I wake from a restless sleep, the thought of being in the arena still fresh in my mind. I drag myself out of bed, opening the door to find Honey standing there, her smile shy but reassuring.

"It's time to go into the arena," she says softly.

We fall into the routine—going into the bathroom, tying my hair up in a bow, and slipping into the clothes they've given me. I stare at myself in the mirror, the weight of what I'm about to face pressing down on me, heavier with every passing second. The arena. The Games.

I feel the tightness of the bodysuit beneath the clothes first. It's snug, almost too tight, but not uncomfortable. The deep, frosty blue shade seems to blend with the snow outside, and I can feel the heat-retaining fabric warming my skin. It clings to me, almost like a second skin, adjusting as I move, and for a moment, I forget I'm wearing anything at all.

Next is the vest. It looks lightweight but is thick with synthetic insulation, a shield against the cold. I zip it up, feeling the warmth settle around my chest, and tug at the high collar. It's soft grey, almost white at the edges, and feels like protection, like something between me and the arena. The clever fabric has vents in places I wouldn't have thought to check, and I imagine they'll come in handy if the temperature spikes around the Cornucopia.

Then comes the cloak. It feels like a heavy blanket draped over me, but also tough—like I could hide inside it and disappear. The dark grey fabric catches a faint shimmer when the light hits it, almost like it's a part of the snow. But as much as I want to believe I can blend into the landscape, the reality hits me when I remember the cameras, the eyes of the audience, and the ever-present threat of the Capitol.

The thermal tights are next—light and stretchy, the grey flecked with specks of silver and blue. They're perfect for movement, for running, for survival.

The boots are heavier. They rise just below my knees, sleek and durable. The soles are spiked, perfect for icy terrain. I feel the heat pad activate when I slip them on, the warmth starting to creep through my toes. They mold to my feet, perfect, like they were made for this. I can feel the heat on my feet when the temperature drops, and maybe even something to cool them if the sun gets too hot.

The gloves fit like second skin—warm, flexible, perfect for wielding weapons. The leather patches on the palms feel sturdy, reassuring, as if someone thought about every detail when making them.

Finally, I grab the scarf. It's thick, soft, with a metallic sheen that catches the light. I pull it up over my neck, knowing I can pull it up over my face if needed, to shield myself from the wind or the mutts. But I'm careful not to tighten it too much. The last thing I need is to suffocate while trying to survive.

I glance at myself in the mirror one last time. Prepared, maybe. But my gut twists with a feeling I can't shake—no outfit, no matter how perfect, can protect me from what's coming. The Games aren't about surviving. They're about being picked off, one by one.

Still, as I step away from the mirror, take a deep breath, I know I'm as ready as I can be.

Because the moment I step into that arena, I'm not just a girl from District 3. I'm a tribute.

And I'm ready to fight.

Honey pulls me gently by the hand toward the hovercraft. The ladder descends, and I grab it, but as I start to climb, I freeze.

Before I can react, I'm yanked inside. A woman injects something into my arm. Before I can even register the sting, my body goes limp, and I crumple to the floor. The hovercraft lifts off, and all I can think is:

Needles. I hate needles.

The Launch Room is cold, dark. The hum of machines and the distant roar of the crowd echo in the space, heightening the tension inside me.

The countdown begins. My heart pounds in my chest. This is it. This is the moment my life changes forever.

The platform beneath me vibrates, and I grip the edges tightly, preparing for the chaos to come.

With a jolt, the platform shoots up, the blinding light floods my eyes. The roar of the audience is deafening, and I can barely hear my own breath over the pounding in my ears.

The arena comes into view. Snow, trees, a frozen pond. It's almost beautiful—until the cold reality settles in. I'm a tribute now. I'm here to fight for survival in a game that thrives on bloodshed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-first Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice crackles in my ear, his excitement palpable.

I glance around, my enhanced hearing picking up everything. The sounds of distant footsteps, the crackle of the wind, the steady rhythm of my own pulse. I turn slightly and spot the Cornucopia behind me, its shape looming like an ominous promise of danger. The tributes around me stand frozen, staring, waiting for the gong to sound.

I hear voices, a man's and a woman's. They're counting down.

The woman says: "In 3...2..."

I make my decision in an instant. The gong sounds, and I sprint toward the Cornucopia. My feet hit the ground, my body a blur of motion as I race toward the weapons. I grab a spear, three dozen knives, and shove most of them onto my belt. A few stay in my hand, ready for use. My ears twitch, and I hear footsteps closing in.

I don't waste time. I turn and dash into the forest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I spot Kai. He's struggling, still trying to get a weapon from the Cornucopia. Someone shoots an arrow at him. I'm already moving before I think, throwing a knife into the air. It knocks the arrow aside.

The archer looks confused for a moment. That's all I need. I throw another knife, this time it sinks into their head. Blood splatters, and the cannon sounds.

Kai turns, staring at the fallen tribute. I stop in front of him, holding my knife out, ready.

I can feel my heart racing, my blood pumping in a frenzy. Inside, I'm reeling. I just killed someone.

But there's no time for that. More tributes are moving in, and I need to be ready.

The girl from District 7 charges at me, axe raised. I don't hesitate. I throw my spear, and it sinks into her chest. A cannon sounds.

More footsteps. Several of them. I turn, throwing knives, one after the other, each finding a target. I grab my spear from the dead girl's body and prepare for the next wave.

The tension in the air thickens. I glance at Kai, who's picked up a sword and an arrow.

"Run, you fool, run!" I shout at him.

He looks confused, but I don't wait. He gets to his feet and sprints away.

I focus back on the fight. A boy tries to chase after him. I throw another knife, it lands square in his back. Blood splatters. Another canon.

I spot a girl, her gaze locked on mine. She's impressed but frustrated. I turn just in time to see another boy approaching. I twirl my knife and stab him in the stomach.

He drops to his knees, clutching his wound. I jump over him and head for the trees.

I run for what feels like hours until I trip down a hill, landing on my back, panting.

I'm starving.

I sit up, stomp my foot, and almost immediately, a parachute descends from the sky. I reach up and catch it, opening the small pack to find bread, cheese, water, and what looks like pork.

"Thanks, Paxon," I mutter under my breath, before breaking off a piece of bread and eating it. I look up at the sky, the time of day impossible to track.

I eat slowly, trying not to gorge myself, before tying the parachute around my belt. I scan the area, my senses alert.

I hear footsteps far away, but not close. I relax just a little and get to my feet, moving cautiously through the trees.

I'm not sure where I'm headed, but I'm not alone in this anymore.

I wonder if I could shift into something else, not just a puppy...

The thought excites me, and I can almost feel my tail wagging.

The landscape changes. The snow is gone, replaced by tall trees and a winding pond. At the end of the pond, there's a cave. I step closer, testing the air, before crouching beside the water. I taste it—it's spring water.

I giggle to myself.

The cave feels safe, and I settle inside. The shadows welcome me as I sit down against the cool stone, my back against the wall.

I unwrap the parachute again, eating just enough to keep myself alive. My ears are alert, but I'm exhausted. I tie the parachute back around my waist and drift into sleep, ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

I'll survive. I have to.