𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 || coriolanus snow [✓]

I

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CHAPTER 1

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When I step out of the water, goosebumps quickly cover my skin, turning the once smooth surface bumpy to the touch. I reach out blindly, seeking the warmth of my towel, but instead, my fingers brush against a hand—warm, familiar. Liam. My best friend since childhood.

"Liam, can you be a doll and pass me my towel?" I ask, rubbing at my stinging eyes, now flooded with saltwater.

The towel is pressed into my grasp, and before I can stop him, Liam is already helping me wipe my eyes and draping it over my shoulders. I snort softly, grateful for the gesture. "Thank you."

"What brings you out here, (nickname)?" he smirks, arms crossed against his chest, a brow raised in amusement.

I drop onto my woolen blanket, cross-legged, running the towel aggressively through my damp hair. "Just trying to clear my head before the reaping. I suggest you do the same." My gaze stays locked on his.

Liam scoffs. "Pft—I'm not scared of the reaping. You know this."

I hum knowingly. "Awww, well, bless your heart. As far as my two perfectly good eyes can tell, you're shaking like a leaf and sweating like a sinner in church. You really gonna lie to me now, Liam?"

His scoff turns defensive, and I laugh, shaking out my wet hair.

"Be careful, Ma and Pa won't be happy if you get home late, (nickname)!" Liam mocks my accent, earning a dramatic eye-roll from me.

Offended, I stomp away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me smile. I hear his footsteps quicken behind me before slowing—he lets me go. Maybe it's for the best. The next time we see each other, we'll be standing side by side at the reaping, dressed in our Sunday best. Afterward, we'll gather with our families, holding a celebration of our survival. And we'll pray for another year of peace.

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I arrive home quickly, pushing the door open with careful precision. The last thing I want is to wake up that ratty animal my brother insisted on keeping—a large, half-blind, scarred-up dog. A creature I've told Jeremy time and time again would make a better meal than a pet. Every time, he'd lecture me about how Covey stick together.

That dog isn't my family, but Jeremy is. And for his sake, I let it stay.

Jeremy is twelve now. His first year in the reaping. But the odds are in his favor—I've always been the one to take tesserae for us. The same goes for Liam's sisters. I frown at the thought, but then Jeremy flings himself at me, breaking through my grim haze.