My whole body burns.

I turn to Noah, unsure. She keeps her eyes locked ahead. I think, just for a second, I see them flicker towards me, but she doesn't move. She doesn't say a word.

Has time frozen?

I know my legs have.

"Jackie?"

Oswald Blaustein's voice shoves me forward as I register that I'm supposed to be making my way to the stage. My cohort parts before me. Every eye scorches my skin. A deep, primal fear crashes over me in roaring, foaming waves.

This cannot be real.

Then, somehow, I'm on the stage. Oswald says something, but I can't hear him over the drum of my heart in my ears. I desperately scan the audience for my family's faces, oblivious to whatever is being said and whoever is saying it. Surely I should be able to see Noah, so close to the stage, or Jesse, so tall? But I can't. I can't find them. And I think that's what does it. Because before I can blink it back, I'm in tears. I bury my face in my hands. The ground rises to my knees. I've never fainted before, but right now it feels like I'm damn near close.

A door closes and I collapse onto a lounge. The thunder of a thousand hooves echoes around my skull. A stampede of voices screaming incoherently, over the top of each other. I release my leg when I see my nails digging into it. They come away with blood. Almost instinctively, I pinch my arm, hard, to see if I'm dreaming.Please be dreaming. The sharp sting is a sure sign that I'm not. Another wave surges. The din in my head is unbearable. I remember, when I was younger, everything my father used to teach me-how he manages his panic, and how I can manage mine. See, that's something else I inherited from him: fear. I somehow remember just one thing, of everything I learned:breathe. I try to inhale as deeply as I can, and it's only now that I notice how I've been gasping for air. I drop my shoulders, relax my belly, try to hold onto the air in my lungs, though it fights so hard to escape. It feels like drowning, a bit; like resurfacing only to be dragged back under. And still I just breath. Four seconds in. Four held. Four out. It's always worked for me, but there's only so much it can do for me now: unlike the thunder that scared me so as I child, this is a real storm. Nevertheless, the voices in my head begin to gain clarity. I can't decide if that's better or worse. 'Where are you?'one asks. I look around. Plush cushions beneath me, and even softer carpet below that. Floor to ceiling windows, one pane smashed in, ivy creeping through it. And a rickety old chandelier. 'The justice building,'I whisper back.'I'm in the justice building.' Then another thought pops up. 'Why are you crying?' Maybe it's a comforting phrase in theory, like a friend's concerned glance, but I'm immediately filled with anxiety.

Because I remember watching the games at 5 years old and hearing Mee-maw sadly comment on how the crying ones never make it. I remember being 7 and seeing a boy weeping on his podium, only to be swarmed by careers the moment the gong sounded. I remember age 8, when I saw a district 2 girl get kicked from her pack and left with almost no sponsors, just because her eyes welled up a little during her interview. And, at 10 years old, coming to the resolution that if I got reaped, I would have the willpower to look even cheery about it.

Mee-maw was right. The crying ones really don't make it. It's even something they teach us in school—if your name gets called, try to be strong, and look it, too. Well, I'm sorry Miss Simone, for letting you down. For letting my whole family down. Now, thanks to my carelessness, my fragility...well, I think it's safe to say I'll be seeing you all again when the sun falls to earth. I think of how the escort had to call my name twice for me to even start moving, and a sense of finality really begins to set in. I'm going to die in the arena. They're going to kill me. Or else I'll starve. No sponsors. No goodbyes. I'm going to die. I'm going to—

A knock on the door jolts me out of my brooding trance.

"The first visitors will see you within five minutes, Madam Spidell," says a servant's voice. The shuffling footsteps continue down the hall.'The first... will see... five minutes, Madam Spidell'

I cling onto the sentence like a lifeline.

Visitors... see you... the first visitors... madam...'

I play it over and over again in my head. I hardly understand it.

'In five... Madam Spidell...the visitors...will see you within five minutes...'

And then it clicks. My family! In my distress I'd forgotten tributes were allowed visitors. Well, I suppose that's why I'm in this room instead of on the train. And I'm spurred to action. It's one thing to weep at the feet of the Capitol, but to do so while saying my final farewells to my family? No, this can't be how they remember me. I owe them something more than that. I run over to the vanity by the window. Splash my face with trembling hands. Try to love the way light interacts with water. It only reminds me of Noah. Of how she must think I hate her. Of how she might still hate me. I force the thought out of my head. I drink from the tap, a meagre attempt to wash down that sore, swollen lump in my throat. The water tastes like chlorine—nothing like the spring and the well on the farm. Well, there I go again, thinking about home. I study my reflection. The mirror is one of those perfectly clear ones you only find in shops you could never afford. I don't think I've ever seen myself this clearly before. I stay like this for a bit—just standing here, examining the small details of my face. The freckles, the pores, the little hairs. All these little signs that I'm alive, all these little parts of the body I've taken for granted. I hurry back to the couch when I hear footsteps echo down the marble hallway: for some reason I don't want to be caught looking at myself. It feels too...intimate, I guess. I dry my face on an intricately embroidered cushion.Knock-knock."Come in!" I say, fighting to keep my tone steady. I swiftly return the pillow.

The door opens. Flanked by two peacekeepers is my whole family. I try to smile. Instead I let out a sort of strangled cry.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"Darling."

"Jackie."

They rush to my side. Wilson, Rosie, Jesse, Dalton, Mama, Papa, Noah, Mee-maw, Charlie, Bonnie. And for the first time I think in my life, every one of them is speechless. Even quick Bonnie and charming Jesse and clever Wilson. Until Charlie-of course Charlie, always Charlie-breaks the silence. In a hoarse and broken and oh-so-quiet voice, she says, "Jay-Jay. You have to win." And with that it all rushes forth-the words and the hugs and the cascades of tears, tears so heavy they could flood this room.

"Oh, Jacks, baby, we can't lose you-"

"You're smart, you can get by-"

"Just be strong, sweet, you've got to make it-"

"Stop it, you're crowding the girl," commands Mee-maw. "Give her some space." They all go around in a circle after that, just like a song, each taking their little turn. Rosie tells me she loves me and she'll miss me bad while I'm gone, and she kisses me on the cheek. Bonnie and Wilson say I'll be smarter than all of them combined, and bigger than half too. They both hug me hard. Dalton holds me tight and whispers through his sobs, "you know you're my best friend, Jackrabbit. I can't believe that this-that you-oh, I don't know what I'll do now. You'll always be my favourite." Jesse says he'd give anything to have gone in my place. Charlie feels guilty that she didn't. And I get dewy-eyed kisses from them both. Papa tells me that he doesn't quite know how to let go of me, and he doesn't the whole time he's here. Mee-maw hands me something sleek and silvery-a sickle moon. "It's a hairclip I wore on my wedding day. Each year I bring it just in case. Wear it in there, for me, dear." Even Mama cries when she says I'm my daddy's daughter and I make her proud.

And then it's Noah's turn, and for a second I think she won't say a thing. But then her trembling lip breaks like a dam wall and she throws herself at me."Jackie!"I can hear her heartbeat, feel the breath that's caught in her chest, and we haven't been this close since we were real little. "Oh Jackie-I'm sorry, I'mso sorry-" her howls are interspersed by a stream of curses from her mouth and water from her eyes. "I should've-oh, if I hadn't, if i hadn't juststoodthere-oh, you gorgeous, gorgeous thing-Jackie,I love you!"

"That's time," barks a peacekeeper. Noah just ignores him.

"You have to come back! If you-oh, if something happens-"

"I said time!" the rest of my family's filing out now, calling out their farewells. "Keep trying in there! Keep trying, I don't care how hard it is! I don't care if there's blood-"

She yelps when she's tackled to the ground. Her hands grasp my legs as she flails in protest. The peacekeepers haul her along the carpet.

"Kill them all! Kill the goddamn lot of them! You have to come back! You have to-"

The door slams and I am left with nothing but the moon.