Chapter Text
They say when your name is called, time stops.
That’s not true.
Time keeps going. You just don’t.
When they call out "Violet Meadow," I don’t flinch. My stomach turns, but I raise my chin. I walk. I don't look back. My boots crunch the sand-and-stone mix of District 4's square, and the crowd parts like I carry a knife. Maybe I do. Maybe it's just in my eyes.
This morning, I had two pearls.
Now, I have one.
The sun overhead is too bright. It turns everything pale: the pale gray stage, the pale Capitol escort with seafoam hair and eyeshadow to match, the pale glass bowl that once held the girls' names.
"Violet Meadow," she says again, beaming, like she just pulled a winning lottery number instead of a death sentence.
I step up to the stage. It tilts slightly under my feet. Or maybe that’s me. My hands tremble, so I curl them into fists.
From up here, the crowd looks like fish schooling together—blank faces, too many eyes.
Then, something shifts.
The Peacekeepers reset the second bowl. The boys' names.
The escort draws another slip.
"Ruben Lorin."
There’s a pause. I don’t know who he is. The crowd ripples.
And then a voice cuts through the silence like a harpoon:
"I volunteer."
My blood goes cold.
Because I know that voice. Too well.
Lior.
He pushes past the rows with fury in every step, not looking at me. Not once. His jaw is locked, his fists curled.
When he reaches the stage, he doesn't even wait for permission. He climbs up and takes the boy’s spot.
The escort, startled, tries to clap. "Oh! How brave! What a noble—"
Lior interrupts her.
Loudly. Cruelly.
"Better I die than you come home."
Gasps ripple through the square. A few people flinch. Most just freeze.
No one stops him.
No one pulls him back.
I’m not sure if I breathe.
He turns to face the crowd, not me. Hands at his sides. Daring someone to say something. But they don’t.
They never do.
And I don’t cry.
Not yet.
The Capitol likes to pretend goodbye is elegant.
They built this room like a tomb made of velvet: navy curtains, polished brass hooks, chairs so soft they swallow you whole. There’s a plate of lemon-sugar cookies on the table. One of them has the Capitol’s seal stamped in icing. I stare at it for a moment, then look away.
I don’t want to remember this room.
But I will.
For the rest of my life—no matter how long or short that ends up being—I will remember sitting here with the echo of my brother’s voice still ringing in my head:
"Better I die than you come home."
The silence that followed. The stares. The fact that no one stopped him.
I still feel the tug where he tore the necklace from my throat, snapping the net-line and sending the pearls flying. I only found one afterward—caught in the hem of my tunic. It had dirt on it. I didn’t wipe it off.
I tied it back around my neck with shaking hands.
One pearl. One promise. One left.
The door opens.
My whole body tenses, but it’s not a Peacekeeper this time. It’s Koi.
He steps in, eyes locked on mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks. His hair is messy from the wind—ocean-air tousled—and he’s still got sand on his boots. He must’ve run straight from the shore.
My breath catches.
He says my name like it hurts. “Violet.”
I try to smile. It comes out more like a grimace. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“They said only one person could come. I told them I was the only one that mattered.”
“They let you in for that?”
He shrugs, stepping closer. “I said if they didn’t, I’d swim to the Capitol and curse Snow out live on air.”
A laugh sputters from my throat. “That’s not very original.”
“Didn’t have time to workshop it. I was busy yelling.”
He stops in front of me. The air between us thickens. He doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t need to. His presence always feels like standing in the sunlight after a dive—warm, bone-deep, necessary.
Then he sees the pearl on my necklace. His smile falters.
“That’s all that’s left?” he asks, voice low.
I nod.
“I gave it to you this morning,” he says, almost to himself.
“Yeah,” I say. “Turns out it’s bad luck. Two pearls in twelve hours. What are the odds?”
He studies me. “You think it’s bad luck?”
“I think it’s a warning.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something small and white from his palm. A second pearl. Not quite round, a little chipped on one side. It glows softly in the light like moonlight on tide foam.
“I was saving this,” he says. “Just in case.”
I blink. “For what?”
He steps closer and slowly threads it through the torn end of the net-line around my neck. His fingers are rough from fishing line, but gentle. His hands shake.
“I don’t know,” he says. “A day where you needed a second promise.”
“What promise is this one for?”
He hesitates. Looks at me like I’m the last thing in the world he wants to let go of. “That you’ll live.”
“I’m not scared of dying.”
“I know,” he whispers. “But I am.”
Something catches in my throat. I look down at the necklace. Two pearls again. One from this morning. One from now. Both heavy.
“Too many promises,” I murmur. “I might break them.”
“Then I’ll forgive you. Every one.” He steps in and presses his forehead against mine. “Just come back to me. No matter what they do to you. No matter what you have to do to win.”
I close my eyes. Try not to breathe too deeply. If I do, I’ll fall apart.
“I love you, Vi,” he says.
I want to say it back.
But the door opens again.
A Peacekeeper clears her throat.
Time’s up.
I step away from him. I don’t look back. I can’t.
If I do, I won’t be able to leave.
Later — On the Train
I sit in silence. Across from Lior. Again.
He hasn’t spoken since the Reaping.
He doesn’t look at me.
The train is made of gold and glass. Shiny white dishes clink softly on silver trays. A Capitol escort chirps about the meal schedule. The Capitol anthem plays softly in the background, like elevator music for the dead.
I wonder if this is what dying feels like.
Everything beautiful but none of it yours.
Lior’s eyes are glued to the window, jaw tight. The countryside blurs past us in streaks of green and yellow. I watch him like I’d study a shark in deep water—slow, silent, always circling something I can’t see.
He volunteered.
For me.
Not to save me. But to spite me.
“Better I die than you come home.”
That’s what he said. Right there, in front of the entire District. And no one stopped him.
No one told him to shut up. No one pulled him off the stage. Not even our father, who didn’t show up at all.
Why?
I twist the pearls around my fingers.
The first one, from this morning. Smooth. Bright.
The second one, chipped. Given in the space between goodbye and never-again.
I picture Koi’s face when he threaded it onto the necklace.
I picture the way he looked at me. Like I was still worth something. Like I wasn’t already marked.
I want to hold that look forever.
“Your boyfriend looked real sad,” Lior says suddenly.
I blink. His voice is bitter. Cold. First thing he’s said since the Reaping.
I don’t answer.
“Maybe I’ll kill you before he has to watch it on TV,” he adds, still staring out the window.
I stare at him. “You always hated me.”
He finally looks at me. And his smile is small and sharp. “I didn’t always.”
That’s the worst part.
Because once upon a time—before the sea took our mother and left only one of us gasping on the surface—he used to braid my hair. He used to chase gulls with me. He used to scream my name across the surf like it was his favorite word.
But grief rots.
And sometimes, it doesn’t grow back.
I look away first.
I don’t want to see whatever’s left in his eyes. Not the boy who used to carry me on his back through tidepools. Not the stranger who wants to watch me bleed in an arena.
The silence sits between us like a weight. Like something rotten, waterlogged.
“You think this is noble?” I ask, finally. “Volunteering just so you can die mad at me?”
He doesn’t even blink. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“Liar.”
“I did it for her,” he snaps. “For Mom.”
My breath catches.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he says, voice rising. “You weren’t there. You weren’t the one holding her hand when the fever took her. You weren’t the one dragging her body onto that skiff. You didn’t even bury her.”
“I was twelve!”
“And I was fourteen,” he fires back, eyes blazing. “But I did it anyway. Because someone had to. Because you were too busy running down the docks with Koi, laughing like nothing happened.”
I shoot to my feet.
“You think I forgot her?” I shout. “You think I didn’t cry myself to sleep every night for a year? I wore her net-charm every day until it snapped—”
“You lost it.”
“No. You took it. You ripped it off my neck during a storm and threw it into the sea, remember?”
He stands up, too. “Because you didn’t deserve it.”
The words hit like a slap. The kind you don’t feel until later, when the bruise has already bloomed.
“I was a child,” I say again, quieter. “I didn’t know how to carry that kind of grief.”
“No,” he says. “You just let me carry it. And when it got too heavy, you acted like I was weak for breaking.”
“I never said you were weak.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says bitterly. “You just left me behind. Every time. You let Koi fill your world like I never existed.”
“Because Koi loved me!”
“So did I!” he yells, fists clenched, chest heaving. “Once. I loved you. You were my little sister. I would’ve drowned for you.”
“You did drown!” I scream. “The second Mom died, you sank and never came back! And I’ve been swimming alone ever since.”
We’re both breathing hard now. The train rumbles under our feet, but the pressure between us is louder.
“You think volunteering for me makes you a hero?” I spit. “You think it’s going to undo everything? You didn’t save me, Lior. You just made sure one of us has to watch the other die.”
“Good!” he shouts. “That’s what you deserve!”
My voice is a razor. “Then kill me. Go ahead. You want to watch me bleed? Take the first shot.”
He stares at me like he might.
And for one terrifying second, I don’t think he’ll stop.
The door crashes open behind us.
“Enough.”
It’s Mags.
Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the fury like a riptide through calm water. She doesn’t raise it. She doesn’t have to.
She crosses the space between us faster than I expect, despite the cane, despite the limp. She moves like the sea—relentless, old, unforgiving.
Her eyes land on Lior first. “You wanna die angry, fine. But not in this train car.”
Then she turns to me. “And you. Save the fire for the arena. You’ll need it.”
I feel my pulse thudding in my ears. My hands are shaking. My mouth tastes like salt and copper.
Mags steps between us like she’s built from reef and iron. Her presence presses the fury down like a lid on a boiling pot.
“You’re both too loud,” she says simply. “Too loud and too young to know what you’re doing.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder, and another on Lior’s chest. Not gently. Her grip is strong. Like she's reminding us we’re not gods. Just kids playing war.
“This train doesn’t leave the District anymore. You leave it. And you never come back. Do you understand?”
We don’t answer.
She makes us.
“Do you understand?”
“…Yes,” I mutter.
Lior echoes it. Barely.
She releases us slowly, like we’re still made of fire. Like we might burn each other if she lets go too fast.
“Sit down,” she orders. “Cool off. Eat something. Scream into a pillow. I don’t care. Just don’t waste your fury on each other. The Capitol’s got enough kindling already.”
And then she leaves, cane tapping the floor behind her like a clock counting down.
We don’t speak again.
I sit back down.
Lior doesn’t.
He walks out without a word, shoulders stiff.
And once again, I’m alone.
Except I’m not. Not really. I’ve got two pearls on a string and a promise that’s too heavy to carry.
I press the necklace to my lips.
Not for comfort.
For control.
Because if I don’t hold onto something, anything, I’ll come apart completely.
The Capitol’s skyline looms in the distance now. Silver and white and perfect.
But none of it feels real.
None of it ever will.