𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝- Finnick Odair

𝐢𝐢𝐢.

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

The announcement of the 75th Hunger Games drew Sarrel, Cashmere, and Gloss to gather in Beatrice's house in District One. They sat together, crammed into chairs and couches, waiting with bated breath to hear what the 3rd Quarter Quell would bring their tributes that year. Cashmere looked to Sarrel as she said, "Remind me. The first two Quarter Quells, what were they?"

Sarrel took in a breath. "The first was a vote. The districts chose who would compete that year. The second was double the tributes. Forty-eight instead of twenty-four. That was the year Haymitch Abernathy won. He used a force field to kill the girl from here."

"He cheated," Gloss said.

"He played smart. And I'm sure he suffered for it," Sarrel corrected. "Every single one of us victors has done something to get Snow's attention. That was just Haymitch's moment."

Beatrice held tightly to Sarrel's hand as President Snow came onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of the games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this the... 75th anniversary of our defeat in the rebellion, we celebrate the 3rd Quarter Quell." He drew a crisp, white envelope from his jacket and began to read. "As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district."

The audience on screen roared with protest, but in Beatrice's house, it was startlingly silent.

Her grip on Sarrel slackened. "What?" she said. "What- - what did he just say?"

Snow was still speaking on screen but none of them heard. Beatrice pulled her knees up onto the couch, hugging them to her chest. "He can't mean that," she said. "He can't- - he can't do that."

"He just did," Gloss said. His hands were shaking. Cashmere was silent, her mouth agape.

"Twenty-six years," Sarrel said, his voice beginning to waver, anger mounting. "Twenty-six damn years! I thought I was safe!"

"Sarrel," Beatrice murmured. "Sarrel, please. It's- - It's all right, it has to be... a fluke. We can't go back in there."

"It doesn't seem like it," Cashmere said, finally breaking her silence. "I think- - I think we have to do this."

Sarrel took in a deep breath. "I'll do it," he stated. "Gloss, you aren't- -"