District 3

For a few blissful moments after Netta wakes up, the only thing on her mind is burrowing deeper into her blankets. The warmth envelops her, soothing her in the morning rays. Then she remembers that today is the Reaping, and ice runs through her body.

Netta's better off than many others—she only has six slips in the bowl—but sometimes that's all it takes. You're an idiot if you think you can evade the Games just by having fewer slips with your name on them.

Downstairs, Netta's parents are probably eating breakfast. She slips out of her sheets and pulls on her Reaping outfit, knowing there won't be time to change again before they have to head to the square. Her mother's old dress, the one she's worn every year since she turned twelve, has been altered to fit her growing body over time. It's a pale, yellow thing—not particularly pretty in Netta's eyes, but formal enough for the occasion. As Netta steps into the kitchen, her parents greet her with nervous smiles. No one tries to make conversation. The terror of today is oppressive, and Netta finds it hard to form coherent sentences. She exhales softly through her nose, reminding herself she only has two more Reapings to get through. There are kids out there with far more entries in the Reaping. The chances of her name being called are minimal.

But not impossible.

The store is closed on Reaping day, making the days leading up to it always hectic. It's her mother's personal decision. Most other merchants keep their places open, which Netta's mother always snarks is because they have no choice—they'll go hungry if they don't. Without any customers, the Maekawas struggle to find ways to pass the time. All they can do is sit and marinate in their increasing anxiety. Netta tries to clean, but her mother, a bit of a neat-freak, has already left everything spotless. She turns on the radio, and her mother decides it isn't important enough to complain about today. However, when the Capitol host begins gushing about the Reapings occurring around the country between songs, Netta swiftly flicks the device off.

Eventually, Netta moves to sit outside and watch the district. The nervous energy of Reaping day is back for another year. She sits and waits, biting her nails anxiously until her parents fetch her at 2:30. The Reaping is at 4, and they live close to Demonstration Park, a massive complex near the Justice Building where Capitol business agents visit four times a year to view products, so they never have to leave super early.

When Netta was around six or seven, there was a volunteer. Too young to be near the pens, she and her parents sat along the outskirts of Demonstration Park, watching on large screens. The weather was miserable, and her mother had pulled a poncho around her to protect her from the spatters of rain. A boy was called, and when the mandatory call for volunteers went out, a fourteen-year-old offered himself to the games. Netta remembers the gasps of shock, the whispering. Her mother pulled her closer, grip tight, but Netta tried not to cry out, knowing how important it was to stay silent. Turns out, the boy was dying from some illness and wanted to leave his mark on the district. He was speared during the Bloodbath by the eventual victor, the boy from District 1. The Capitol quickly forgot him, but Netta didn't.

She tries to carry his bravery with her today. Everyone dies, right? Some sooner than others, but the end is the same for everyone. This doesn't soothe Netta's thoughts, but thinking about it rationally at least helps her refrain from vomiting onto the concrete.

As the Maekawas draw closer to the registration desk, Netta's parents stop her and hug her tightly.

Netta's mother says, "We'll meet back at the shop afterward, okay?"

Netta nods, noting the fear in her parents' eyes.

"I'll be fine. Everything will be over soon."

She pulls away and trudges to the registration desk. Her parents retreat to the outskirts where the rest of the adults sit. As Netta has her name marked off, she looks around for her friends. It's futile; she doesn't know why she even tried, considering how large the crowd is. Last year she stood through the Reaping, and it looks like this year will be much the same.

It's a bit of a trip to the seventeen-year-old pen near the foot of the stage. Netta jostles through hundreds of kids, relentlessly pressing forward.

District 9

"You know the drill," House Mother says. "Oldest to youngest."

A minute passes as all thirty-six orphans bustle about, trying to sort themselves accordingly. Aaranay wedges himself between Ranulph Gunter and Chandra Andersson. Chandra's to his back, starting the fourteen-year-olds for the line. When House Mother does a quick head count, she motions for them to follow, and the group trudges toward the square. One by one, House Mother directs the age groups to the registration desk. Ranulph, Zuhra, and Aaranay are the only fifteen-year-olds. They move quickly through registration and stick together as they merge into the crowd.

"Are you nervous?" Ranulph asks.

Zuhra nods. "Everyone wants it to be us. No one will miss us."

"I'll miss you," Aaranay offers.

"No one's getting picked, don't say that," Ranulph says quickly, his voice tinged with unmistakable anxiety.

The Justice Building clock rings, and the doors open. The three living victors—Chester, Thelma, and Hector—take their seats beside the mayor in age order. They walk with their heads held high, acting superior just because they managed to survive the arena. It irritates Aaranay. They only have to work one month a year and get to live in their own little village. What a joke. No one in 9 has any sympathy or love for them.

Mayor Hagen does the usual spiel, reciting the history of Panem and naming District 9's five victors. But instead of stepping back for Zephyrus Khan to draw the names, he starts talking about President Snow.

"This year's Hunger Games will be one of remembrance, for Coriolanus Snow influenced this event greatly over his decades of life. First as a mentor, then a Gamemaker. The tributes this year will have the honor of competing in such a meaningful Hunger Games."

Aaranay refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Before Zephyrus draws the names, there's a video from the Capitol, crafted to honor the legacy President Coriolanus Crassus Snow left behind."

Everyone in the square is forced to endure a video of clips and interviews, both of and about President Snow. Aaranay can't stand a moment of it. Why prolong the terror everyone in the pens is feeling? He wants to shout that it's a complete waste of time, but of course, that would probably earn him a one-way ticket to prison until next year, when the Reaping will be rigged to send him to the games.

Finally, blissfully, the video ends. Zephyrus Khan steps up to the microphone, replacing Mayor Hagen, and dabs at the corners of his eyes with a pale blue handkerchief.

"Let's see who the lucky girl will be, shall we?" he announces in a trembling voice.

Zuhra grips Aaranay's fingers tightly as Zephyrus Khan rummages through the girls' bowl. At last, he pulls out a slip of paper.

"Milljana Yildiz."

Zuhra deflates beside him, and Aaranay cranes his neck to spot the unlucky kid. He doesn't see her until she's on the steps. She's tiny, probably only twelve. The unhappy murmurs of the crowd all but confirm this. Her hazel eyes sweep the crowd fearfully as Zephyrus calls for volunteers, but no one steps forward. Aaranay glances at Hector, whose thick eyebrows are furrowed deeply down his forehead. Milljana's knees knock together, and for a moment Aaranay thinks she might pass out. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and squares her shoulders.

"Hello, love, aren't you a sweet thing," Zephyrus says to her. She doesn't return his smile. "Well! Which fortunate young man is fighting for glory?"

He turns to the boys' bowl and plunges his hand in so forcefully it looks like he's trying to punch the glass bottom. He takes his time, longer than he did with the girls. Sickeningly, he savors this moment every year, making a show of pulling out the names.

Aaranay watches Milljana while this happens. She thinks no one's looking, and the tears she was holding back come rushing down her cheeks. She keeps rubbing her left hand between two fingers of her right.

Zephyrus finally decides on a slip. He scans the name and opens his mouth.

"Aaranay Varma."

Zephyrus' voice reverberates across the square. Well, shit. Aaranay could have shouted treason during the President Snow montage. Zuhra chokes on a gasp, her grip crushing his fingers.

"Zuhra, let go," he whispers harshly.

He pulls his hand from hers and wades through the crowd. As he passes, the kids surrounding him turn to watch, their faces following him like sunflowers tracking the sun. Aaranay's mouth is dry and cottony, and the urge to cough is strong. He allows himself a couple of soft grunts to ease his throat.

District 1

"Name?"

"Atticus Rosseau."

The Peacekeeper flips through her booklet, landing on the list of surnames starting with 'R'. Atticus' name is highlighted in pink, and he's granted access to the roped-off pens.

He positions himself near the entrance, ensuring the fewest obstacles for his sprint to the stage. Excitement buzzes through him. He's always liked Reaping Day. Stalls surround the square, owners shouting at passersby, promoting their merchandise as if it's the next best thing. Colorful banners decorate the square with the Capitol crest. Lining the Reaping stage are thirteen green banners, each showcasing the faces of District 1's champions. From left to right, in winning order: Venice Garber, victor of the second Games, to Burgundy De Vitis from the seventy-second Games at the far right. Atticus has always imagined his face joining the ranks of District 1's winning tributes.

Mayor Tasker recites Panem's history, then lists District 1's champions. Usually, the names are drawn next, but he lingers at the microphone. "This year's Hunger Games will be one of remembrance, for Coriolanus Snow influenced this event greatly over his decades of life. First as a mentor, then a Gamemaker. The tributes this year will have the honor of competing in such a meaningful Hunger Games."

A large part of District 1 is deeply grieving the president. Atticus' own eyes get a little misty. District 1 was always his personal favorite in the Hunger Games, and his wife had even been the escort from the eleventh to the thirty-fourth games. Mayor Tasker must be holding back tears, because he clears his throat and allows a montage to play. Atticus can hear several people sniffling and softly crying. His own throat is sore from holding back the tears desperate to be released.

President Snow being gone is surreal. As he watches the montage, Atticus just can't comprehend that the man on the screen is dead. Coriolanus Snow was a legend, and it seemed like he'd never die. When the montage ends, respectful applause follows for almost a full minute before Artemios Greene officially begins the Reaping. Symphony Morris is the name called for the girls, and the question for volunteers goes out. Five of Luster's handpicked beauties scramble for the stage. Luscious Leroy, a tall and stunning seventeen-year-old, is the first to touch the glass bowl, ensuring her spot as the tribute. She raises her hand gracefully to the cameras and introduces herself to Panem. Atticus' interactions with Luscious have been minimal over the years, but she'll be a good district partner. She's always been studious and motivated in her training. Knowing she'll have his back in the arena when the Alliance inevitably falls apart is a comforting thought.

He's trying not to get ahead of himself, but as Artemios Greene crosses to the boys' bowl, Atticus' heart thrums rapidly in his chest. He's so close to the arena. In a month, he'll likely have a house in Victors' Village. In a year, he'll be meeting with rich Capitolites to secure funds for the next pair of tributes from District 1. A fifteen-year-old named Amor Fabian has his name called. Atticus watches him like a hawk, tracking the kid as he mounts the steps to the stage. He tenses his muscles, readying himself for the moment that matters most. He's already on his way up when Artemios Greene calls for volunteers. The other boys waste precious seconds shouting their intentions. Atticus is already at the base of the steps when they stumble out of the crowd. It's over for them. He reaches the glass bowl overflowing with paper slips and taps it with his fingers.

"I volunteer!" he shouts. His voice rasps from the sheer volume, breath coming out in haggard gasps as adrenaline pumps through his body. One of the boys who hadn't even made it to the steps kicks the ground. The four other volunteers stomp back to their places in the pen.

"Well!" Artemios exclaims. "What's your name, handsome?"

"My name is Atticus Rosseau, and I'm honored to be a tribute in such an important Hunger Games."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Atticus, and I'm sure everyone in the Capitol will share my delight!"

He beams at Atticus before allowing Mayor Tasker to replace him. As the Treaty of Treason is read, Atticus scans the crowd, taking in the awestruck faces of the young trainees at the back. He ignores the jealous glares from the front of the pens. He soaks it all in, knowing this is just a taste of his future. The Capitolites will adore him, and for the rest of his life, he'll be a celebrity to the nation.

District 11

"I don't want to do this."

Outside, down in the merchants' area, Clem hears the bustling of people along the streets. Two hours until another Reaping. Until two more in the Tribute Graveyard.

Pa takes her hand in both of his and holds it tight. "You'll be okay. You did it last year; you can do it again."

Barely. Clem wasn't a mentor then; Seeder and Chaff didn't think she was ready. But it didn't stop her from holding out hope for the kids. They both made top eight. Lychee was a fifteen-year-old from a family with too many mouths to feed. Lots of families have too many kids, hoping some will survive to adulthood. Brock was a strong seventeen-year-old. The boy from District 5 died from dehydration, and they both scraped into the top six.

Then the pack found Brock.

He tried to fight back, even mortally wounding the girl from District 4. But the girl from District 1 speared him, and he died.. The girl from District 4 succumbed to Brock's wounds, and the girl from District 2 was swiftly dispatched by the boy from District 4 after his partner's death.

Consecutive victories have happened before—a pair of siblings from District 1 when Clem was a child, Districts 2 and 9 several decades ago. Clem dared to hope Lychee would join her in the Victors' Village. No longer would Clem's name hang at the end of the list of winners like an afterthought.

District 4 got her. The Gamemakers sent a storm to flush out the last three into battle. Wade Snyder, shielded by a rain jacket, pursued Lychee across the rock ledges and cliff faces. The mountain's edge gave way, and Lychee plummeted to her death.

A knock on the door pulls Clem out of her memories. When she opens it, Chaff and Seeder stand on her doorstep, dressed formally for the occasion. Seeder is in a beautiful beige dress adorned with intricate lace patterns, her black hair pinned elegantly atop her head. Even in her sixties, she stands straight-backed and confidently navigates the delicate high heels Capitolites adore. Juturna Clay and Seeder had tried their hardest to get Clem to walk in them for the interviews before the Quarter Quell, but she couldn't manage it. Her ankles would wobble, making her look like a strange bird prancing around.

Chaff is in a crisp, white button-up shirt and dark, tailored pants, his shoes polished to a shine. It's rare to see him so done up, but he cleans up nicely. He nods over Clem's shoulder to her Pa, wheeled over in his expensive wheelchair. Something she couldn't have afforded if she didn't have all the money weighing down her purse because she killed people.

"How's it going, Efrem?" Chaff asks.

"Not too bad," Pa replies, trying to sound casual. "Just trying to prolong the trip to the Reaping."

"Aren't we all," Seeder sighs.

Chaff steps into the doorway and, with a gentle grunt, lifts Pa into his arms, supporting his back with his good hand while his stump rests under Pa's draping legs. As they head out of the house, Seeder moves to take the wheelchair, but Clem stops her.

"I've got it," Clem says, taking the wheelchair herself. She wheels it out, then locks the house behind her, securing their home.

Chicory stands by the truck parked at the gate, chatting with his husband, Sorrel, and the Peacekeeper in the driver's seat, a dark-haired man from the Capitol named Damianus. For a Peacekeeper, Damianus is generally alright. Clem doesn't mind him; he's preferable to most of the others.

Chicory resembles Chaff in appearance—tall, dark-skinned, and stocky—but that's where the similarities end. Their personalities are entirely different, though they share a hearty belly laugh. Today, Chicory's dressed in his best: a dark green suit and tie. He greets them warmly and helps Chaff maneuver Pa into the backseat alongside Seeder and Clem. Chicory claims the passenger seat up front, leaving Chaff and Sorrel to sit in the truck bed at the back.

It's a bit of a trip to the Reaping, with New Memphis situated east of the merchant area. Clem and the other victors get dropped off at the back of the Justice Building, because apparently, following the mayor every year is crucial, or the earth will explode or something. Damianus and Sorrel promise to look after Pa and get him home safely afterward.

Clem ignores the feeling of walking to her death as she and the other victors file through the Justice Building in a single line. She has to remind herself for what feels like the millionth time that she's not in the arena anymore. Why can't she get it through her head once and for all? At least Snow's death has eased her terror for her father's life...

Ten minutes later, the four victors are sitting on the stage in age order, doing their best to avoid eye contact with the desperate teenagers in the pens. The clock rings its bell toll, and the event begins.

Mayor Hedley reads out the list of past District 11 victors: Orchus Alamanni, Chicory Simms, Seeder Hines, Chaff Habarti, and then Clementine Coumbassa. A silence hangs in the air after her name, a surreal reminder of how it felt hearing her name added to the end of a list that hadn't changed in thirty years. It was even weirder last year.

There's some stupid eulogy about Snow, which Clem mostly ignores, and then a montage about his decades in power, which she completely tunes out. Then it's time for Juturna Clay to draw the names. It's sort of nice to see her again. Juturna was so excited to see Clem after the Quell, and she was a massive help last year with learning the ropes from the mentors' perspectives. Clem takes a deep breath as she watches her rummage around the bowl of girls' names—the same bowl her own name was plucked from two years ago. The kids in the pens look terrified, and Clem's stomach flip-flops sympathetically.

"Our female tribute is… Wrenley Thrussell."

The square watches as the unlucky girl elbows her way to the stage. As she steps out of the mass of kids, Clem gets a good look at her.

She's nothing particularly special. There's some definition in her arms and legs, but beyond that, she's forgettable. Clem catches herself and mentally scolds. What is wrong with her? Seeder and Chicory haven't thrown her completely into the mentoring 'deep end' yet—why is she thinking like one? Why is she sizing up this poor girl like she's just another piece of meat?

No one wants Wrenley's spot in the seventy-seventh Hunger Games, and Juturna moves on to the boys. Rolland Reid plants himself beside his district partner on the stage, and Logan's mother takes over the microphone from Juturna to read the Treaty of Treason.

Both tributes are shaking slightly. It's hard to catch on camera, but from where Clem sits, it's unmistakable. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back a groan. The Reaping wraps up with Wrenley and Rolland exchanging shaky handshakes, then they're escorted into the Justice Building.

"Another year done," Juturna says, approaching Clem and the other victors as the film crew packs up, and 11's citizens flee the square, safe for another year. "How are you holding up, Clementine?"

Clem shrugs. "Just waiting for it to be over."

"Not quite there yet," Seeder chimes in softly. "We still have a month to go."

Juturna rolls her eyes, clearly misunderstanding Seeder's tone. "She knows that. She just meant for the—never mind. I'll catch you all on the train after the kids say goodbye to their families. Kisses!"

Seeder just smiles, a bit sheepishly.

Seeder, Chicory, and Clem make their way through the back of the Justice Building and climb into a different truck. This time, the driver is an elderly woman from District 2.

Chaff leans against the window, his hand resting on the window.

"Sorrel and I will take care of your Pa, alright, Clem? Don't let it weigh on you too much. You've got enough to deal with."

"Thanks, Chaff."

"No problem, sweetheart."

He gives the truck a reassuring slap, and the driver starts the engine.

District 4

Sirena reminds herself to take deep breaths. One of the first lessons in training is to not panic when trapped. She moves her trembling hands from her mouth and gulps in the sea breeze. It's all she can do to keep from burying her face in the couch cushion and sobbing. Instead, her face finds its way into her palms, and she inhales the scent of her own skin. This room is lavish and beautiful, a final farewell for District 4's Tributes. A mobile adorned with coral pieces hangs from the ceiling, reminiscent of those parents place over a baby's crib. She recalls her own, with its pinks and yellows. This reminder of her childhood nearly shatters the resolve Sirena has clung to since Longinus Creed called her name twenty minutes ago.

The door on the other side of the room swings open, guided by a Peacekeeper's hand, and her family shuffles in. Her parents, her older brothers. Her mother is crying, but the three men remain, as always, pillars of strength. They all envelop her in a hug.

"The others are coming soon," her mother says, voice trembling. "But after the Reaping, some of the cousins ran off. They couldn't bear seeing you on the stage."

"I'm gonna try my best," Sirena assures them. "You know that? They know that? I'm going to fight to come home."

Her father tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiles softly. "We know, love. We trust you."

"I'll make you proud," Sirena promises.

Marin shakes his head. "We don't care about that. I just want my sister to come back."

"You've got a good shot," Abalo chimes in. "The games have had three outlier victories in a row. The Capitol audience needs someone honorable and brave. They need a good change of pace from outliers."

When Sirena was younger, she'd never show vulnerability to her family. She feared it would make them see her as incapable, hiding her fear and pain instead. It's a habit she can't completely break, but right now she tries to let her family in. She forces herself to be affectionate. This might be the last time they see her, though she can't bring herself to say it aloud.

"Mama, stop crying," Sirena coos, gently wiping the tears from her mother's cheeks. "You can't let the cameras catch you like this."

Her mother manages a teary smile, clutching her necklace between her fingers. "I'm sorry, love." She pauses for a moment, as if hesitating, making a decision. Then, slowly, she unclasps her necklace and hands it to Sirena.

"I want you to have this for your token. In the arena, if times get tough, let this remind you that we're rooting for you."

Sirena gently holds the necklace in her hand. It's a beautiful but simple piece of jewelry. A bronze chain with a sea-green stone. It was her grandmother's.

"Mama, I can't accept this."

The arena's so unpredictable, and the possibility of this necklace being destroyed fills Sirena with a guilty feeling. It's like seawater gushing through her organs, washing away everything else. Her mother ignores her protests and drapes the chain over her head, clasping it around her collarbone with shaking hands. All too soon, the Peacekeepers come in, gently saying that the time is up. Sirena tells her family over and over again that she loves them. They say it too. The door closes between them, and she's alone.

Sirena sits back down on the ornate couch, fiddling with the stone on her mother's necklace. She doesn't have many friends nowadays, so it's a surprise when Marleen Felix quietly enters the room. Marleen awkwardly settles into an armchair across from Sirena, sinking into the imagery of a coral garden.

"I regret not seeing Thames off, you know. I was too scared, I think. But it felt like I let him down. We weren't close, but he should've known he had friends and they were backing him up here."

"I didn't visit him either," Sirena says. "I was scared too."

Marleen smiles ruefully and gets back up. "See you on the other side?"

Sirena nods, and Marleen leaves without another word. Gone before she was really here.

Over the next forty minutes, cousins, aunts, and uncles filter into the room. Sirena embraces each of them tightly, reassuring them that she'll return home. Their tears weigh heavily on her, mingling with a sense of guilt. It feels like an empty promise—she knows her chances against the other members of the Inner Alliance are slim, at best one in six. By the time the Peacekeepers arrive to escort her to the train, she feels more soaked with emotions than a trawler's deck in a storm.

As they escort her and the male tribute, Kegan Everly, from the Justice Building to a waiting truck, Sirena thinks of Thames. He had made this same journey two years ago, and now she might be following his path straight to her death. Longinus Creed pivots in the passenger seat and interrogates them. He questions Keegan about whether he knew the young boy he volunteered for. Keegan shakes his head. Sirena isn't sure what Longinus Creed's motive is, given that he's served as District 4's escort for thirty years. By now, he would have escorted countless volunteers, and it's unusual for them to have personal connections with the tributes they replace.

The journey takes about ten minutes. As the truck halts, Peacekeepers swiftly open the doors from the back tray. Sirena's heart races louder as she slides off her seat and moves toward the train door. She glances back, soaking in the sight of her home one final time. Etching the image of the shoreline into her memory, she takes her first step onto the train stairs.

District 5

So this is what it feels like for the world to end. Mercurie's always wondered about it, always empathized with the kids who disappear onto the Capitol train and never return. Tears prickle at his eyes. If he dies, everyone else will get to continue. He'll fade into a distant memory, just another name in the Tribute Graveyard. He wants to vomit.

Maybe he can make a good go of it. He's well-fed, athletic, good-looking. His mentor might disagree, but teaming with the Inner-District Alliance seems the best way to go. If he can survive long enough under their guard, then eliminate them near the end, his shot at winning is as good as anyone else's. Maybe even better. Kids from districts like 7 or 10 often make it far, but their malnutrition is detrimental to them. He can't wield an axe or knife like an extension of the arm, but he can outrun them. He can hold them back with the strength they lack from a lifetime of never having enough to eat.

Mercurie glances at the clock. Twenty minutes until he and Lena Hawkins are taken onto the train, headed for the Capitol. His friends visited earlier, trying to joke and cheer him up. It didn't help. Now, only three people are left to see him. His family walks through the door. Russ envelops him in a hug while their parents hang back.

"I can't believe this," Russ croaks into Mercurie's shoulder. "This isn't happening."

"I'm fine," Mercurie lies. "I've got a better shot at winning than a lot of the other kids."

"I'm sorry this happened to you," their father says, pain filling his eyes. Mercurie has no sympathy for him.

"Why are you sorry? This isn't your fault."

His father blanches, offended. "Of course it's not, but I'm allowed to mourn."

Mercurie's mother flinches, and Mercurie scoffs. "You're fucking unbelievable."

"I beg your pardon, boy?"

"Why are you mourning?! I'm still here! I have been for eight years, but you're too fucking worried about your careers. Both of you. Mom, you haven't said anything to me yet, and I'm going to the Capitol to fight for my life! You don't have a right to mourn! You've ignored us for eight fucking years!"

His mother attempts to stammer something out, but his father doesn't give her the chance.

"Show us some respect! Our son was just chosen for the Hunger Games, now isn't the time to bring up this shit you've been hiding from us."

Mercurie rolls his eyes. He has to turn around and face the wall, or he'll hit someone.

"Now's the perfect time," he hisses. "You're upset that your son is going to the Games? How do you think I feel? No matter what happens, you'll all get to keep living your lives. I could be dead in a month…"

His voice falters, and he swallows back the sobs building in his throat. He can't believe his father has somehow outdone himself. He's made Mercurie's looming death about himself and then invalidated his son's fear in the same breath. Mercurie turns back around, and their eyes meet. His green eyes narrow into a harrowing glare. "Get out."

The look on his mother's face is almost enough to make him regret it.

His father's fists clench at his waist. "We're entitled to be here, boy."

Mercurie shrugs, trying to appear indifferent despite the boiling anger inside. "Okay then. Stand over there all quiet if you like. Go for your damn life."

With that, Mercurie leads Russ to the couch and says goodbye to his brother. He promises to fight as hard as he can to come home, just like the other tributes are assuring their own families. Twenty-five broken vows. His parents look on, awkward and angry. Mercurie's father falls right into the trap. He can't help himself. He starts shouting, berating his son for his 'disrespect'. It doesn't matter that he's the mayor; Peacekeepers hear the commotion and force him out. Mercurie's mother follows, apologizing profusely until the door closes behind her. Then Mercurie sits for another fifteen minutes, holding his brother tight until a Peacekeeper beckons Russ out of the room.

"I love you," Mercurie tells him.

"I love you too. So much."

Palms pressed to his eyes, Mercurie shuts out the world until the door opens again, and he's led to a worn, silver truck. He offers his district partner a small smile. She returns it with a tearful scowl. Tears threaten to spill as he feels a wave of weakness, like he's just woken up from a long nap. A bit nauseous, too. Guilt starts to seep into his veins, making him recall how he treated his parents. He shouldn't feel guilty—his father is a selfish asshole, his mother complacent and self-absorbed. Poor Russ, who's never had their support and will likely be left to fend for himself. The tears start rolling down his cheeks, and he doesn't bother hiding them. He doesn't care who sees him cry.