Reaping Day was always Betty's favorite. The entire town was alight with fanfare and cheering. Her father paraded around and waved and everyone exploded into excitement whenever he did so. The whole city was lit up with wondrous lights, and everything was scrubbed and shined and made to gleam, just like the seat of luxury they were.

Her family made the trip to the Reaping Platform together. They wore their nicest clothes, gleaming gold and silver, and Hal stopped to sign autographs on the way of awe-struck children. He was what some said 'made the Capital proud' and it warmed Betty to see that.

Alice, her mother, rolled her eyes, but Betty knew she secretly loved it. Her mother certainly benefited from the finer things in life that they were given. She didn't know too much about her mother's past, other than that she wasn't born in District 2, which was highly unusual. Usually, Districts married within Districts. All the times she'd tried to pry an answer from anyone who might now, she was unceremoniously shut down.

She supposed her mother was allowed her secrets, though it bothered Betty to no end.

"I just want to get this over with," Polly huffed.

"Oh, calm down," Betty sighed, "You're not going to be picked." Polly had never shown the skills to be a Career Victor, the starkest difference between the pair. They were similar in most other ways, but their differences veered sharply at the training mats. Polly seemed pleased to never have to spend the long hours learning what Betty had, ready to transition into a safe, non-threatening job post graduating this year.

She wouldn't be a pride to her parents, not like Betty was expected to be, but…

"But she'll be safe!"

It was that argument she'd heard her mother hiss at her father time and time before. She expressed her anger at Betty's training frequently, but even more so since she was given the seal approval that she was most likely to be the female victor when she turned eighteen. Her mother was aghast at the revelation and cried for days, and Betty did a poor job consoling her because she didn't feel bad for herself. She felt like she was slotting into where she was always supposed to go.

Hal nodded to Brutus, who was walking up with the male volunteer for this year, Bret Weston Wallis. Bret made eye contact with Betty and grinned, pleased and shining from the attention. Everyone knew what it meant to be walking on the right side of the most esteemed and most famous victor for their District.

"He'll do well," Hal mumbled, nodding approvingly. Betty craned her neck to see Enobaria and catch a glimpse of who the female victor would be, but they hadn't emerged yet.

Years ago, picking Career Tributes had been a long and lengthy process. Twenty people would jump up, volunteering, and it became a whole thing. It was only a few years ago, after Cato and Clove had lost to not one, but two people from District 12, that they decided they needed to be sending the strongest, best tributes.

Now, the instructors had a tournament the morning of reaping with the ten best students and whittled it down to one.

The rules were now that the first person to volunteer was who go it. And, as Betty had reminded Kevin, taking the place of an instructor-picked tribute was just about the worst thing you could do.

Their method had paid off. District 2 hadn't won every Hunger Games in the last eight years, but they'd won a grand majority. Clearly, they'd cracked the code to fame and glory.

"He's…something," Betty raised an eyebrow. He'd always rubbed her the wrong way, though she wasn't sure why. Still, she couldn't deny that he'd be an exceptional victor. Perhaps it was the crazed gleam that he got sometimes that led Betty to think he'd be the sort of person to lead the bloodbath.

Statistically, taking a high amount of kills at the start, and getting the best supplies, meant the best chance of survival. Arm yourself with weapons, get provisions, and send a clear message to other tributes not to fuck with you.

The walk to the seats at the auditorium was just a short bit away. Betty settled herself onto the stone seats, staring at the two large bowls. Somewhere, her name was in one of those. But it didn't matter; even if she was picked, it wasn't her year.

She was patient. She could wait.

Hal kissed Betty's forehead before going to sit with the other victors. Alice twittered over Polly before giving a long sigh in Betty's direction, going to where all the non-Victors and non-children sat. Other students crowded around Betty and Polly, talking amongst themselves. Jonathan came limping up with a hand in a cast and a bruise blooming across his face.

"Oof, you okay?" Betty asked, helping him sit.

"No, I'm pissed. I was two seconds away from winning against Bret. It should be me up there," He said darkly, "Can't believe it…"

"You just weren't good enough," Bret said with a smirk, coming to sit next to them, "Don't cry too much about it."

"Hi, Bret," Betty greeted blandly, "Do you know who the female tribute will be?"

"Should have been Donna," Bret bemoaned, "If only her father hadn't fucked up and been forced to move to police District 5. It's so shitty, you know? I think they should do it based on the District you were born in."

"Okay, Mr. President," Jonathan said, "When you're in power, you can make the rules."

Bret turned, a look in his eye that terrified Betty, "I plan to."

"She'll probably volunteer anyway," Betty said, "I can't imagine girls are falling over themselves in District 5 to volunteer. So…" She twiddled her thumbs.

"Can we please talk about something else?" Kevin sighed, coming to sit next to Polly.

"What else is there?" Jonathan asked, "This is, without a doubt, the biggest deal…until the actual games."

"Anything," Kevin groaned.

Bret turned his attention to Kevin, "Can't help it your father raised a pussy."

"Take that back!" Betty snapped. Though she knew Kevin was never meant for the arena, she was deeply protective of him. He'd helped her through so many trials in school, back before she was anyone and when she was ugly, that she protected him through the ridicule that such a high-ranking peacekeeper's son would do anything but participate in the Hunger Games.

"Or what will you do to me, Betty?" Bret questioned.

"I'll break your neck. You know I will." Betty said, "I'm dead serious, Wallis. Find someone else to pick on."

Bret huffed, turning pointedly so his back was facing Betty.

"Know who got reaped in District 1?" He asked, "It must have happened already."

"Oh, yeah," Jonathan snapped his fingers, "I don't know off the top of my head, though. Two…gingers?" He squinted, "I'm sure if it's done with, we'll see it up there," He said, motioning to the large screens, "Before. See our competition."

" My competition," Bret corrected, "You'll be sitting at home, watching me lead us to victory. Again."

"Look; it's Joan!" Jonathan said, and Betty was sure it was the boy's attempt to steer the conversation, but as Betty craned her head, she took a sharp intake.

"Looks like we have our female victor," Bret said with a quiet laugh.

The way that Joan's head raised high and the gleam in her eyes was unmistakable. She seemed to part the sea of students as she passed, sitting gracefully next to a few of her friends, a coy smile on her lips the entire time. As she parted her hair with two of her fingers, away from her face, her gaze met Bret's and she shared a quiet nod of acknowledgment, sealing what Jonathan suspected.

"Her?" Bret frowned after a moment, "I wouldn't have guessed. Shada doubles her in size. And Nabi is a far better fighter."

"Well, she's small and lithe. And Nabi had a bad time last night, so," Betty guessed, recalling what Jonathan had told her, "Never underestimate the quiet ones," She added. Bret turned sharply towards Betty, as though examining her in a new light. He licked his tongue over his teeth, nodding.

"I suppose that's right, especially from you," Bret's laugh was husky, "And you're going to show us all next year, huh?" He asked, though his tone was almost patronizing. Betty rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

Besides, the ceremony was about to start.

As expected, they played the clip of the District 1 tributes. Two children were picked, but immediately people volunteered. Betty considered how strange it was that they looked so similar until their master of ceremonies had them speak into the microphone, introducing themselves. The girl seemed to take control, casting a spell on the crowd.

"Cheryl Blossom, and my twin brother, Jay-Jay."

Polly gasped hard, grasping Betty's hand so hard she felt like it would break.

"Ow!" She hissed, turning in confusion.

"We know them, Betts," Polly muttered, her face aghast, "We met them."

A tingle of recognition flashed in Betty's brain, and she strained, staring at their perfect smiles and rehearsed waving and cheering, "We do?"

"We met them a few months ago. At the Victor's dinner when Dad went to the capitol. They were there."

Betty tilted her head, considering it. A brief reminder of the moment passed through her mind, though she'd only shaken their hands. Polly, upon future thought, had been out of her view most of the night, so it wasn't wild to think that perhaps she'd found a friendship in one or the other, while Betty stayed glued to her father's side, choosing to shake hands with former victors instead of the other children there.

"Oh," Betty tilted her head, "Well, erm…" She wasn't sure why Polly was so upset, or how she should respond to her sister's pain.

Instead, she looked at Bret, trying to gauge his opinion.

Everyone else was too.

"The boy looks like he might be a challenge," Bret said, raising an eyebrow, "But the girl? Pfft; maybe she'll be worth an allegiance, but, she's not exactly a fighting type."

"Oh, I wouldn't discount Cheryl Blossom," Another student said with a harsh laugh, "I hear she's insane. Literally. Something about that family inbreeding too often, to keep the Victor's line pure."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she and her brother weren't a little too friendly with each other-," Another began, but Polly spun around with such venom that it shocked Betty.

"Take those words out of your mouth! That's disgusting," Polly growled, "And not true!"

"Sure, because knowing them for ten minutes at a dinner would have them spilling their deepest secrets, or, apparently, non-secrets," Bret said, snorting, "Whatever. I believe it."

Polly seethed in her seat, and when Betty turned, she caught tears reflecting off the shine of the TV screens trekking down her sister's face.

"What's wrong?" She asked, leaning in, frowning. Polly looked back, and for a second, she opened her mouth like she was going to reveal something, but instead just shook her head.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," She murmured, "Not today."

But what about tomorrow?

"Polly." Betty hissed, "You can tell me."

Polly glanced around, double-checking, but everyone was engrossed in watching Cheryl and Jason (yes, that was his real name, Betty now remembered) on their screen, in matching red, being escorted off the stage.

"Jason and I…we…hit it off," Polly murmured, "And we've been talking ever since."

"Oh, god, Polls," Betty murmured, frowning, "Was it…serious?"

Polly hesitated a great deal, "Yes. He told me his sister wanted him to volunteer with her, but he didn't want to. I didn't think he would," Her voice warbled.

"I…" Betty breathed out. Betty had never dated anyone or found any interest. She couldn't understand what her sister was going through, but she knew she hated how sad Polly looked.

"I had something to tell him," Polly murmured, almost deliriously, "I meant to tell him last night. I thought it would stop him. I don't…maybe the message didn't go through…" She muttered, looking nearly shell-shocked.

"Tell him what?" Betty demanded, but Polly shook her head.

"It doesn't…it doesn't matter now," She said, wiping away her tears, "It just doesn't."

Betty scowled. She was often able to figure out any riddle that she came across, and being denied when she was so close to an answer was very off-putting.

But Polly wasn't budging.

The fanfare for their own Repeaing began like every year; they played the best shots from former victors, each in their own montage, and played President Snow's welcoming statements. Betty had thought that he seemed old when the whole kerfluffle with that couple in District 12 had won, but he looked ancient now, just passing his 90th birthday. However, with the medical advancements in the Capitol, Betty wouldn't be surprised if he made it far past 100 years.

Her attention was half on Polly though, trying to unravel this mystery, unwilling to let it go. She was called stubborn at best, and insufferable at worst when she was on a point, like a rabid dog with a bone, as her mother often called her. She knew she could push through social niceties when she was in the depth of a question, and usually didn't let anything go until she was satisfied.

And right now, Betty was not satisfied.

She faintly heard the male's name plucked from the basket, a stringy thirteen-year-old who looked far too relieved when not a millisecond later, Bret stood and firmly announced that he volunteered. Everyone near him clapped and hooted, even Jonathan.

Generally, despite wishing you were picked instead, you rallied around those who were picked. Any bitterness Jonathan had just vanished the moment Bret took his mantle. It's just how it was.

Bret pressed a hand to Betty's shoulder as he climbed down, a motion that trigged Betty's attention back for just a second, long enough to shake his hand away, before she was back to the case of her sister.

She hardly heard Bret laughing into the microphone, she was too far deep into this.

Her sister, despondent, over a boy that she'd only met a few months ago.

She hadn't drunk any alcohol last night nor for the last few months.

She'd put on a bit of weight in her cheeks, something her mother had sniped about, making comments that Polly ought to lose weight if she hoped to find a husband after graduation.

And finally, she watched as Polly couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen in the back, the one that still streamed the empty District 1 Reaping Stand, as though she hoped Jason would appear back on screen.

And then, Polly crossed her arms over her stomach. Not that she was sick, though she did have a greenish tint to her face, but almost… protectively.

The horror of the realization hit Betty like a train, such a revelation that she almost slipped from her seat.

Polly's pregnant.

Not even a breath of a moment later, the master of ceremonies called out the female tribute name, his voice clear and bright through the microphone.

"Polly Cooper!"

A few thoughts hit Betty all in the span of a single millisecond.

Polly was reaped.

If she went in, she was going to have to face off against her boyfriend.

The father of her child.

She was going to go in pregnant.

And she would die.

All at once, Betty entirely forgot that someone else would be taking Polly's place, too caught up in a sea of frightfulness and worry for her sister that she found her body shoving herself up, protectively, before her brain caught up with what she was doing.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The words were out of her lips before Joan was even halfway out of her seat.

A hush fell across the students, staring at Betty with wide eyes. Betty realized what she'd done as the silence weighed upon her. She turned to see Joan looking at her with unmasked fury in her eyes, teeth ground tight and her fists clenched like she was going to pummel Betty to the ground right then.

Polly and Kevin both looked pale as a ghost, Polly shaking her head and blubbering incoherently, while Kevin reached for Betty, but pulled back like she was already a ghost standing in front of him.

Betty turned her gaze first to her mother, who met Betty's eyes and shook her head slowly. Then to her father, who was beaming on the stage, nodding in encouragement. Finally, she found Bret's eyes, who didn't seem as shocked as everyone else, but grinned.

Maybe he was pleased that Betty, still a year away from fully trained, would be an easy target.

Betty realized after a moment she needed to move and stumbled down the steps to the large stage. The microphone stand was cold in her fingers as she reached to touch it, clasping her fingers around it as she whispered to the utter silence, "Elizabeth Cooper."

"Oh!" The master of ceremonies gasped, "You must be Polly's sister…wait, you're Hal's daughter!" He looked pleased as punch, "What an end to this year's reaping folks, what an extraordinary volunteer!"

Betty stepped back in line next to Bret, who leaned sideways, eyes focused on the crowd.

"You're sure something, Cooper." He muttered.

"Unexpected?" Betty asked dryly.

"Naw," He laughed, "Somehow, I'm not surprised at all. The Coopers sure know how to make enemies. But," He shrugged, "That's the name of the game, isn't it?" He asked. Betty pursed her lips, trying not to panic as it all pressed on her, the reality of what she'd done.

"Think I'll be an easy target?" She sniped back.

"Not for one second," Bret said, "And I look forward to the challenge."

XXX

Jughead kept his head down as the youth of District 12 trudged through the muddy dirt toward the town center. It had rained the night before, and the morning lay in a wet, moist gray overcast, particularly poignant mood for the day. Jughead rolled the idea around in his head, thinking of the way to phrase it best. His father always said he had a way with words, not that it led to anything to help his family. He didn't want to sell poems at the trading post like a bard, and couldn't sing for shit.

He met up with Fangs and Toni, Jellybean following behind, stiff as a doll. Her eyes were fixated forward, never blinking or flickering in any other direction, her hair messily done in a braid, the best Jughead could manage.

His old pop, drunk most of the time, sure as hell wasn't going to do it, and their mother had vanished when Jughead was eight years old. Jelly was all he had, and likewise for him. He turned back, giving a genuine, soft smile. She was just about the only person he let his grumpy expression slip for, and he hoped it soothed her.

They split off in their gendered roped-off sections, Toni taking Jelly gently by the shoulder and nudging her to a free space. Jughead looked up for the first time, adjusting his knitted hat, the only thing remaining from his mom.

"Two years," Fangs whispered, much more somber than last night. His eyes were glassed over and he looked sick.

"Hungover?" Jughead asked. Fangs shook his head, wincing.

"This day gives me a headache," He mumbled back.

The air was heavy, as it always was. It would rise and stay this way until the tension broke, a haggard relief when your name wasn't chosen when you watched the Peacekeeper escort the poor souls away to their death.

Haymitch was already standing on the platform, along with Katniss and Peeta. The married pair looked uncomfortable, as always, their faces drawn in with distress. Despite their miraculous year, District 12 wasn't on the shortlist for producing good candidates.

But it wouldn't matter, even if they were well-fed and well-kept. Jughead had a theory that their win came with a price; that no matter how good a contestant was, no District 12 victor would ever emerge again. Snow would make sure of that.

Jughead wondered if they stared out across the sea of children's faces and just saw a row of graves, stretching on for forever.

Effie had a forced brightness about her, as she always did, since taking the mantle eight years earlier. She always tried to make it a joyous event, but Jughead had seen the old footage of Katniss and Peeta's reaping. Her joy was genuine back then, a sort of blindness. However, her years watching contestants fail and her years extended on gave her a jadedness that Jughead felt every person in District 12 was just born with. Even if she tried to hide it.

"Welcome to the Reaping of the 82nd Hunger Games!" Effie announced, "Let's look back on some of our proudest moments."

A lot of the footage was of Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss, because…who else would it be of? There was a flash of Sweet Pea in the archives, just briefly, but Fangs stiffened next to Jughead, leaning into his shoulder.

Jughead closed his eyes, screwing them shut.

Sweet Pea had been their former best friend, reaped last year. And though he'd made it farther than some previous tributes, he still had come home in a body bag.

Sometimes, Jughead still turned to joke with him, and it was like he was watching him die on screen all over again when he wasn't there.

He, Toni, and Fangs had been blessed enough to not have someone they knew very personally reaped until last year. But, as the saying went, you might make it to 19 unreaped, but you never walk out unscathed. You always know someone who got picked, and then you had to watch them die.

The recap of the other eleven districts flashed above them, with their chosen tributes, but Jughead paid little attention. He was watching, not wanting a flogging from the Peacekeepers, but not internalizing any of the chosen kids. If he wasn't picked, he didn't give a shit. And if he was, he'd focus on that later.

It was just names, faces, and tears to him right now, all bundled in a blur, indistinguishable from one or another after the Careers.

"What a year it's shaping up to be!" Effie clapped her gloved hands, at this point expecting little crowd reaction or participation, "I suppose with that, we should pick ours. The other Districts are eager to see what fine young men and women are taking the mantel this year. As always; ladies first."

Effie's fingers twirled around in the bowl before she fished out a name. Jughead threw a look back, trying to find Toni or Jellybean, but they were lost in the sea of faces, all focused intently on the square in Effie's hand. She broke the seal, her lips stretched into a faux smile as she held the piece of paper high.

"Forsythia Jones!"

The sound of terror from Jellybean's lips helped Jughead locate her right away. She tried to back away, inhaling hard, but Peacekeepers pushed her forward, grasping onto her little elbows and tugging, like she was no heavier than a bushel of hay.

Jughead found himself stumbling forward, despite Fang's heavy grip on his shoulder, which he shook off with a fury, pushing other men down to get to her.

"Jellybean!" He shouted, elbowing someone in the face to get to a clear patch, "I…stop! No! Stop!" He shouted, "She's fucking twelve!"

Certainly, twelve-year-olds were reaped, but it was never a happy sight to see one so young. Not that Jughead, at seventeen, felt so much older, but he at least had meat on his bones and had gone through his growth spurt.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" Jughead yelled and was shoved onto the stage by the sea of bodies. Effie startled at him.

"Oh, you're a boy," She said, frowning, unsure how to handle this unexpected turn, "Ah…I…hmm…"

"Your sister?" Katniss said, eyes flickering between them. Jughead would have chalked it up to their uncanny resemblance to each other, but he knew that she saw something deeper, something like when she'd taken Prim's place nearly a decade ago. Jughead gave a weary, bone-tired nod.

"That's sweet, kid, but it doesn't work like that," Haymitch snorted.

"Why can't it?" Jughead challenged, finding his voice. All he could think was there could not be any chance that Jellybean had to go in there. She'd be killed right away! "You haven't chosen the male tribute yet. Why can't that be me? And pick someone else."

"Well, it just hasn't," Effie still as flustered, "Been done before. Ah, District 12 does love to challenge us, doesn't it?" She asked with a forced laugh, "Always making history…"

Jughead stood uncomfortably on stage as Haymitch, Effie, Peeta, and Katniss went into the back, whispering in hushed voices. He saw Effie with a pad out, typing something, no doubt to someone back in the capitol.

Well, Jughead, if accepted, was so fucking dead for this.

But if it kept Jelly alive…

He looked at her, crying in the audience, but so relieved and torn at her own joy that she might not have to go in.

Well, it would be worth it.

Effie finally came back, pulling Jughead to the side.

"It is allowed," She said, "However, if we pull your sister's name from the bowl again, unless a female volunteers, she's going in."

Snow knew how this went. Was he really going to deny the backlash he'd get if he insisted that this brave boy couldn't volunteer for his timid, tiny sister?

Jughead smiled, despite it all.

This would, unexpectedly, prove his conspiracy theory, he supposed.

His sister, theoretically, should only be in there once. It was her first year and he'd taken all the tesserae in his name. In fact, he might have been the one plucked for the boys if it had gotten there. It was what a good older sibling did, of course.

So, there should be a 0% chance that Jellybean's name came up again. If it did, it obviously pointed to Snow pulling strings…though Jughead could fathom what a 90-year-old man would see as a threat in a twelve-year-old girl.

For the first time in his life, Jughead hoped with all his heart his skepticism was entirely unfounded.

"Introduce yourself, son," Haymitch pushed Jughead forward towards the stage.

"Jug-, I mean, Forsythe Jones." He said, wincing at the feedback.

He stepped back, eyes focused intensely on Effie as she pulled out the new female name, the male's bowl being rolled aside. In the crowd, he saw Fangs, who was just now realizing he was free one more year, who almost collapsed in relief.

"Antonia Topaz."

Jughead whipped his head around to his friend, her dyed hair easy to spot in the crowd. She had a flash of fear, just for a second, before she strut up to the platform, shoulders back and chin raised.

As she passed Fangs, the remaining friend seemed to fall, his knees giving out.

Jughead knew what he was thinking; he would be the only one of their friend group left in a week, picked off one by one, leaving him with his anguish all alone.

As Toni stood by him, a terrible thought, a guilt that couldn't be pushed away, crawled inside Jughead's mind.

"God…Toni…" He whispered, "I'm so fucking sorry."

If he hadn't volunteered, she wouldn't have been picked.

Toni was up there because of him.

Toni turned, sighing and shaking her head, "Jelly didn't deserve to go in the games. That's not fair. I'm not mad, Jug," She assured, linking hands with him, her finger rubbing the back of his knuckles, "Really."

"I don't believe you."

How could anyone accept such a turn of fate so easily?

"You are a good brother and a good man," Toni replied, "And I'd be an asshole if I were upset."

"You'd be human," Jughead croaked, "And right."

Toni's jaw clenched, sighing. She was not as noble as she led Jughead to believe. No one was.

"Okay, I want to punch you. Better?"

Jughead, despite it, felt his shoulders drop a bit. He was able to smile, despite the absurdity of the moment.

"Actually, yeah."

XXX

Hal boarded the train with Betty. She got a moment to hug Polly goodbye and her mother, who was showing rare affection for her youngest daughter. Alice almost didn't want to let go, not until Hal pulled her away, and even then, she grasped for Betty like she was fading away from sight in moments.

There was not enough time to express to Polly that she knew, not with Alice standing by, but from the frown Polly was giving her, she'd figured it out. Both the Cooper sisters were reasonably good at picking up on cues, and Betty couldn't stop staring at her sister's stomach.

I'm an aunt, Betty thought hazily. In the end, she gave Polly a careful hug and asked Polly to take care of herself. Polly responded with a teary nod.

"I'm going to try."

Bret boarded the brain with Brutus, the older victor giving Betty a terse nod. Whether he had opinions about what happened, he didn't show it. Betty watched Hal have an intense conversation with Enobaria at the station, but she couldn't make out the words. Betty almost wanted Enobaria to be her mentor, until she saw the woman's eyes turn towards her, and such hatred and vitriol was in the woman's eyes it made Betty scurry onto the train.

No, it was better overall if her father trained her. He'd been her mentor since she was six; why stop now?

Their travel was short. The Capital wasn't far away at all. The niceness of the train was still better than anything Betty had stayed in, even as opulent as she thought her house was. But of course, the Capital put all of them to shame.

Their suite, on floor two as always, was still glimmering and gleaming. It still took Betty's breath away, even as Bret complained that District 12 was getting the best accommodations again. But Betty couldn't imagine better than this, not when this was far nicer than any furniture or decorations that her father owned.

What really got Betty, though, was the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Capitol.

"Yeah, I looked that way too," Hal said with a proud smile. They were alone in the living room, Betty pressing her nose to the glass, staring at the flickering lights of the capital, "It's something, isn't it?"

She'd been here before, but somehow, being here as a tribute just made it feel different.

"Betty, I haven't gotten the chance, but I'm proud of you," Hal said, tugging on Betty's signature ponytail. At the start of training, her hair always got in her way, so somewhere around eight years old, Betty had put her hair in a tight pony and it had never changed.

"Even though I broke the unspoken rule?" Betty asked, turning.

"There's only one rule in Hunger Games…there are no rules," Her father said, ruffling her hair, "And you did a kind thing. I always knew you'd be in these games, so I'm thrilled to see you follow in my footsteps, even unexpectedly."

"You think I can win?" Betty asked, unsure for the first time in a long time.

"There's not a question, peanut. You have my blood and skill in you. I couldn't imagine any other outcome." Hal assured, "Now, get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Don't you mean every day after this?" Betty asked.

Hal chuckled, "Yeah. You're right. Every day, until you win, is going to be long." He squeezed her shoulders as he passed to his room, "But we both know you're up for it."

Betty sure as hell was.

She'd only been practicing for eleven years, after all. The loss of one year of training felt inconsequential.

Her fingernails pressed half-moons into her palms, and she stood there until her father vanished into his room.

"You've got this, Betty," Her reflection whispered to her, "You will be a winner this year."