I end up at Orion's later that night. I thought I saw my father's shadow in the distance, heavily walking towards the house and it was enough to make me slip out the back and make an immediate beeline to Orion's. 

The Peacekeepers stationed by the mine wordlessly watch as I pass them on my way and I wink at one of them playfully. I think I can hear the greying man snort, but that might just be my imagination. I arrive at Orion's home; slightly nicer than ours due to the money they've saved from the bakery - he shares it with his mother and father, as well as his two siblings, Aries and Dante. They're kind, Orion's family, and proud. Pride is a dangerous thing, my mother once told me. My mother, who used to be so vibrant, who now wanders around the house like all of her colours have drained. I feel my mind beginning to wander and I shake my head to bring myself back to the present; the cold air biting my face, the scratchiness of my leggings, the blister aching on the back of my heel.

I knock on the little wooden door of Orion's house and his father opens it - curiosity into concern when he sees me standing there.

"I know it's late," I begin apologetically, but he shakes his head and lets me into the warmth of their home. Orion's father doesn't say much, but his kindness is ever-present - a kindness that is evident in every interaction. I nod gratefully at him, feel hot tears come to the front of my eyes, blink them away furiously. The last thing Orion's father needs at the moment is a crying teenager on his doorstep.

"Orion's in his room." He reaches awkwardly, gently taps me on my shoulder and the touch radiates throughout my body. I nod my thanks, and, like a robot, make my way to Orion's room.

I open his door without knocking and see him sitting on his bed trying to puzzle his way through some homework. It's so domestic, the whole scene, Orion and his room and his homework and the steaming soup that sits behind him that I feel a sharp stab of something deep in my stomach. Jealousy, maybe. I push it down, as I always do when uncomfortable emotions threaten to surface. He looks up at me with the same concerned eyes as his father.

"Clara?"

"I'm sorry for coming here so late," I blurt out, "I just thought I saw Dad on his way home, and you know how he is sometimes. I think he's been out drinking again."

"Clare. It's okay." He looks at me with such a pitiful expression that I want to scream, and he must read it on my face because he quickly unfurrows his brow. I can practically see the wheels turning, thinking of something to say to make it all better. I press down the corners of my mouth that have started to curl up into a grin, watching him think. Orion has a face that you can read; every single emotion and thought is as clear as day. He gets a dorky grin, and holds up the bowl of soup that sits next to him.

"We have soup!"

"I can see," I'm properly smiling now, dimples and all, and Orion smiles back. I walk over to his bed, nudge him with my knee to make him move over and he does so with only a little bit of complaining. I lie down next to him, switching between staring at the white roof and examining his profile. I'm pleasantly warm all of a sudden, like I've been sitting by a cozy fire.

"Is that pumpkin soup?" I ask, glancing over to the bowl that's now precariously balanced on his desk.

"I think so. Mom probably snuck some extra vegetables in there too, because you know how Dante is."

"Dante is definitely the most vegetable-averse toddler in District Two." I respond. He's silent for a second.

"Hey, Clare?"

"Hey, Orion?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Did you like vegetables when you were little?" I laugh, but Orion rolls over to look at me with utmost seriousness. "I'm not kidding! I just think it's so crazy how we're all so different, even when we're toddlers! Like, Aries apparently loved vegetables and I was impartial, and you've seen Dante with them, the little monster."

"Oh my god."

"What? I'm just saying! We're all different."

"In other news, how's Aries going?"

"He's okay," Orion darkens. "Aries is Aries. Nothing can touch him. He should be doing much worse, considering."

Considering. Considering the hell he's put their family through. Considering the reputation he's made for himself. Considering the tears his parents have shed over him. Considering the harassment Orion has faced at school and in the Academy over it.

"I'm sure he had a reason,"

"I'm sure he had lots of reasons." Orion scowls. "But none of them would've been good enough to quit. You don't just quit training to be a Peacekeeper. He's going to get himself killed. I'm surprised we're not all dead."

"Or-"

"I'm not kidding. He should've thought about us. And if the Capitol puts bullets through all of our heads I wouldn't blame anyone else but him."

There's silence for a second.

"You wouldn't blame the Capitol?" I ask, trying to sound gentle but I end up just sounding like I'm challenging him. Which maybe I am. Orion pauses.

"Does anyone ever blame the Capitol?"

➤

The Reaping is a big deal in Two. A celebration of sorts. One year, there was even an underground ballot set up, betting on which of the volunteer Careers would be picked to compete.

Posters are everywhere in the main square at the moment. I've taken the time to make the trip down - a fairly long walk, but worth it for the views and the glint of pride I get when admiring the Justice Building and the rest of the square. I walk around aimlessly, taking time to read each of the posters. 'The 73rd Hunger Games will be the best yet!' They all proclaim, boasting pictures of our most popular Victors stamped with a golden Capitol seal. The life of glory that they advertise is tempting to most of our District - the truly dedicated ones who train their whole lives for a chance at a moment in the sun, the scary ones who threaten everyone around them to assert their dominance and strength, the smart ones who slyly suggest that they're better than you with knowing smirks and carefully chosen words.

I'm not sure why the Games have never appealed to me as much as the others around me. Maybe it's my home - my smallish town has always felt segregated from the more intense parts of the district, always tucked away a little, sleepy in comparison to some of the bigger and busier areas of Two. We're not poor but not wealthy either - in the comfortable area that leaves us generally content. Most of the Volunteers are either the richest kids looking to seek further wealth and glory, or the poorest of us trying to escape from a desolate life of poverty. Maybe the Games have never appealed to me because of my family - my father's cruelty has only made me more determined to never be like him, to resist the most ruthless and terrible urges that the Games only encourage. If I'm being truly honest, I don't know if I'd survive the Games. Sure, I have fight - I have something to fight for - but I've always felt like there's something fragile about me. That made-of-glass feeling that reveals itself in my weakest moments, though normally covered by my temper. That feeling that I'm always about to break, just a little bit.

I'm still walking. I've been walking until my legs ache and my stomach growls, my heels and toes painful with blisters and my hands achy and puffy from swinging at my side. Truthfully, I've walked down to the square because I don't want to be at home. My mother is physically present today, but she's further away than ever. Today is a bad day for her, which means it ends up being a bad day for me. Whenever she's having a bad day, I always end up with nails chewed down to stubs, the skin around them picked clean because I have the sneaking feeling that every step I take is just bringing me closer to my own grave.

Deep breath, Clara.