Cascina Armas, 18

"Only those you trust can betray you."

The world has not been kind to Cascina Armas. Oftentimes she'll find herself on the beach, watching the sunrise, trying to enjoy the outdoors like she always used to, fearing she'll never be able to reclaim her legacy. She's come so far. But has she come far enough? Can she ever come far enough?

Today is one of her last sunrises in District Four. She'll wake herself up before dawn tomorrow to watch it again, but today feels like an ending. The closure of a period of her life that she both wishes never happened and can never get back.

This morning, when she walked out of the house, Judson was awake. In fact, Cascina didn't think he'd ever gone to bed. He was hunched over his desk, tinkering with something he claimed didn't work. Before she walked out the door, he stopped her.

"You're all I've got left," he'd whispered, like it was a secret, "Don't make me lose you too."

Cascina doesn't know if he was trying to guilt trip her or plead with her. Maybe it was both.

She watches the sun rise over the horizon and wishes she could stay here all day. It would be the best way to spend her last day in Four before her next great adventure.

That was what Mari always called it. When Cascina volunteered, she was going off to her next great adventure.

Cascina wouldn't call it that. It's not an adventure. It's a…reclamation.

Because she's finally here. She made it. She's the chosen volunteer, and tomorrow in the square, there will nothing standing in her way. Not the reserve volunteer, or the other bitter eighteen-year-old girls, or the rogue little kids. They can't stop her. Her mother couldn't stop her, and Cascina knows she would have killed her if it would have stopped her from volunteering.

That's why she can't stay. The District prison's visitation hours start at six. There is one more person Cascina must speak to before she leaves in the morning.

Cascina hasn't seen her in two years. Perhaps seeing her again isn't the right choice.

But there is small part of Cascina that is insistent on being vindictive, and Cascina is willing to let it have its way.

The sun has completed its ascent over the horizon now, so Cascina has nothing left to keep her here. She gets to her feet, dusts the sand off of her pants, and begins the walk to the district prison.

The day is starting for most of the District. Storefronts are opening, stalls are being set up, and trainees are making laps around the square. The younger ones look at her in awe as she passes. The stars in their eyes tell her they dream of being her one day.

It should feel good. It should make her feel proud. But it doesn't, because nobody should want to be her.

The district prison looms in the distance. It's a large, gray block, very different from the traditional architecture of Four. Cascina's vision is drawn toward it, like it is most days that it is in her sight. It distracts her enough that she nearly bumps into someone.

"Cascina, better watch out," Fetu says with a nonchalant grin on his face.

"Hi, Fetu," Cascina says. "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, just taking a few laps around the square. You know, for old time's sake. What are you doing here?"

"Something along those lines," Cascina says, trying to step past him. She can't get distracted on the way. If she does, she might never make it there.

"Ready to volunteer tomorrow?"

That gives Cascina pause. She turns, looks Fetu dead in the eye, and says, "I was born ready."

He smiles again and waves goodbye. Cascina watches him run for a moment. She doesn't know what to think of him. She's known him for all of her life. He saw her rise, her fall, and her subsequent rise again. There's something about him that gives her pause. But at the same time, they could win together. Fetu would have no reason to stab her in the back.

At last Cascina makes it to the prison. The woman at the gate asks her why she's here.

Cascina responds, "I'm here to visit Coraline Armas."

"Relation to the prisoner?"

"Daughter."

Something about saying that feels dirty. After what Coraline did to Cascina and to their family, she is no longer her daughter. Cascina hasn't considered Coraline her mother in a long time.

Coraline has aged considerably in the past two years. The district prison must not be kind to her. Cascina doesn't care. In fact she almost feels satisfied.

"Hello, Coraline," Cascina says into the phone. A sheet of glass separates them, and Cascina thinks that's probably for the best. If there wasn't something between them, there would be nothing stopping her from tearing Coraline apart.

"Cascina," Coraline says, clearly surprised to see her.

"Do you know what tomorrow is?"

Cascina doesn't give her a chance to respond. She doesn't want to hear her speak. "It's July Fourth. Reaping Day. By this time tomorrow, I'll be on my way to the Capitol. Of course, no thanks to you."

"I only did what I believed was right."

"That doesn't change what you did, does it?" Cascina says, taking care to keep her voice calm. She could explode at Coraline if she doesn't keep herself in check, and that's not the image she wants to portray. She's better than that. At least, she wants her mother to think that.

"I never meant for it to go that far," Coraline says.

"That still doesn't change what happened," Cascina says. "But in the end, you lost. I won. I'm going to volunteer for the Hunger Games in the morning, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"This isn't what anyone wanted," Coraline says. "Your father never wanted you to put yourself in harms way for your dreams. And Mari—"

"Don't you dare say her name," Cascina says, leaning close to the glass. "You don't get to say her name. You don't even get to think about her. You forfeited that right a long time ago."

"I was only trying to protect you."

"I don't need protecting," Cascina snaps. "I never needed protecting—except from you."

Sometimes Cascina still wakes up with stomachaches. Sometimes dizziness overtakes her. The castor oil hasn't been in her system for years. The doctors think it's psychosomatic. Cascina doesn't believe them, and she insists she always prepares her own meals.

Coraline still has the audacity to look sad and sympathetic. As if Cascina cannot trace the difficulties of her life right back to her.

"I'm sorry you got hurt. I only wanted to keep you safe."

"Poison isn't safe," Cascina says. "I think you learned that the hard way."

She'll go visit Mari's grave after this, and she'll be so mad she'll pound her fists into the dirt. It won't undo what Coraline did. It won't bring Mari back.

Cascina can only regain so many things. Like her health. Like her spot as the chosen volunteer.

"It should have been you," Cascina says. "It should have been you who drowned in their own lungs."

She can still hear her father's wheezing. The sound kept her up all night, and she hated it. But it was so much worse when it stopped.

Somehow, that is what gets Coraline. Now she has the audacity to look hurt. "I'm your mother," she says.

"You lost that right a long time ago, too," Cascina says. She gets to her feet. "Maybe I'll come visit you when I win. Or maybe I'll let you rot here."

And she leaves. As Cascina walks back toward the square, she wonders if this is what reclamation feels like.


Diggory Keane, 17

"So, life sucks. What else is new?"

When the camera crew came to District Eleven, Diggory had been the only person they'd been able to seek out. As he'd explained in his interview, Galen did nothing but work and sleep. He did not have time for friends. He barely even had time for his brother.

Still, Diggory had tried to dredge up something interesting to tell about Galen—something to get the audience excited about. He's not sure he accomplished it, but he tried, and that's what matters, right?

(What matters is that Galen gets home safe. But Diggory can't control that—he can't keep Galen alive. He can't warn Galen about incoming tributes. He can't save his brother, so telling funny stories about him is the least he can do.)

The family interviews are mandatory viewing, so once again Diggory's lackluster schooling is interrupted. It's already been an eventful day in the Games, with blood loss and ravenous mutts knocking two more tributes out of the competition, so Diggory prays that the rest of the day will go easy on Galen.

It's down to six, and two of them are twelve years old. Sure, there's still three Careers standing between Galen and home, but he already took down the boy from Four, and that was no easy feat. All Galen needs to do is let the Careers sort out the two little twelve-year-olds, and then…well, then he just has to defeat three highly trained Careers.

He can do that. He has to do that.

That's what Diggory tells himself as he sits in the cafeteria, watching as the interviews slowly ascend the Districts. The little girl from One is only able to offer up a few friends for stilted interviews. The girl from Two's equally bloodthirsty family is confident that their daughter will come home easily. The boy from Two's little brother, who looks far too similar to his nearly-monstrous older brother, is almost childishly hopeful that Two will be safe. The girl from Four's parents keep bringing up their younger daughter, who died years ago in the Quell.

It's looking more and more like a Career victory this year, the commentators say in between interviews, interspersed with footage of what's currently going on in the arena. A huge storm started in the morning, forcing most of the tributes to hole up for the duration. Galen has taken shelter in a cave, but the map in the bottom corner of the screen tells Diggory that the boy from Two is in the area.

It's fine. Galen is safe. Galen is safe.

Isabeau seems to notice the boy from Two's proximity to Galen too, as she puts a hand on Diggory's shoulder. Diggory doesn't know what he would do without Isabeau. Ever since the Games started, they've camped out in Isabeau's living room, keeping constant watch over Galen. In fact, Diggory has hardly slept since the Games began ten days ago. He can't stand too, not when Galen is in so much danger. He would never forgive himself if Galen died while he was asleep.

They play the interviews with the boy from Eight's family despite the fact that he died early in the morning. He keeps his eyes trained on the screen, not really paying attention to the interview. Rather, he watches the little colored dots move around the map in the corner. The boy from Two is the only one on the move right now, all of the others having wisely found somewhere to hide from the storm. If he had to guess, he would say Two is trying to get back to the Cornucopia. It would make sense from the path he's using, which happens to go right past Galen's hiding place.

It's fine. Galen's safe. Two probably won't even notice the cave, not with the torrential downpour and the sky so dark it looks like nighttime.

They play the interviews with the dead Nine boy's family, too. It's hard listening to his family talk about how much they want him to come home, but at least it's the Nine boy who's dead and not Galen. Diggory has learned to take what he can get.

Finally they reach District Eleven (and Two is closer to Galen than ever), but it's the little twelve-year-old's turn first. Diggory remembers seeing Astoria LaRue make the death march to the stage three weeks ago. She was so little, and her mother had started wailing when her name was called.

The LaRue family is huge, and it makes for a long interview. They had to sit down with every one of Astoria's little siblings, even the ones who are so little they don't understand where their sister has gone. It certainly tugs at the heartstrings to watch her eight-year-old twin sisters say that they miss their sister and want her to be alright.

It almost makes Diggory feel bad about wanting Astoria to die.

Well, that's not entirely true. He doesn't want her to die—she's a kid. She doesn't deserve this. But he needs her to die. Because if she doesn't die, then that means Galen does. And Diggory doesn't know if he can live with that.

(Two's dot is passing right by Galen's cave. Galen's safe. Galen's safe.)

The interview ends, and it cuts to current arena footage. Diggory expects to see Galen safely hidden away in his cave as Two walks past, oblivious.

The bottom drops out of the world and Galen and Two are fighting. Two is armed with a sword, and he moves like he was born with it in his hands. Galen has only a dagger, and it quickly becomes so apparent that Galen is outmatched. The cafeteria, which previously had been filled with idle chatter, is silent now.

Diggory is standing up, and he's not sure when he got to his feet but the cafeteria is watching him now. They all know him. They all know he's Galen's brother. They all want Galen to come home too, and because he's not twelve they think he might be able to. It hasn't been very long since Eleven last won, but everyone would like a more tolerable Victor to celebrate than Brice Kylar.

Two and Galen fight while the rain pours and Diggory won't allow himself to lose hope. He can't give up on Galen now.

Galen and Two move in unison—Two slashes at Galen's stomach and Galen's knife finds a home in Two's throat.

Blood arcs through the air as Galen rips the blade back out. The knife drops into the mud with a wet thump. By the time it hits the ground, Galen is already stumbling out of clearing, hands desperately trying to shove his intestines back into body. A cannon fires, but Galen does not turn back.

And Diggory can do nothing about it. He cannot save his brother.

"Mom, Mom—" Galen is saying, calling out to the sky as he stumbles blindly through the downpour. "Mom, help me! Please, don't leave me here! I don't—I don't want to die! Diggory, Diggory, can't you do something? Please!"

Galen slips on the mud and tumbles to the ground, screaming in pain as he goes. Diggory can only watch in horror as Galen's cries for help slowly peter out until the only sound to be heard is the pounding of the rain.

As soon as the cannon shot echoes out, Diggory bolts from the cafeteria. The teachers at the doors don't try to stop him.

It's not raining outside. It's not even cloudy. It's wrong. It should be pouring rain, because that's what happens when someone dies. It rains, as if the sky itself is mourning. Doesn't Galen deserve that much? All Galen ever did was work, make money for the Capitol, and this is how they repay him? Diggory falls to his knees and apparently he's in a field now, although he's not entirely sure how he got there.

"Diggory?" Isabeau's voice says from behind him.

"I'm fine," Diggory says, although he's sure his voice says otherwise. "Go back to the school."

Isabeau doesn't listen. She comes to his side and sits on the ground. "You know, I lost an aunt to the Games," she says. "It was a long time ago. Before I was born. Her name was Nerrah. She made it all of the way to the Final Five, and the whole family was so certain she was coming home. She was stabbed through the chest twenty-seven times by the girl from Two."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to make you feel like you're not alone."

Diggory scoffs. "Well, it doesn't. At least your aunt had an entire family to root for her and keep her memory alive once she was gone. All Galen had was me."

Isabeau's lips thin into a narrow line. "Hey, maybe that little girl will win. That would be good, right?"

"Galen winning would be good." Diggory closes his eyes for a moment.

"But if Galen can't win, then Astoria LaRue winning would be the next best thing, right?"

"Don't you get it?" Diggory exclaims. "There is no "next best thing", Isa! Galen is dead. Either he was a winner or he was dead. There is no okay outcome here. So why don't you leave me alone? You're not helping. I don't need you here. I'm fine."

Isabeau gets to her feet. "Well, forgive me for wanting to comfort you after the only family you have left died horribly in the Hunger Games! What a terrible person I am!"

"Go away, Isabeau," Diggory says. He doesn't check to see if she leaves, instead staring at the sky as if it might have something the ground can't offer him.

And just like that, Diggory is all alone. Galen did always say that he needed to stop pushing people away who only wanted to help. Namely, that he needed to stop pushing Galen away when he only wanted to help.

Well, Galen can't help him anymore. Galen's dead. It's all up to Diggory to find his place in the world. Galen may be gone, but Diggory's got his whole life ahead of him. He's sure he'll figure out something.


Cannon Kalvario, 18

"I'm beauty, I'm grace, and I'll punch you in the face."

There is a hole in Cannon's stomach, and alcohol does not fill it. All the alcohol does is make her forget it is there.

Well, that's not entirely true. It almost makes her forget it is there, just like it almost makes her forget how she got here. There are far too many things that the bottom of a bottle cannot erase.

Like the quiet. Cannon hates the quiet. Alcohol cannot fill the hole and it cannot fill the silence.

Somewhere downstairs, Cannon knows a wild party is going on. The Academy volunteers were just announced—and to no one's surprise, Cannon has secured her spot. Little do the other trainees know that neither of the volunteers are participating in their party. Last Cannon had heard, Alastor had gone home to confront his parents about something. Probably about his brother. Cannon knows that was a big deal to him.

That's something she can think about. Alastor. And the reserve volunteer, Pylades. Either of them could be going into the Games with her. Alastor is strong, but he is preoccupied. His need for vengeance will ruin him if he isn't careful. Pylades is playful. He won't take things seriously until it's too late. Cannon can count on those things—that Alastor will let his desire for revenge consume him, and Pylades won't get with the picture until he's in too deep. She has known both of these men for years. She clocked them as competition from the moment she saw them, and she has kept her eyes on them ever since.

It's something do. It's something to distract her, to watch the world like a hawk and keep her eyes trained on those who might threaten her.

But it also doesn't matter. Cannon will destroy Alastor if he tries to get in her way.

(Sometimes, Cannon feels crushed by the weight of all of the lives she'll never lead.)

It's the only way to get what she wants. Alastor isn't really a bad guy. He's even got the story Victors need so desperately to win. But Cannon can't let him stop her. Cannon can't let anyone stop her.

(Sometimes, Cannon imagines taking her father's head between her hands and compressing until it explodes. If only she'd thought of that two years ago.)

Cannon takes another long drink from her bottle. She could be downstairs partying. She could be downstairs celebrating her Victory before it comes. So why isn't she?

Cannon had briefly considered the question as she went back to her room.

(Sometimes, Cannon wonders what her life would be like if her mother hadn't left. Or if her father hadn't been her father.)

There wasn't a good answer. Cannon just didn't want to. There was alcohol upstairs but no alcohol at the party. There was privacy upstairs but no privacy at the party, and this feels like a private moment.

This moment is between Cannon and her father. For a few seconds, Cannon wishes he was still alive, just so she could gloat. Then she finds herself wishing she'd been the one to do the deed. It would feel just as good as telling him he failed to keep her out of the Games.

Another swig, another regret. Another swig, another hole Cannon can't fill.

No, that's not true. Cannon knows what will fill the hole, and she's so close to it.

The Reaping is only six months away. Cannon is already a step ahead of her father. She's already done what he couldn't. She can go the extra mile and win the Hunger Games when he couldn't even get chosen to volunteer.

There's a voice in her head that sounds all too human for Cannon's liking, so she drowns herself in more alcohol until everything is quiet again. Maybe she could call Raiva. Meaningless sex might be what she needs. Or maybe it will just make everything worse. Cannon doesn't know, and she hates not knowing. There's too much that Cannon doesn't know.

She leans back to take another drink but finds the bottle empty. There's got to be more around here. She's not nearly drunk enough to get through the night yet. She ducks under her bed and finds her stash depleted. She ducks under her roommate's bed and finds her emergency stash depleted. Which leaves her no choice but to go get more. It's either that or she sit and listen to the silence all night, and that's no way to celebrate her victory.

She skirts around the party going on in the cafeteria, making her way out of a back door.

As she steps out into the cold night, she clocks on to the sound of footsteps. Someone is coming the other way up the path. The figure steps into the light coming from the building, and Cannon keeps walking. She has no energy for Alastor Cousteau right now.

"Cannon?" he says anyways. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"None of your fucking business, Cousteau," Cannon says. "Keep walking."

"Hey, we're gonna be District partners come July," Alastor says. "We should at least try to be civil with each other."

"Before we kill each other."

"We don't have to do that anymore."

There's a beat of silence, and Cannon hates silence, so she keeps walking. The sound of her footsteps make noise, and the rhythm comes alive in her drunken mind, and then it's not so quiet.

"Seriously, where are you going?"

"None of your fucking business," Cannon repeats, speeding up her steps in an attempt to lose him.

"Are you going home? To see your family?" There's a weird emotion in Alastor's eyes that Cannon clocks as sadness. Or empathy. Or jealousy. It could be a lot of things.

"None of your fucking business."

There's no use in telling him she has no family to see. There's nothing but a grave left of her family, and the only reason Cannon would ever go there is to piss on her father's corpse.

"So if you're not going to see family, where are you going?"

Cannon heaves a sigh, turns around, and says, "Fine. I'm going to buy alcohol to numb the emptiness inside me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Alastor is silent for a moment. Then he says, "Guess it's been a rough night for both of us."

Cannon ignores him, because she doesn't care about hearing his sob story. Alastor tells her anyway.

"My parents kicked me out," he says. "Because I still want to volunteer for the Games after my brother died."

When Cannon was little, she wanted a younger sibling, because she could protect them. Once she got a bit older, she wanted a bigger sibling, because they would protect her. Eventually she wanted no siblings, because she was better off protecting herself and nobody else.

"When the Games start," Alastor says. "Are we going to be allies?"

Cannon doesn't want to protect him. Cannon doesn't want to protect anyone but herself.

"I don't care," Cannon says. "I'll win, with or without you."

Alastor waits outside the store while Cannon goes in to replenish her collection of liquor bottles. She isn't even out of the store by the time she's torn off the label and taken a long drink. She offers the drink to Alastor, although she's not really sure why.

After a moment, Alastor takes the bottle and drinks. "So you'll share your drinks will me, but not your victory?"

"I never said I wouldn't do that," Cannon says. "I just said I don't care."

Alastor takes another drink and hands the bottle back to Cannon. "Whatever you say." He watches Cannon drink for a bit before he adds, "You know, you should probably get the whole drinking thing under control before the Games start."

"I don't need your advice," Cannon says. She was there two years ago when they saw his brother die live on television. Alastor lost his mind. It was pitiable and it was pathetic. Cannon doesn't need life advice from someone like him.

Alastor shrugs and seems to have finally run out of things to say. Cannon finds it to be a relief, but only for a few seconds. There is nothing rhythmic about their footsteps now.

She drains the rest of the bottle, wishing one of them might have something to say. Her insides are churning again, and the hole in her stomach is demanding attention, and the alcohol doesn't provide enough of a distraction anymore.

And still the silence drags on, so quiet yet so loud it deafens her.


Desdemona "Des" Lacroix, 16

"I am not very good at being a person."

Des strikes a match and tosses it through an open window. In mere moments the house is aflame and screams are echoing from the second floor. Des backs away from the house as the smoke thickens, but even over the crackling of the fire she can hear someone pounding on the front door. It doesn't matter. They barricaded the Evanstons inside before they set the building ablaze.

The Peacekeepers will rule it an unfortunate accident, completely ignoring the stench of gasoline and boards over the exits. They've done it before. Des knows Callahan pays them off every time.

Des and her companions turn to leave, but Des swears her own reflection is staring back at her from within the fire. For perhaps the millionth time she wonders if that's really what she looks like. That can't really be what she looks like. The face she sees is not her own. The face she sees belongs to a monster.

Like a man possessed, Des creeps back toward the burning house. The roof of the brittle wooden structure caves in, but her reflection never changes. Its mouth moves, but Des can't hear what its saying over the roar of the flames.

"Lacroix? What are you doing?" one of the others says. A hand grabs her shoulder and turns her around. "Get your ass into gear. We gotta get out of here before the 'Keepers show up."

Des is shaken from her trance and follows her companions down a back alley, away from the burning building, the dying debtors, and Des's monstrous visage in the fire. Two of the others are talking in hushed voices, and after a brief exchange, they split off from Des and the other girl. Des thinks nothing of it. They must have another job to get to.

There is nothing to be discussed between Des and her remaining companion. Des's clothes smell of gasoline and smoke, and it only serves to make the general stink of District Six worse. As the moon attempts to fight through the smog, Des and her companion make their way out of the Slums and toward the Hills. The enormous, uniform buildings very suddenly give way to green, sprawling gardens and opulent houses. All of the houses are dark this late at night.

Des and the other girl enter Callahan's compound through a door around the back. Going through the front door is forbidden, even though Des knows that the Peacekeepers are in on Callahan's dealings.

The other girl leaves to inform Callahan's aides of their success, and Des heads for bed.

Des's quarters are in the basement, a tiny room with nothing but a bed in it. There's a million other rooms just like it. Callahan has plenty of debtors working for him. Des sits heavily on the bed and puts her head in her hands. They smell like smoke. They smell like blood. They smell like sins.

The communal bathroom is empty. Des assumes that everyone is either out on a job or asleep. Thus, she treats herself to a nice, long shower. She stands under the spray until the water washes away the memories of tonight. She avoids her face in the mirror, afraid she'll see a monster in place of a person again, and emerges from the bathroom as clean as she'll ever be. Of course, she can never be truly clean. Water and soap cannot clean her of her sins.

Des sleeps like a rock, and for that she is grateful. Her nightmares are not common, but they are terrifying. Still, the morning comes all too quickly. There's a note summoning her to Callahan's side for another job. Des takes a moment to collect herself before she follows the note's orders.

Callahan is an imposing man. Seated behind an enormous wooden deck, he looks practically inhuman. Des stands before his desk and waits for orders.

"There's a man who is refusing to pay for his purchases," Callahan says without a greeting. "His name is Ellis Florham. He owes me a lot of money, Lacroix. And he is refusing to give it me. He has been refusing for a long time, and it's high time we teach him a lesson. Florham has a five-year-old son." Callahan pushes a picture of a smiling little boy across the desk. Des picks it up and pockets it. "I want his son dead by sundown. The address is on the back of the photo. And Lacroix—I expect proof of the child's demise."

Several images flash before Des's eyes—the little boy in the photo crying in fear—a small body with a slit throat, thrown away in some alley somewhere—his father crying as they lower a tiny casket into the ground—and Des, standing over a dead child with more blood on her hands.

This is the moment Des should say no. This is the moment she should refuse.

But her family still has a debt to be paid. And Des has to be the one to pay it, in whatever way necessary. This is her job, so she'll do it.

"It will be done," Des says. She flips the picture over and reads the address. Something about the street name is familiar. Des assumes she's done a job there before.

It's a long walk all of the way across the city, but the weather is nice, so Des lets herself enjoy it. For a just a little bit of time, she can pretend she's just out for a stroll and has no destination in mind.

First, Des will have to check to see if anyone but the little boy is home. If no one else is there, she can kill the boy in the house. If not, she'll have to snatch him and dispose of him in an alleyway. The thoughts make her hands clammy. She swears blood is dripping off of her fingers already.

She ducks down the alley behind the row of houses to case the house. It's the second to last house on the block, a rickety, one-story structure that looks like it would blow over in a wind storm. A tiny patch of dirt is fenced in behind it, and Des peers over the fence. Lo and behold, the little boy in the photo is obliviously playing on the ground. Des looks up at the house. There are no windows facing the yard, so it doesn't even matter if someone is home. This will be easier than she thought.

The knife on Des's belt feels like it's heating up. Just to ensure there are no witnesses, Des will have to lure the boy out of the yard and take him somewhere more secluded—

"What do you want?"

Des snaps to attention. There's a woman in the yard beside the little boy's, staring at Des with apprehension and suspicion.

Des opens her mouth to respond without really looking at the woman. As soon as she takes in the woman's full appearance, she gapes.

It's her mother. Older, grayer, but her mother all the same.

"I—" Des starts to say, but what does she say? Her mother doesn't even recognize her. What is she supposed to say? Maybe she should apologize. Maybe she should demand gratitude. Or maybe she should say, I love you.

"Hm? Why are you here?" her mother says.

Des takes in the house. It's not very nice, but it's livable. Her parents would be happy there.

"I'm sorry," Des says finally, and she's apologizing for a lot of things. "I just got distracted. I'll be on my way."

She walks down the alley until she's out of her mother's vision. Then she stops and waits for her mother to go back into the house. She can't stop staring. She hasn't seen her mother since she was eight years old. It's no wonder she doesn't recognize Des.

(Des doesn't recognize herself, either. When did she grow up?)

Eventually, her mother goes back inside the house. Des waits for another couple of minutes, just to make sure she's not coming back. Or maybe she just needs the extra couple of minutes to keep herself together.

She takes a few deep breaths and reminds herself why she does all of this. She does it all for that house, for that woman, for the safety of her family who doesn't recognize her anymore.

Des returns to the fence. The little boy is still playing in the dirt. When he notices her, he looks up and waves. "Hi Miss!" he says.

Children in Six learn at a young age to be afraid of strangers. Apparently this one missed the memo.

Two days later, the newspapers are plastered with the story of the poor little boy found dead in an alleyway with the words, Pay your debts, Ellis, or you'll be next written in blood on the wall beside him. Des's stomach rolls with guilt, but she doesn't stop. She can't stop until it's all paid.

(And it will never all be paid.)


A/N: I'm officially on summer break now, so hopefully we can get through the intros pretty soon. The next chapter will be a short subplot chapter, so you can expect that in the next few days.

We are now halfway through the intros, meaning we have twelve tributes introduced. Out of the twelve we have so far, who do you think is the most likely to win? I'm interested to see what your thoughts on it are.

Also, Storm of Chance still needs more submissions. Toss a tribute my way if you've got one!

The next intro chapter will be Elsie, Katarina, Eike, and Kyrum.

-Amanda