Annabeth stood sweating in the summer heat. She scanned the square; four exits, ten cameras, over twenty peacekeepers. It was a habit of hers, a habit that kept her alive, but Annabeth wasn't here to steal. She craned her neck, looked back towards the families that were fenced out. Clenched fists, wide eyes, she could almost smell the fear. She finally found him, Luke. Tall, blond, he was easy to pick out. He met her gaze, and nodded reassuringly. This was her second-to-last reaping, she was almost done. Luke had finished four years ago, but he still woke up with nightmares.

Annabeth turned back to the stage. Three chairs sat center-stage, the first occupied by district 12's mayor, the second by Dionysus, the capitol escort, and finally Chiron, district 12's only victor.

Dionysus finally stood, and walked towards the microphone. The sun was setting and Annabeth had to shield her eyes to look at him. Dressed in garish purple and orange with heavily applied makeup he was everything Annabeth hated about the capitol.

"Welcome tributes!" he announced, "to this year's reaping! Today two brave young men and women will be chosen to fight for their district's honor and glory!"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. Same speech every year. To tune Dionysus out she focused on the kids around her. Faded clothes, too-small shoes with white socks, a bruised knee, sweat wiped off a forehead with the back of a hand.

To be chosen was a death sentence, they all knew it. Dionysus finished his speech and walked over to the glass bowl with slips of paper.

"As usual, ladies first!" He dipped a gloved hand in, swirled it around, and delicately pulled a piece out. Five steps back to the microphone. He cleared his throat, then peeled the paper open. "The female tribute this year is... Annabeth Chase!" Sighs rang out around her, shoulders slumped, ghosts of smiles appeared that it wasn't them.

Annabeth couldn't breathe. Her? HER? This couldn't be real. She slowly stepped forward, then again, and again. The crowd began to part for her.

"Annabeth! Annabeth!" someone called. Luke. He was at the edge of the fence, fingers wrapped around the wires, eyes wide.

"Luke it's ok, Luke don't fight!" she called as two peacekeepers came to escort her. "Don't touch me," she growled as she mounted the steps and stood next to Dionysus. With a brief glance at her, Dionysus walked over to the second bowl. He pulled out a second slip of paper and returned to the microphone.

"The male tribute this year is Perseus Jackson!" Annabeth knew that name. She recalled a memory so deep it was almost forgotten. Ten years ago peacekeepers came for her father. They took him behind the house, forced him on to his knees, and put a bullet in his head. For stealing food. Annabeth had been on the streets a month, learning to lie, steal, and trade to live.

She had snatched a fresh loaf of bread and was running down an ally when she was stopped by three older boys. When they were done hitting her they took the bread, left her in the rain. She remembered a boy about her age running to her. Sea green eyes. "Mom! Mom! We have to help her!" A warm house, a warm meal. The boy's mom patched her wounds, tried to get her to talk. The boy smiled at her. Had she ever had a cookie?

She slipped away that night, afraid they might turn her in to the peacekeepers, but she did remember, before she left, the boy asked if they could be friends. "Ok," she said shyly.

"My name is Percy! What's yours?"

"Annabeth."

Perseus Jackson. Percy. It had been years since she'd seen him, he was tall now, lean, with dark messy hair. But those eyes were the same. He reached out a hand to her, she took it. Dionysus beamed at the crowd.

"Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games!"