging out of the Reaping, either by getting drunk, getting laid, harassing the Peacekeepers, or all three of the above.

"She should be," Laurel answered, absentmindedly kicking a can down the road. "It's Reaping Day tomorrow. Even the overseers have enough of a heart to let them go early today." Otherwise, it fostered resentment, and too much resentment led to rebellion. And at any sign of rebellion, the Capitol tended to find everyone even tangentially involved and cut their heads off to get the message across — even when that person was someone working in service of them.

What a fucked up world we live in, the older girl thought wearily.

Sure enough, when they got home, their mother was there. A lot less tired than she usually was, though Laurel had to wonder how much of that had to do with the shorter hours for today and how much of that had to do with the extra food they could now afford. Things had been slightly easier since Sara reached Reaping age and was allowed to take out tesserae for the family. With almost all of Laurel's earned rations going to their mother, Sara's rations could provide for the sisters when money was tight. They no longer had to go to sleep hungry, and they could afford a little more warmth at night. The fear of having to one day live in the Community Home was no longer a lingering, ever-present possibility.

Not that Laurel had called it a blessing when she found out. The horrible row she had with Sara after she learned her younger sister had gone behind her back to sign up for tesserae was still a vivid and unpleasant memory in her mind. The idea of Sara increasing her chances of having to enter the Games would never sit right with Laurel, no matter how much it might seem necessary for them to survive out of them. She could stomach having to sign up for tesserae because she was the oldest and it was her duty to care for Sara when their mother could barely care for them. To her, having to enter the Games just meant one less mouth to feed for all of them.

But Sara… she was the baby of the family. Just the thought of her in the arena made her sick to her stomach. It brought to mind the near-miscarriage all those years ago that nearly killed both her and their mother. If Dad and Uncle Ted had just been a few minutes too late to the hospital, Sara wouldn't even be here, and that was a miracle in itself. To have her here against all the odds, only for her to condemn herself to a young death in the Capitol's sick pageantry of death? Laurel couldn't fathom it.

Yet, Sara was persuasive and every bit as Lance stubborn as Laurel was. Laurel's rations were no longer enough to sustain all three of them now that the girls were growing bigger and older. They needed that grain and oil if they were going to survive long enough to age out of the Reaping to begin with. And if Laurel did, God forbid, end up reaped, Sara would need to take out tesserae anyway. No matter how much they wished otherwise, there was no way out of it.

It was the one argument Laurel couldn't win. So, she let it go in exchange for a compromise. When Laurel aged out of the Reaping, graduated from school, and got a paying job, Sara was to stop taking out tesserae for her. She could take out tesserae for herself and their mother but not for Laurel. Instead, Laurel's new wage would cover the loss of that extra ration of tesserae plus the tesserae rations she used to take out herself on the family's behalf. Therefore, when Sara's name went into the Reaping Bowl next year, it would be fifteen times instead of twenty, shifting the odds slightly more in her favor.

Sara had to be pleaded with and cajoled but Laurel had that Lance stubbornness too, and she eventually gave in. When she did, Laurel couldn't deny the unimaginable amount of relief that overcame her. She'd have to go through three agonizing years of watching Sara stand in that crowd, knowing there was still a possibility that she could be Reaped and that there was nothing Laurel could do to stop it anymore. At least she would know (on the off-chance it did happen) she did everything she could to ensure it wouldn't.

Laurel even already had a job lined up. Years and years of putting everything she had into getting the best grades at school had finally paid off. She had gotten in line for a clerkship at one of the factories. Decent enough pay, and she wouldn't have to slave away as a seamstress like Mom. There was no way they could afford to have to support two strung-out blue-collar workers. They wouldn't survive.

And that was what Laurel wanted most in the world. For her family to survive. That's all you could ask for in a world like theirs.

Before she could think any more of those solemn, overly-philosophical thoughts, that stupidly loud, ear-piercing doorbell rang, and Laurel decided then and there that the first thing she was going to save up money for was a replacement for that damn buzzer. With another sigh, she went to the door and opened it.

Who she saw on the other side made her blink. "Dad?"

Quentin Lance smiled, lifting one of the plastic bags he was carrying. "Hi, honey. Mind if I come in?"

"Sure, but what are you doing here?" Laurel asked, stepping aside to let her father in with a half-hug. "I thought you still had your shift tonight?"

"Called in a favor with Nudocerdo to get tonight off," he answered, waving her question off. "And since I got my pay forwarded to me early in celebration of the Games, I thought I'd get us a treat to celebrate you aging out of the Reaping."

He headed over to the dining table to greet his younger daughter and lover before setting the bags on the table and taking out the contents. Laurel nearly gasped when she saw what he'd gotten: bread. Not the tesserae rations they subsisted on, but real, warm bakery bread. And the other bag had meat, actual meat, from the butcher! Laurel couldn't even remember the last time she had meat other than a tiny morsel of three-day-old chicken she got as part of the school's free lunch program. And the only thing Uncle Ted and Sandra let them eat (well, drink) at the gym were water and these weird protein shakes they swore by. Laurel and Sara, unfortunately, were in no position to refuse them.

Upon seeing what they had, Dinah fired up the skillet and grilled the meat (beef, to be exact) until it was cooked through. They brought out the knife to slice the bread into thick, hearty slices, and Quentin took out some condiments he had picked up from the general store. The sisters learned a little bit about some of the different kinds of sandwiches they make in the Capitol, the kind their father grew up with as they make their meal, and they feasted through the night in honor of Laurel's impending freedom. It was everything Laurel could ask for and more.

Surviving might've been all they had to aspire to, but that made those brief moments of happiness they could find all the more meaningful. And through that, there was only one truth — if Laurel's family could live something close to this for the rest of their lives, that would be enough for her. That would be enough to make her happy.

Oliver

"You're going into the Games tomorrow!"

Oliver winced at the shrill voice piercing his ear before sighing, watching as his little sister continued dancing around the room in excitement. "My big brother is going to be a Victor! My big brother is going to be a Victor!" Thea happily chanted, pumping her fists into the air.

"Speedy, I might go into the Games tomorrow," Oliver reminded her. "I still need to beat four other boys in the foot race, remember?"

Thea waved him off. "You're the strongest and fastest student in your year," she claimed. "You'll beat them easily, then you'll be a tribute and enter the Games, and you'll win. It's that simple, Ollie. Be more confident!"

At that, her brother sighed. Meanwhile, their parents, watching the scene in amusement, decided to finally intervene. "Alright, alright, Thea," Moira stepped in, crossing her arms. "It's time to go to bed. Your brother is going to need all his rest for tomorrow. You don't want to be the reason he lost the race and doesn't get to be this year's tribute, right?"

Those words caused Thea to freeze. Then she shot out of the living room like a rocket, bolting towards her room. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

Oliver merely shook his head at the sight before turning to his parents. "I guess that's my cue to go to bed too?"

Next to his wife, Robert nodded. "Yup. We want you to get up bright and early for the Reaping Ceremony. There's a lot of strategy we'll need to talk about, and you need to be alert when it's time to make the run to the stage."

"Right," Oliver said, nodding.

Robert and Moira smiled, and the latter gently brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. "We're proud of you, Oliver," she said. "It takes a lot of work to get where you are now, but you managed it. Now, all you need to do is win the race, and then the real fun can begin."

Fun. Right, Oliver thought with a slight turn in his stomach. He promptly ignored it and smiled anyway, giving his parents hugs before heading to bed.

After a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Oliver settled under his covers and turned off the lights. However, despite his best efforts, he couldn't sleep just yet. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts centered on what was happening tomorrow — and beyond. After six long years, he was finally going to enter the Games. God willing, he would be a Victor, just like his parents.

Where did the time go? It felt like he had been starting his first year at the Academy only yesterday, and now here he was, on the first step to claiming the glory he had been reaching for so long. By midday tomorrow, he would be the male tribute for District One for the 70th Hunger Games. His skin was practically thrumming with so much anticipation that it felt like his heart was about to burst out of his body. That was how excited he was.

It hadn't been easy to claim first place in his year and get the spot closest to the stage. His class's crop of potential tributes had been the strongest and most vicious yet. Those in the Hunger Games track who managed to make it to the last year always were; they were the ones who were able to stomach all the blood, gore, and death in the Games while still striving to be their best and enduring all the "tests" their teachers and trainers put them through up and including the most crucial test of all: seeing if they had that killer instinct to do what needed to be done in the Games.

Oliver couldn't help but flinch when he remembered that test and the man he had been instructed to kill only mere weeks ago. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, and it took all of his strength not to lose himself afterward. But he had managed it and passed the test with flying colors. The fact that Stanley Dover had been an infamous serial killer who had killed dozens of innocents had helped.

But it'll be different in the Games. You won't be killing criminals there, that insidious, unhelpful voice in his head reminded him, accompanied by that equally unforgiving flicker of doubt. Oliver quickly squashed it down like usual, reminding himself it was necessary. This was just how the Games were, the price they paid to keep the peace in Panem. Children might be dying, but they were dying for a greater cause.

Besides, it was already too late to back down now. This was something he had been training for all his life. His parents had talked for years about how he would be a Victor one day, and Thea was already bouncing off the walls at the thought. None of them were going to accept him faltering now.

In the end, it was as his little sister said. He was going to win the race tomorrow, he was going to enter the Games, and he was going to win. Oliver couldn't afford to do any less.

When he woke up the following morning, Oliver found his outfit for the ceremony on the chair in front of his desk. Reaping etiquette dictated that all potential tributes dress their best for the ceremony. However, the reality was that the usual formal clothing was not particularly helpful when it came to District One's volunteer run. Thankfully, his parents had many beneficial connections thanks to years of working with the best stylists in the industry. They had commissioned clothes for him that were designed to give every advantage possible for this day: a breathable shirt and jacket, running shoes tastefully designed to look like dress shoes with an excellent grip to keep him balanced and stable, and loose pants for easy movement. Combined with the best position in the pen, a consequence of being the highest-scoring male student of his year, all the odds were in his favor. He just needed to take advantage of it.

It would be easy to lose, though, that stupid voice reminded him as he dressed. Just be a step slower. No one will think twice about it. You just weren't fast enough. It just wasn't meant to be. The district might mock you for a bit about losing your chance at the glory your parents had, of being stuck in their shadows, but they'll forget it soon enough. You could live out the rest of your life in peace.

It was all too convincing, but Oliver ignored it like always, along with the twist in his heart. He ate breakfast and kept himself hydrated. And when it was time for the Reaping Ceremony, he stood in line like everyone else to get registered before he went to his designated spot in the pen: near the side exit, in the front—the closest place to the stage.

And finally, when the call for volunteers came, he ran.

He ran and ran and only let himself falter and fall behind briefly before speeding up again with one final burst of energy. He dodged Max Fuller's last desperate lunge and kicked him off the stage before being the first to touch the Reaping Bowl. As his now former classmates slunk off behind him in defeat, Oliver put on his best smile as their district's escort raised his arm and introduced him to the roaring crowd.

It was done. He was going into the arena. And no matter what it took, he would come out of it as a Victor.

It was the only conclusion he was willing to accept.

Laurel

Laurel hummed to herself as she headed to the station for the eighteen-year-old girls. A long line was forming, a gaggle of excited and nervous females whispering animatedly to each other. There was a strange dichotomy when you were in your last year of Reaping eligibility. On one hand, that was when your odds were at their worst and when you were at your likeliest of being picked as a tribute for the Games. On the other hand, if you weren't chosen and managed to survive the Reaping, you were free. You had a future again, and nothing in the world was more exciting than that.

She gave her blood and thumbprint with practiced ease before heading to her designated pen. As always, the oldest kids were given the back of the crowd so they couldn't obscure the views of any of the younger ones. The Capitol called it a shame, while they just considered it another perk of being closer to aging out. Laurel tried to get a spot as close to the back as possible as always, and nearby, one of her classmates whispered, "Good luck," to her. She returned the sentiment with a nod and a "You too."

Once settled in, she turned to the front and scanned the rest of the crowd, searching for where the fifteen-year-olds were. Sara and she spotted each other immediately, and Laurel's heart tightened. "I love you," she mouthed to her sister, a sentence Sara mouthed back with just as much affection. They tried to keep eye contact as long as they could, but then the anthem began to play, and they had no choice but to turn their attention back to the stage. The ceremony was about to start.

After six years of Reaping Ceremonies, Laurel was well-versed in the art of tuning out the repetitive speeches that the mayor was legally obligated to spew for the cameras. When he started on the Treaty of Treason, she made a game of it by silently reciting the document word-by-word with him, much to the amusement of many of the people near her. Just like her, they were just about done with this whole routine.

Only when Susan Williams, perky and ecstatic for another Hunger Games, made her way to the front of the stage did Laurel start paying serious attention again. And as always, it took Laurel all of her self-control not to glare at her. God, she hated that woman.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Susan chirped into the microphone. "Now, before we get on with choosing this year's tributes, how about a change of pace this year? I know we always start with the girls, but I feel that isn't fair to the boys, always having to wait like that. So, I figured we would choose the male tribute first this year! How does that sound?"

Stony silence greeted her. Laurel basked in it.

"I'll take that as a yes," Susan continued, seemingly wholly unbothered by the lack of response. "Alright then, let's see who it is!" With that, she headed to the Reaping Bowls and began to sift through the names.

After an eternity, she pulled one out and flipped the folded-up paper open. "Cyrus Vanch" echoed throughout the entire Town Square.

And just like that, all of District Eight fell into disbelieving silence. One could practically hear a pin drop. Laurel's mouth fell open, and her eyes grew wide.

"There is a god," someone near her breathed out.

It was silent… and then the district erupted into wild cheers.

Laurel felt a massive grin spread across her face as she, along with everyone in her age group, turned towards the direction of the other side of the crowd, where the boys were standing. A slim, sleazy-looking young man bullied his way to the waiting Peacekeepers, ignoring all the amused jeers from the other boys present. He even pushed one of the boys to the ground, ignoring how the other audibly and visibly laughed at him while mockingly waving him goodbye.

When he mounted the stage, Cyrus Vanch was already sneering at the crowd and flipping them the bird. Unable to hide her bewilderment, Susan gave him the microphone and asked him to introduce himself. "Why? You already said my name," he threw back into her face.

Susan's smile turned a little fixed. "Well, it's common courtesy. Your district seems to love you very much."

That got her a hysterical bout of laughter from the new tribute. "Oh, you could say that," Vanch replied with a savage grin. "And they'll love me even more when I return in a month, their newest Victor. You hear me, District Eight? This isn't the end, not by a long shot! You'll never be free of me!"

He gave the crowd the double deuce for good measure. That turned all those wild cheers into voracious, hostile boos and insults as frowns and scowls dotted every face present. Laurel was one of those people. After all, she knew Cyrus Vanch. Everyone in the district did.

A lifetime ago, Cyrus Vanch had been one of the many street urchins living in the Community Home. The Community Home being what it was, Vanch had decided he had better chances of survival elsewhere and bounced when he was around twelve to join one of District Eight's local criminal enterprises. Starting as a mere courier, he quickly proved himself capable and whip-smart, impressing his boss enough to promote him to be a dealer and eventually an enforcer.

That proved to be a massive mistake. Vanch's old boss was dead within two years, with the entire operation under the fourteen-year-old's control. The rest of the district's underworld proved to be just as foolish, and most of them soon found themselves cannibalized and quickly subsumed under his leadership before the rest finally got a clue and signed treaties or swore fealty or both. Since then, Vanch had been terrorizing the district with impunity, demanding protection money from even the humblest storefronts in the Town Square and running drugs through the poorer neighborhoods as "alternative" medicines.

Any who tried to defy him was quickly made an example of, whether it was through wholesale murder or something more cruel like mutilation, torture, or even rape. It didn't even have to be a big offense — something as simple as accidentally bumping into his girlfriend Vivian's shoulder warranted unforgiving retribution. Laurel had known one such girl, and she had to get a back alley abortion thanks to Vanch sending one of his enforcers to "rough her up" in retaliation.

The worst part was that the Peacekeepers refused to do anything about him, despite several of them, including Laurel's father, clearly wanting to. It was an open secret that Brian Nudocerdo, District Eight's Head Peacekeeper, was in Vanch's pocket. Rumor had it that a quarter of Vanch's sizeable revenue went to him. There was no way he would give that up, not when he was stationed in a backwater district like theirs with a comparatively lower salary than his counterparts in the other districts. His pride and greed wouldn't allow it.

Perhaps Uncle Ted and the rest of the Victors could have done something about Vanch's stranglehold over the district, but despite heavily disliking the crime lord, none of them ever tried. Sara had asked why, once, after the abortion incident, and they revealed it was because they feared increased scrutiny from the Capitol on the district if they intervened. "That never ends well," Uncle Ted had stated gruffly with a dark look in his eyes, and both Sandra and Mister Alan had agreed, equally grim. It had been an unnerving enough sight on its own, which was why neither of the sisters argued with them on it.

After some more back-and-forth between Vanch and the rest of the district, the crowd began to quiet down, allowing Susan to go ahead and ask for volunteers. Unsurprisingly, there were none. Laurel wondered how many of Vanch's lieutenants planned to take over their soon-to-be-dead boss's empire. They wouldn't do it as long as Vanch was alive on the off-chance that he (and here Laurel shuddered) won the Games, but the moment he died in the arena and the Games were over, it would all be free game. Laurel fully expected a bloodbath and was not looking forward to it. The only silver lining to the situation was that it could convince Nudocerdo to finally do his job and take them all in.

"Very well then," Susan continued once no one came forward. "Time for the girls!"

Laurel rolled her eyes and patiently waited. Like always, the escort tried to make a show of it, rummaging her hand through the slips of paper and trying to build up anticipation for those waiting and watching at home. Just as the frustration built to the point that someone looked ready to scream at her to get on with it, Susan finally plucked a name from the bowl and read it.

She didn't hear anything at first. Not a single word. All Laurel saw was Susan's mouth moving, but not a single word coming out. She blinked and wondered when everything went silent. Had she suddenly gone deaf?

It was only when she noticed the other girls in her pen moving away from her with wide eyes and the sound of the Peacekeepers marching up to her that the realization hit.

"Laurel Drake."

My name. She said my name.

One of the Peacekeepers gently took her by the arm, and Laurel glanced at him, startled. It was Lucas Hilton, her father's best friend and partner. He gave her a sympathetic look as he tugged at her, silently ordering her to follow. Unable to think and still processing what was going on, Laurel mindlessly did just that, her feet moving automatically.

They were about halfway to the stage when a shout stopped them. "LAUREL!"

Sara, Laurel thought with horror, whirling around to see her little sister pushing past several of their peers to chase after her. The younger woman slid into the small path that separated the two crowds of boys and girls, hands fisted at her side so tightly that it was surprising her nails hadn't dug into the skin yet. Sara panted as she stopped, staring directly at Laurel with all the desperation in the world.

And in that moment, Laurel knew what she was going to do.

As Sara's hand slowly twitched up to volunteer, Laurel lunged forward, adrenaline rushing in her as she broke through the ranks of her Peacekeeper escort. In an instant, she was in front of Sara, one hand clasped tightly over her mouth to keep her from speaking and the other holding her wrists together so she couldn't raise either of her arms.

Sara's eyes blew wide open, growing red as they rimmed with tears. Laurel's eyes were shiny, but she used all her willpower to hold back from crying. She needed to be strong here, for both of them. "No, Sara," she whispered harshly. "No. If it has to be one of us, it has to be me."

That did absolutely nothing to convince her sister. If anything, that only caused Sara to struggle even more. She did everything she could to force away Laurel's hold, from biting at Laurel's fingers to trying to pull her arms away. But Laurel refused to budge until another Peacekeeper appeared — their father.

Laurel could see beneath his visor how anguished Quentin looked, but to his credit, he remained silent as he gently wrapped his arms around Sara's form. His hand replaced Laurel's on his youngest daughter's mouth as he half-pulled, half-carried the younger girl away. Sara began to scream, the sound muffled but still audible throughout the now-silent square.

After watching her family go, Laurel took a moment to wipe away the tears in her eyes before taking a deep breath. Putting on the bravest face she could, she turned around and returned to her waiting escort, marching to the stage and ignoring all the stares thrown her way. As she walked up the stairs, she saw the muted shock and horror on the faces of both Uncle Ted and Mister Alan. Only Sandra kept her composure, but Laurel knew her well enough to see the slight trembling of her lips, the only sign of her distress.

"Why, aren't you a pretty one," Susan complimented her when they were face to face.

Swallowing, Laurel nodded. "Thank you," she said in a steady voice.

"Mind if I ask who that girl was?"

Yes, very much. "My little sister, Sara."

"Ah!" Susan's expression turned light. "Didn't want her to steal all the glory, did you?"

Laurel refused to dignify that statement with any response. Instead, she gave the older woman a pained smile and remained silent. Oblivious as ever, Susan cheerfully turned to face the crowd and went through the standard introduction. Then she asked for volunteers, and there were none, to Laurel's vast relief. It seemed Dad had managed to keep Sara from going through with her plan to take Laurel's place.

Susan clapped her hands. "Very well then. Here are our tributes for District Eight! Now, time to shake hands."

With great reluctance, Laurel turned to her district partner to do as instructed. She had done everything she could to block out the fact that she'd be going into the Hunger Games with Cyrus Vanch, but now that the Reaping Ceremony was almost over, it was unavoidable. Doing her best to keep herself steady and refusing to show weakness, she looked Vanch directly in the eye as she stuck her hand out. That only caused Vanch to smirk, and he grabbed her palm tight, giving it a firm shake.

After they let go, the anthem of Panem began to play as all the screens shut down. The Reaping Ceremony was over. Laurel found herself quickly ushered into the Justice Building by Susan and turned her head just in time to capture one last look at her home before the doors shut closed.

Tributes got one hour of free time with their friends and family before being sent to the Capitol in the Tribute Train. Laurel was directed to a separate room from Vanch, an opulent setting with more expensive furnishings than her entire house and everything in it. She allowed herself a minute or two to look around before settling on a plush, red velvet couch, trying to keep herself together.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door finally opened. Laurel only had a moment to prepare before she had a wailing Sara bolting into her arms, their mother quick behind her. As she melted into their embraces, she spied the Peacekeeper escorting them closing the door behind him instead of leaving. He then removed his helmet to reveal her tearful father, and only then did Laurel finally find it in herself to let go of all of her self-control and cry.

It's not like she could cry when she got on the train and to the Capitol. That would make her look weak. And if she looked vulnerable, that would make her a target for people like Vanch or the Careers. She'd draw them in like a fly to honey, and that would be the end of her, and why oh why did she tempt fate last night by having that celebration with her family? Stupid, stupid. Laurel should've known this would happen — the little people like them weren't allowed to be so happy. That was how this cruel world of theirs worked.

They stayed huddled together for God knows how long, and if Laurel had it her way, they'd stay like this forever. But the very fact they were here at all was proof she wasn't going to have it her way, and that was what gave her the strength to pull away from her loved ones. She wiped away her tears and focused on Sara, cupping her sister's face. "No more tesserae."

Sara's mouth dropped open.

"You won't need it anymore," Laurel continued. "Once I'm gone—"

"No. No. I won't need it anymore because you're going to come home a Victor, alright? You'll be rich and have a house in Victor's Village where we'll live with you. We'll never have to starve again."

"Sara, there are twenty-four of us. Only one of us can come home—"

"And that's going to be you!" Her sister all but screamed.

Laurel fell silent, stunned. Sara pulled away from her grasp to stand up, putting her hands on her older sister's shoulders. "You can win, Laurel," Sara insisted. "You're not like the others. You're not a normal outlier. Unlike them, you know how to fight."

It was the first time they had ever alluded to their training with Uncle Ted and Sandra out loud. That wasn't to say their parents didn't know about their training. It just wasn't something they discussed. Both of their teachers insisted it'd be a secret, after all, and it was only when the girls were older that they began to suspect the real reason why.

If Laurel had to choose a single moment where it all hit for her, it had been when she turned fourteen, and Sandra took her on a secret training trip on a late Friday night, a week after her birthday. And by "secret training trip," Laurel meant Sandra took her to the dirtiest, seediest part of the district, found a small-time fight club that somehow managed to keep under the radar from Vanch, and signed her up for a match against her will. Before Laurel knew it, she found herself locked up in a cage with some thug twice her size and told by her teacher to fight for her life.

She'd won in the end. But it had been hard. Practicing katas and the occasional spar was nothing compared to the real thing, and it took Laurel a bit to find that fundamental killer instinct she needed to utilize her training to its fullest. By the time it was over, Laurel had two bruises on her face, a bloody nose, and a sore body, but she'd won. Sandra treated her initial wounds and brought her to the gym, where Uncle Ted treated the rest. He didn't even bother asking where they were, and that's when Laurel realized that he knew where they'd gone and probably had before they'd even left. Then she'd be sent home with a ready excuse for her family, a lie that tasted like ash on her tongue.

And then, one month later, they did it again. And again and again, until Laurel could crush every person in that club without so much as a cut on her person. Then, they found another one and another one and did it again and again. When Laurel finally gathered the courage to ask why Sandra was making her do this, the older woman told her it was so she would know "what it was like to truly fight someone."

It didn't make sense at first. She saw the point of having experience defending herself, but an actual fight was a bit much. It wasn't until that year's Hunger Games, where the District Seven male tribute, a big lumbering brute with all strength and size in the world, lost and died to the eventual Victor, a tiny girl with black hair and only a knife, did she understand why. Because while he might've been big, tall, and strong, he didn't know how to fight. The swings of his axe were wild and clumsy, and he didn't know how to move, cut off the girl's space, and keep her movement limited.

That's when it hit. Uncle Ted and Sandra had not been training Sara and her in "self-defense." They had been preparing them for the Games. The only reason they would do that when it was officially illegal everywhere and unofficially for all but the Career Districts would be because they thought Laurel and Sara might be in the Games. The implication had been haunting, and Laurel had done everything she could to put it out of her mind. They were just being paranoid, she told herself. It would never happen, she said.

Until it did.

"Even more than that, Laurel," Sara's words echoed, cutting through the memories like a hot knife. "You're smart. You learn quickly. That's your greatest strength. Use that, and you can win."

Laurel swallowed and remained silent. Sara's expression crumpled. "At least promise me you'll try," she begged.

Whenever Sara put on a face like that, Laurel was powerless to say no. She slowly nodded. "I promise," she spoke out loud to show her sincerity.

Sara's lips trembled at that, and she pulled Laurel into another fierce hug that her sister quickly returned. After staying like that for a bit, she stepped away so Dinah could do the same, running a hand through Laurel's long blonde hair. "My brave, strong girl," she whispered, burying her head into Laurel's shoulder.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Everyone in the room froze, and Quentin sighed. He put his helmet back on and gently pulled his lover away from their daughter before helping Laurel up from her seat on the couch. After giving her a brief hug of his own, he went to the door and opened it, revealing another Peacekeeper — Lucas.

"It's time," her father's best friend announced, solemn.

It sounded like a death knell. Laurel's father gripped her arm firmly as he guided her forward, and she finally glanced back at her sister and mother before following him. They marched out of the Justice Building to a car, which quickly drove them to the train station. Everyone else awaited them: Vanch, the Victors, and their escort.

The next, possibly final, chapter of her life was about to begin. Laurel felt Quentin slide his arm down to grasp and squeeze her hand. She briefly squeezed back before finally letting go.

"Come, come," Susan said as Laurel stepped up to board the train. "You're going to love what we have on board."

That train could have all the money and power in the world, and Laurel still wouldn't want to get on it. She had everything she could ever possibly want here.

But that didn't matter to the Capitol. And from the very moment her name was pulled out of that bowl, Laurel belonged entirely and totally to them.

So Laurel sucked it up and got on board.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I glossed over the reaping for District 1 because it's fairly standard what happened there — two Careers volunteered. As I stated in the pre-note, the method at which it was done was based on the method shown in The Victors Project, one of the all-time great Hunger Games fan fiction stories. 10 out of 10, totally recommend.

By contrast, the District Eight ceremony is a bit of a mish-mash. Vanch's half of the ceremony is based on Bear Redfoot's from Cheating Death (also 10 out of 10), namely, the district cheering over him being reaped and his terrible reputation, while Laurel's half is based on the canon ceremony for the 74th Hunger Games — with an obvious subversion in how it went.

Now that the Reaping Ceremony is over, were moving on to the train, where you'll get your first glimpse of the other tributes in this year's Games. I've got a lot of interesting characters this year, and I think you're going to enjoy it.

Next Chapter: The Train Ride to the Capitol.