I woke to refreshing droplets of rain hitting my face. I sighed, breathing in the scent of grass as I allowed my head to sink further into the moss. A teardrop of rain clung to my eyelashes, and I allowed it to rest there a moment before blinking it away.

 Turning my eyes to the sky, I could see that morning was creeping ever closer, shades of pink and orange mingling as the sun began to rise. I wanted to lie there a little while longer, basking in nature, but I knew I had to get back in time to begin timetable. And more importantly, before Coin realised I’d slept outside again.

 My mother’s old boots sloshes in the mud as I returned to District 13. I liked them more than the ones Coin had assigned to me; those ones were stiff and had metal blocks in the toe area. Coin insisted they would come in handy if we lost our weapon in battle, and it came to hand to hand combat. She swore a well-aimed kick from those boots could break shin bones. I was a little dubious of that myself. What did that old bag know about hand to hand combat that my mother didn’t? Every time she tutored me and my class, which was around once a month, I felt like screaming at her. Did you win the Hunger Games, Coin? No? Did my mother? Yes, I think she did. So who is more qualified to give me advice, do you think?

 No, I was more comfortable in mother’s boots. She’d had them a long time, even before she passed them down to me, yet the leather had remained sturdy and reliable. Mother told me that a good pair of boots could potentially keep you alive. In the arena, she’d told me, they’d been vital. Good grip, well broken into and mostly waterproof…I trusted mother’s boots more than Coin’s mass manufactured ones.

 I began to hurtle down the stairs into District 13. The bombed out upper floors still hadn’t completely been rebuilt since mother’s rebellion failed, but beneath the surface of the smoking ruins, the District thrived. I made it back to my family’s quarters just in time to begin typical timetable. 7.00. Argue with father.

 I tried to slip in unnoticed, but father was on me like a leech the second the door shut behind me.

 “Not so fast, Karissa. What have I told you about sleeping outside? You’ve already got in trouble for it twice this year with President Coin…”

 Mother caught my eye across the room and raised her eyebrow in amusement. I grinned. He wasn’t about to get any support from her. Father seemed to realise it too.

 “Raven, you’re not helping. This is serious,” he said, glaring at mother as she shrugged nonchalantly.

 Sorry she mimed lazily without much conviction. As much as she loved being a mother, she never appeared to be into the strict maternal roles she’d been expected to adopt. Leaving poor father to take on the role of the over-protective parent.

 “Look, honey, I just don’t want you getting in trouble,” father said, following me as I sat down on a chair to let my hair down and unlace my boots and put on my others “You know that Coin doesn’t want you outside. There’s a curfew-”

 “Screw her curfew.”

 “You’ll catch a cold,” father argued weakly, picking up a clump of my black, matted hair. I smiled, wrenching a boot off my foot.

 “You worry too much,” I told him, rising to kiss his cheek. Father smiled affectionately, but his face fell again as Elliott entered the room, his dark hair dishevelled as he rubbed his eyes lazily.

 “For God’s sake! You’ve got a new mark on your shirt!”

 Elliott shrugged, not saying anything as usual. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak. He just chose not to when he was around father. We were a generally quiet family, I guess, with Mother unable to speak and Elliott speaking only when necessary. Father used enough of his mouth to represent the whole of our dysfunctional family.

 “Take it off. You can’t let Coin see you like that,” Father said in distress. Elliott sighed and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to Father. Elliott caught my eye, his own twinkling. He mostly got on with Mother and I, but he made it his goal in life to drive Father crazy. I rolled my eyes in disapproval, feeling a pang of sympathy for Father as he scrubbed helplessly at the stain on Elliott’s otherwise crisp, pristine shirt. The one he’d spent time ironing the creases out of so that Elliott could look smart. I suspect Elliott deliberately stained it. Reading my thoughts, as he always could, Elliott flicked an innocent eyebrow up onto his forehead, as though to say me? Make life difficult for everyone? You wound me, sister.

 Mother rose from her seat and crossed the room to join me. Her hand quivered ever so slightly as she rested it on my back, but I pretended not to notice. Her demotion from leader still wounded her years later. But though I had always hated Coin, and respected my mother as a strong leader, she was no longer the anger-driven, strong victor she’d once been. Anger had kept her together, and she was too tired to be angry anymore. As angry as she had been, anyway. Sometimes when I looked at her, I could see her past running past her vacant eyes, her lips drawn, often flinching at the memories she’d refused to tell me about. She was so tired now. And getting old.

 Did you sleep well, mother? I asked her in signs. I preferred to communicate with her this way if it was possible. Speaking aloud felt like degrading her. But she could read me well enough anyway. We barely had to use signs to speak, let alone words.

 As well as ever she replied, pulling a face. I smiled as she combed my hair through with her fingers and retied it in a knot. We looked alike, mother and I. Elliott had her look too. Green eyes and dark tangles of hair. Only Father’s freckles defined us as his children. Because in fact, neither of us had anything in common with father. We had inherited the reckless, cunning and cutting side to mother that father completely lacked. He was gentle and organised, soft edged and sensitive. Things Elliott and I could never be. I often wondered if we were really his. As my father, I loved him unconditionally, but I couldn’t help wondering how we came to be so different. Mother had never mentioned another man, but having watched over her Games, I did suspect that perhaps she once loved her District partner, Logan Golding. I didn’t dare ask her. Of course, though, he couldn’t be our father. He was dead before it could even be possible. The only other suspect I ever considered was Uncle Drew. Of course, he’s not really my uncle, and he’s the only other man I’ve known, aside from Elliott and father, to even go near her. Which left my investigation at a dead end, and a lifetime longer to spend wondering how two of the same blood could be so very different. 

 Elliott put his damp, newly washed shirt back on, buttoning it up as he headed for the door to begin the day.

 “Tuck your shirt in, son,” Father called timidly as I made to follow Elliott. Elliott shoved a handful of shirt down his trousers, the rest remaining hanging out as we closed the door behind us and set off for breakfast. We walked in silence for a while. It made me uncomfortable, though Elliott had never been one for idle chat. I cleared my throat and I swear I saw my brother raise an unimpressed eyebrow, as though he’d predicted exactly what I was about to say.

 “You really should lay off Father, you know. Give him a break.”

 “Why?” Elliott asked. The sound of his gruff voice startled me, as it always did when he spoke. He used his voice so little, it was easy to forget he had one.

 “Because you’re not being fair to him. He’s trying to protect you. He’s not doing it for fun, is he? He doesn’t want you getting in trouble with Coin.”

 “So what? If he wants to worry, that’s up to him. It’s not even his problem.”

 “Of course it’s his problem! You’re his son!”

 “And you’re his daughter. So if you’re suddenly so worried about Father’s wellbeing and worried about Coin, why don’t you stop sleeping outside?”

 I seethed quietly, knowing once again that Elliott had managed to stump me. He smiled smugly as we entered the dining hall in silence.

 The sight of us in the hall had always been enough to turn heads. The younger children, especially, gawped at us with open mouths, but some of the adults were just as bad. Perhaps it was because our Mother was a Victor. Perhaps it was because of Elliott’s intense beauty and smouldering mysterious presence. Or maybe it was our high rank as soldiers at such a young age. That was Coin’s issue with Elliott and I; we got away with stretching the rules a little, had privileges due to our rank. We were too important and influential to demote. People looked up to us and our family. We were two of the best soldiers in the District, and descended from the previous leader of the District. I guess we inherited the combat skills from Mother. Coin couldn’t afford to lose us. So as we entered, Elliott’s scruffy attire went unchecked, and if they knew I slept outside, the guards didn’t mention it or punish me for it. People were still staring at us as we sat down at our usual table with bowls of hot grain. As I spooned the grain into my mouth, Elliott merely stared at his, barely touching it as usual.  He didn’t speak to me and I didn’t speak to him. It was a private, unspoken arrangement. We both pretended the other didn’t exist, I guess. No one else bothered to try and sit with us. Once, the more confident girls in the District would approach Elliott, but now they stayed away indefinitely. I think they realised it wasn’t worth the effort when he was unwilling to communicate. I think Elliott may have scared away any potential friends I could have had in the past. I often felt lonely, but I accepted that it was always going to be that way with Elliott around. He was a deterrent. A snake, fangs bared to anyone that dared to come too close. And I was wound in the coil of his tail. At least I was safe under his thumb. Our relationship was by no means normal, but we relied on each other. We were a team, if a dysfunctional one.

 8.00am approached. I checked the timetable printed on my hand. It was time for combat training. Everyone in the District was required to attend these classes once a week when they got to the age of twelve, for their own safety, but as soldiers, our regime was much more demanding. Elliott and I marched down what seemed like hundreds of steps, deeper into the heart of the District, where the training floor was. I found myself wondering if the huge gymnasium was similar to the one used for tributes in the Capitol. That particular day, our trainer, Horatius, stood between two cushioned mats. He’d brought no weapons along to practise with, which meant we could be doing only one thing. Hand to hand combat training. Around twenty of us were gathered for the session, and Horatius quickly called us to order, never wasting any time. Everyone stood listening intently. 

 “You know what to do. Winner stays on,” he announced “No holding back for any of you. Whoever your partner is, you have to try and beat them in combat. We’re training you to kill. You have to be prepared to inflict harm and be prepared to receive it too.       So I repeat. No holding back. Form two groups. Only two on a mat at once.”

 There was quite some shoving to get to the mats, but I lingered back. Unlike the other soldiers, I didn’t actually enjoy the fighting. It surprised most of the others. I excelled in most of the activities we did, and was considered one of the best soldiers in the District. But I was one of the rare ones who didn’t see the fun in it. Elliott loved it. Perhaps a little too much, really. When he fought, used a gun or caused some sort of pain his face lit up, animated in a way I never saw him at any other time. It was chilling, really, to see my own brother so excited about bloodshed and discomfort.

 Of course, he was the first to barge his way onto the mat.

 His opponent, a tall, gangly woman with a sharp, short bob of red hair loomed over Elliott with a smug smile on her face. She was clearly new to the group, full of arrogance and self-certainty. Well. That was about to change. Perhaps it finally dawned on her who she was dealing with when Elliott tackled her swiftly and smoothly to the ground. Perhaps it clicked that she’d very much met her match when Elliott’s fist slammed into her nose for the first time, the cracking sound making me feel sick. And perhaps, as she drifted out of consciousness, it occurred to her that Elliott Verona-Grey was not to be messed with.

 “Enough, Elliott,” Horatius said as Elliott beat his opponents limp body “Save some for the next challenger.

 Elliott snorted as he wiped the woman’s blood on his white shirt, as though to say that no one was a challenge for him. But of course, there was only one person able to match his skill in combat. He looked to me. His mirror image, his other self. His only weakness.

 “Come on, Karissa,” he murmured menacingly “Show me what you’ve got.”

 Everyone looked at me expectantly. I drew my shoulders back as I stepped onto the mat a little shakily. Elliott and I never really fought during those classes, otherwise occupied with other, less capable opponents. But for once, I was glad I faced him. I was getting a little tired of his attitude and him playing the role of home wrecker. I stared at him and he at I, sizing one another up, searching for weaknesses.

 “This will be fun,” Elliott said quietly in amusement. But I was ready for the punch he threw a second later. A predictable move. His eyes gave away exactly what he was going to do. I made to copy his motion and he grabbed my wrist, but he wasn’t expecting the knee to his groin manoeuvre that doubled him over. I had the upper hand. Still reluctant to hurt him much, I allowed him a second to get back to his feet. It was foolish of me. I narrowly dodged and elbow thrust to my abdomen and hurtled off the mat in an attempt to get away. I had no time to compose myself as Elliott ran at me. So I ran. I needed some time to ready myself. I ran half way across the gymnasium, climbing on top of a piece of apparatus, a structure made of bars. Elliott caught up with me and began to climb the ladder, but I kicked him down, leaving him sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. I jumped down from the apparatus again and went to Elliott’s side. He grabbed my ankle and I flailed for a moment before crashing to the ground next to him, a shoot of pain rushing through my spine.

 “You must remain on the mats, Soldier Karissa and Soldier Elliott!”

 “Why?” I asked, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh “You think our enemies on the battlefield are going to keep us on a mat?”

 Elliott grinned as he and I wrestled on the ground. He seemed to think we were bonding somehow. I struggled with him, finally gaining the dominance of the battle when I pinned his arms to his side with my knees. He struggled beneath me, but I was too strong. I glared down at his fiercely, but he merely smiled, and I saw the boy he was once, the boy with the curly hair and beautiful smile.

 “Finish it,” he said “Go on. Smash my face in. You know you want to.”

 “Soldier Karissa?”

 I looked up. President Coin stood, lips pursed as she looked at me.

 “I need you in a meeting,” she said “I’ve assigned you to an important mission. Come with me now. And don’t let me down.”

 I took one last glance at my conquered brother and stood, offering him a hand to help him up silently. His mouth was twisted in a smirk as he brought his mouth close to my ear.

 “You missed your chance,” he whispered “Next time, I’ll win. And I won’t hesitate to crush you. We have to be ruthless, Karissa. We’re battle born, after all.”