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chapter three
EIGHT TIMES TOO MANY

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The water is cold. Cove straddles her surf board, legs hanging down into the ocean as she merely sits and waits. She watches crimson slowly bleed into the horizon, searching for the sign of a wave ready to rise. It's eerily quiet this morning. Cove might find it tranquil if it weren't Reaping Day, the water's soft harmony threatening to lull her back to sleep on her very board. Every now and then, she finds herself glancing over her shoulder back to the beach, waiting for another figure to join her.

But time is getting slim. It'll soon be time for everyone in town to catch the ferry, traveling up to District Four's Capitol, Glasmere, where the children will be entrapped just like fish into The Capitol's net. Two of them will make it to their plate, ready to be devoured in the name of entertainment and repentance. Cove prays that fate belongs to someone else, not her.

One of the little girls inside her is starting to quiver, rattling against her heart and lungs, and she peers at the beach once more. She's only met with more disappointment as the other little girl tells her she told her so. Cove shoves them back down somewhere, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Her golden eyes return to the horizon.

Water bobs softly. She watches the reflections, waiting for something to stare back at her. Something catches her eye. She watches for a few more breaths. The wave begins to rise, and she lowers herself on her board. Her arms scoop into the water as she paddles forward with crisp and fluid strokes. The wave moves steadily toward her, growing taller by the second. It's easily her height.

Cove turns her board in the direction of the beach as she braces herself. Closer. Closer. She might need to paddle a little more. One or two more strokes before she hears the wave rumbling at her now. It towers at ten feet, seemingly towering out of nowhere as she pops up into position, the muscles in her legs burning. Excitement bubbles in her gut when the giant wave surges her forward. One fluid motion, and she's angled herself parallel to the shore, chasing the curves of the ocean.

Salt water sprays and burns her lips, the corners of her eyes raw. Cove adjusts her body weight along the board, turning up towards the top of the foam. She shifts back downward like a whip, spraying water behind her. As she coasts, the wave begins to catch up to her, falling around her like an indigo curtain. A corner of her lips twitches upward, and she crouches down carefully on her board. She's stuck in the hollow of it now, ocean encasing her beneath a foamy lip. One of her hands reaches outward as she traces her initials into the sea with her fingertips.

Her pace quickens to escape the barrel. It's growing tighter and tighter, threatening to envelope her in the water and push her below the surface. She should probably bail. But she doesn't, grinding her teeth together and forcing herself further. Sunlight glimmers against the water, dawn welcoming her back into the world as she emerges from behind the wave's curtain.

It slowly dies, and Cove rides it out back to the shore. When she looks to where the sun hangs in the sky, she knows she won't have time for another. The ocean shows no signs of offering her another wave anyway. She takes what she can get, trudging through the shallow water with her board tucked under her arm. Her eyes bore into the wet sand as she prepares to march back home.

Then she stops. Only about twelve paces in, and she notices something she didn't notice before in the break of dawn. A perfect, ivory shell glistens softly in the dark sand. Cove scoops it up curiously, pinching it between her fingers and holding it up to inspect. Immediately, she recognizes it as a Shark's Eye. She half-expects a snail to be hiding inside, but it's perfectly empty.

A sign that he's still watching over you.

Cove's eyes water as she wraps her fingers around the shell, and she tries to blink away the sand from her lashes. Without thinking, she glances up toward the sky, drawing her closed palm to her heart.

"Thanks Dad."

━━━━

Cove hates pearls. Well, not all pearls, just the ones that beam back at her on her own dresser. The necklace once started as just one, but as the years went on, more and more were added to the collection. The large, cream colored one in the center was given to her Grandmother from her Grandfather on their one year anniversary. The lumpy, small white one was for her twenty-fifth birthday. When her father was born, Seamus gave his wife a powdery pink one from the freshwater oysters he caught when transferred inland for six months.

Those ones aren't so bad. It's the ones that were given after, once her grandmother passed down her beautiful necklace to Cove's mother on her parent's wedding day. She inspects another ivory pearl further down the row with a small dent in it. This was the first pearl that Percy Carraway ever gave to his then wife, Gillian. He only got to give her four before she left him five years into marriage, leaving behind the necklace on her pillowcase one morning.

What was once meant to be a beautiful, romantic, and symbolic family heirloom was tarnished by a woman who broke all the Carraway's hearts, no matter how big or small. It used to be a symbol of love and devotion passed onto each generation. But her mother sucked all the magic out of each pearl when she left, leaving the necklace to resemble the daunting curse of heartbreak. The idea of wearing it makes Cove's chest want to cave in.

A soft knock raps at her door, startling her out of her glare. She almost jumps as Grandpa's voice calls out to her. "Covey? Are you dressed?"

The blonde smooths down her Reaping dress, the pale coral color softening into a light and dull pink over the years. She nods, then clears her throat. "I'm dressed."

With that, he cracks the door open slowly and carefully, emerging into the bedroom. When she looks back at him through the mirror, she notes there's a sign of mischief in his cloudy blue eyes. His lips are pressed into a light grin, one hand behind his back.

"I uh— I've noticed this Reaping has your nerves wound up more than others in the past." He licks his lips, and Cove eyes the arm tucked behind him with a quirked brow. "So I decided to give you something I hope puts you at ease."

"You think I'm nervous?" Cove asks, features trying to harden. It's a poor attempt, her fingers twitching at her side.

Grandpa shakes his head, "No, no. Not nervous. Just... anxious."

Cove rolls her eyes at that, beginning to grow impatient as she shifts on the balls of her feet to gain a peek behind his back. "That's the same thing, Grandpa." Her Grandfather just smirks in amusement when he dodges her.

"Well I wasn't going to say that, but..." Finally, the older man concedes, passing her gift from his right hand to his left. He then holds it out for her to see. "Here."

Just at the mere sight of his gift, Cove's stomach turns into more knots that even she won't be able to undo. She feels herself falter, shoulders slumping as she peers at what's pinched between his rough, callused fingers. One of his thumbnails is missing from slamming it between the dock and his boat years ago.

"I was saving this for your last Reaping. After Hurricane Iris, ya know everything washed up pretty bad." Cove winces at the name, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek. Iron stings her taste buds. "So bad an oyster washed up on the shore at some point, and I found it when we were cleaning up. I don't know why I did, but I cracked it open, hoping to find something I knew wouldn't be in there and..."

Cove knows what he means. They weren't just cleaning the beaches and their little shore town of debris the day after Hurricane Iris blew in. They were looking for survivors. For her father.

Grandpa inspects the pearl now with a sort of melancholy in his eyes. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he offers it to Cove, who mindlessly opens her palm readily. It feels light as a feather, the lumps and ridges of the pearl soothing beneath the print of her thumb. She can see where her Grandfather carefully pierced it so that a string might go through.

"My eyes aren't as good without some glasses, but I think it's tinting blue," he comments lightly. He then reaches toward Cove's dresser, scooping the cursed necklace into his grip. Cove clenches the pearl tightly in her grasp as she tensely watches.  Her lips part in preparation for a refusal. "I think it's time My Pearl finally gets a pearl of her own, huh?"

When he says it like that, Cove feels herself weaken. She's the kind of girl to bury all her secrets at the bottom of her, just like the ocean, no one strong enough to survive its depths. That's the only way she can cope with all the emotions that try to drown her each day, if you could even call it coping. Before they can drown her, she drowns them, sinking them below. That's what she's doing in this very moment as she clamps her teeth down onto her bottom lip enough to draw blood, tentatively offering the pearl back to her Grandfather. She knows he sees her, but she ignores it, burning her gaze back into the floor. The ridges of the wood are starting to appear blurry as she feels her chest heave. He carefully unclasps the necklace, the fishing line still holding even after forty years, sliding the pearl across it.

"May I?"

Cove inhales a shaky breath, nodding as she turns. She lifts up her hair, avoiding eye contact with the mirror. Grandpa shakily clasps the necklace, the pearls cool to her warm skin. Cove makes the mistake of peeking into the reflection. The sight of the necklace she swore never to wear brings all those feelings floating from the depths, threatening to burst through the surface. Her Grandfather is the only person she trusts enough to see her cry as she feels each pearl whisper its old broken vows of love against her aching chest.

"Grandpa?"

Her trembling hand hovers over the necklace, and she turns to him. His features furrow with concern. Concern, but knowing, like he's been waiting and waiting for this moment to finally happen. She wonders if she's always so translucent.

"What is it, Covey?"

She can't say. She never can say. So she just lunges forward, wrapping her arms around him as a sob shakes through her like a gale. Instinctively, her Grandfather embraces her in return, holding onto his only granddaughter.

"You're gonna be okay, babygirl." He rubs soothing circles into her back. "You're gonna be okay."

━━━━

Cove feels stupid for her tears now. Shame and annoyance build inside her, chewing away at her like they always do. A relentless ocean breeze blows against her flesh from on top of the ferry, salt tangling into her wild hair. She tries to tuck it inside the collar of her dress until they eventually dock in Sea Glass Bay. Beside her, her Grandfather ties knots into several loose pieces of thread over and over again. She just watches absently, finding peace in the predictable pattern.

Someone lightly punches her shoulder, drawing her out of her trance as she glances up. "Hey," Marin smiles, brown eyes beaming. She shrugs her shoulders, gesturing toward the bench. "Any room for me?"

Just as Cove is scooching over, her Grandfather does the same, curiously glancing toward the dark-haired girl. "Of course there is!" he chirps, sliding over way more than needed. His features crinkle into a smile. "You must be Marin, my Covey's Spotter."

Marin beams at the recognition. "That's me. Guessing you're her Grandfather?"

"Lucky enough to be, yes I am." He pauses his knots, reaching out a tanned hand to shake. "I'm happy to finally meet you."

"Likewise. Will you be coming over for chocolate cake tonight?" Marin side-glances a stiff Cove briefly at that as she shakes his hand.

Grandpa doesn't even hesitate, nodding. "You betcha. Save us each a slice if you can."

"Will do."

Satisfied with that, Grandpa offers another nod and smile before returning his gaze toward his knotted thread again. He ties a Palomar knot with perfect precision, hand surprisingly steady. The corner of Marin's lips tug upward as she deviously side-glances Cove. The latter smiles stiffly.

"Pretty necklace. I like the blue one."

"Thank you," Cove replies, her gratitude falling flat. Obligation causes her to inspect Marin, noting the fishtail braids pinning half of her hair back, the rest of it cascading down like a wild but beautiful wave. "Your hair looks nice. Who did it?"

Marin stretches out her legs as she peers down at her shoes, seemingly wiggling her toes. "My mom. She ripped almost half my hair out to do it, but..." A close-lipped smile. "Thanks."

The two girls fall into a comfortable silence that lasts a few minutes. The roar of the ocean continues, waves chopping against the slow moving ferry. It takes about an hour and a half to reach Glasmere, District Four's Capitol. All the coastal towns usually arrive by a boat like this one into Sea Glass Bay, while the more inland towns like Dry River and Sinking Springs travel by the old trains leftover from the Early Days. When Cove glances toward the distant shore, she attempts to make a guess where they might be in their journey by looking for landmarks. There's no clues, it all appearing identical and blurring together.

"I think I heard them say they saw dolphins," Marin says, jutting her chin toward the railing. There's a small crowd of people who loom over them, peering out to sea. "Wanna look?"

Cove glances to her Grandfather, who's given up on his knot tying, his arms folded across his chest and head tilted back. His eyes are loosely closed as he attempts a nap. She sighs, nodding. "I'll be right back, Grandpa." He grunts in response, and she smooths her skirt as she stands.

Following Marin to the railing, the two girls carefully weave through the crowd of adults and children. The top level of the ferry tends to be less busy, everyone else usually poked together on the first deck. A Peacekeeper looms by, keeping guard and watching behind the thick black of his helmet. Cove can't tell if he's observing her, and her stomach knots at his very presence. She must not be moving fast enough, because Marin grabs onto her hand, tugging her forward.

"C'mon," the Spotter chides, glancing over her shoulder.

Cove squeezes past a woman and her toddler, eventually grasping onto the railing. The breeze laps gently at her skin, skirt blowing. Marin's shoulder rubs against hers as the two girls peer out at the glistening water.

"It's ironic that it's such a pretty day."

Cove inhales sharply through her nose, tightening and loosening her grip over and over again. "The water was quiet this morning though. It's like it knows."

That makes Marin quirk an inquisitive brow, studying the blonde silently for a moment. Cove does her best to ignore her stare as she searches for the bobbing figures of dolphins. "Shit, are you scared?"

"How'd you get that from what I said?"

Marin rolls her eyes. "There you go again, answering my question with a question."

"I see a dolphin," Cove segues, pointing out to the horizon. She squints as she peers out, pressing her chest into the railing. "I think it's a whole pod, actually."

"You're totally lying, you just don't want to answer my question."

A younger girl follows Cove's finger, clinging to the railing with excitement. "Dolphins!"

"Where?!" Marin cries, searching desperately. Cove bites down on her lip to repress a smile.

"Dante, come look!" the girl beside her calls.

It's then that the Free Diver finally recognizes her voice. Sure enough, just as she's glancing to her left, she recognizes a thirteen year old Yoli Delmar, her ebony hair braided into a neat bun. Within a moment, her brother joins her side.

Dante's shoulder brushes against Cove's, still not looking in her direction. Perhaps he hasn't noticed her yet. Thankfully. The latter just clenches her jaw as she watches the dolphins dive and jump into the water. She counts eight. One of them appears smaller than the others, clinging to the side of its mother while following her movements.

"Hi Cove," Yoli Delmar greets.

Suddenly, she feels two additional pairs of eyes boring into her, and she forces herself to meet them. Yoli offers a small but friendly smile, studying the blonde silently. Dante bids her a grin and a nod as well, but she refuses to meet his gaze. Instead, she inspects the young girl, noting that her eyes are puffy, purple crescents forming beneath.

Cove smiles softly. "Hey."

Yoli brightens at the acknowledgement, her warm gaze flickering back to watch the dolphins. Just when Cove prepares to do the same, she speaks up again. "I saw you surfing today. You shot right through that wave!"

"I thought it was going to collapse on me, honestly," Cove admits, tapping her fingers against the metal railing.

Marin leans over into their conversation, raising her brows. "She's just being modest."

"Always is," Dante interjects.

Cove stifles the urge to look up at him, already feeling that annoying smile of his beaming in her direction. There's those two little girls burning up inside her again. Both are chanting betrayal, calling for revenge as they ache and hurt. She allows them to get tangled up with the sound of the chopping water and wind. Meanwhile, she can feel Marin's curious stare flickering between the two. Cove does her best to ignore that too.

Dante presses his forearms into the railing, leaning down onto them. Annoyance ripples through Cove again as she feels his blue eyes studying her. Probably trying to come up with more olive branches to extend.

"I'm sorry I didn't get out this morning. Things were... emotional in the house today," Dante murmurs. He glances toward his youngest sister, who's now playing with the toddler from earlier. Cove now realizes that's his niece, the mother his eldest sister that she passed earlier. "Do you think you can still show me how to surf at our picnic?"

A pause. Those walls are building themselves up again, stacking at rapid speed, the two little girls her dedicated laborers. Cove shakes her head as she sighs. "Best time to surf is sunrise, Delmar."

"I know, I know. How about I meet you in the morning then? I'll be on time— early, even."

Cove shakes her head, standing her ground. "I've got work in the morning. School after." Then her golden gaze sweeps across his coolly. She almost jumps when she realizes how close he is, true remorse flickering in his eyes beneath those long lashes. "So do you," she reminds.

Dante just blinks back at her, his lips forming a thin and tight line. She can feel him searching for something, blue eyes digging into her brown ones. It makes her anxious. She just stares back at him with as blank of an expression as she can muster, heart pounding. His shoulders slump, his eyes eventually giving up their search.

"I'm sorry, Cove," he tries again, voice soft and sincere. "I really am."

"Don't be." She forges strength into her tone, offering a nonchalant shrug. "Seriously, it's fine. I just— I'm super busy. I hardly have enough time to surf on my own, let alone teach someone."

She dares to glance over. He's still giving her that pitiful look. It makes her angry, clenching her jaw, gripping the railing, and even shaking her head.

"It's fine," she lies. Her voice is harsh and crisp. You almost can't notice the way it shakes at the end. "Don't worry about it."

━━━━

By one o'clock, Western time, all the ferries have docked in Sea Glass Bay, including Ivory Point's. It's presumed that all the Inlanders have arrived as well by their trains, a large crowd building in Glasmere. There's a mix of colors bustling through the streets toward the Justice Building, ranging from bright teals, aquas, corals, to duller sages, emeralds and sandy tans. Coastals and Inlanders intertwining once a year.

Cove and her Grandfather walk side by side, following the crowd of people all marching in the same direction. Every now and then, there's a flicker of piercing white, Peacekeepers looming and watching. They push the people forward when they don't seem to be moving fast enough. Thankfully, District Four citizens tend to be better fed, so they don't crumple to the ground as easily. They just keep their glares straight ahead without a single wince.

It's about six blocks from the Port to reach the Justice Building. With the steady pace of the crowd, the Carraway's arrive to the Check-In Point within fifteen minutes. Cove searches for the shortest line, inhaling a shaky breath. Just when she's about to bid her Grandfather a quick goodbye, his callused hand cups her cheek.

"Hey." His cloudy eyes search hers. They're the clearest she's seen in years. His other hand rubs her shoulder soothingly. "You're gonna be okay. I'll find you right after."

"Usual spot?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

Grandpa smiles and nods. "Usual spot." He then leans downward, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "I love you, Covey."

"I love you too."

He releases her from his grip, and she slips into the crowd of girls surrounding her. Being a large District, The Reaping attempts to be as organized as possible. Even the lines are sorted by sex, female children to join Check Points to the right of the stage, male children to the left. She searches for the shortest one, eventually following behind a familiar head of black hair. Yoli's sniffling already, trembling and shaking as they slowly move up the line.

Cove searches for the girl's older sisters, Lola and Luisa, but there's no sign of them. She frowns. Another sob wracks against the young girl's chest when she becomes second to next in line.

"Hey," Cove starts, squeezing Yoli's shoulder gently. The latter jumps, a squeak escaping her as she whirls around. Her puffy and teary eyes are bewildered at first, but eventually settle. Cove almost flounders, lips parted dumbly. She didn't think this far. "My Grandpa's bringing his pie over later."

Yoli blinks at her, wiping at her eyes. She doesn't notice that she's now next in line. "What kind?"

"Wild berry." Cove smiles lightly. "It's the best."

"Sounds like it's good," Yoli admits, nodding her head.

"NEXT!"

The younger girl gulps thickly, beginning to tremble again. Cove offers her soft and gentle smile. Yoli slowly turns, tentatively giving up her pointer finger to the impatient woman. She yanks the girl, pricking her finger with the needle and causing her to wince. It lights up with her name, and she pushes the bloody fingerprint into the Attendance Book.

"NEXT!"

Cove lurches forward, gently pushing Yoli towards the roped off area. Certainly, she can't walk the girl to her age group. A muscle in Cove's cheek twitches at the burning sensation on the tip of her finger, quickly replaced with the warmth of her own blood oozing. It stings more when the woman pushes it against the paper.

"NEXT!"

When Cove glances back up, Yoli has disappeared, likely searching for the Thirteens Section. She ducks her head down, following the crowd into the middle aisle. She'll be closer to the stage this year, but not super close, a whole generation of Eighteens still waiting before her. As she continues down the aisle, girl after girl begin to peel off to their own sections.

It takes her about five minutes to find the Seventeens. She knows her place, following the directions of a Peacekeeper standing beside a sign labeled "17C." The Diver recognizes the front of her usual row, a familiar freckle faced girl at the start of it. She side-steps down, uttering "excuse-me's" when she can. Eventually, she finds a girl by the name of Neri Carga, the same one she's been standing beside since she was twelve. The two exchange wordless smiles.

There isn't much left to do but wait. There's some familiar chatter in her section, most of the girls getting to know one another over the years. It's all silly small talk, questions like "How's the family?" and "Any post-Reaping plans?" ping ponging back and forth. Cove doesn't tend to participate, just folding her arms across her chest and staring up at the stage.

It's decorated a bit differently this year. Along with the Panem emblems and colors, there's more dashes of District Four's teal and gold. Certainly, the only way Mayor Herring managed that was because last year's Victor was one of their very own. Not only that, but he happened to be the youngest tribute to ever win.

Cove's gaze eventually finds him. Finnick Odair. It seems strange to see a boy so young sitting along the stage with the other Victors. He's younger than Cove even now, only turning fifteen this year. A part of her feels bad for whoever he may mentor. Someone younger than you being your lifeline in the Arena, their only experience being their own nightmare from the year before? It sounds terrifying.

Beside him, are the other three male Victors that came before him. Makani 'Aukai, who won about seven years ago, right before her first Reaping. Kiernan Rafferty, an Inlander, winning some time before the Second Quarter Quell, and Pike Croft from one of the poorest Coastal towns, still managing to come home ten years after Mags.

And there she sits, Mags Flanagan. District Four's first ever Victor, she resembles more like someone's fun and kind grandmother than a murderer. Her posture is confident but humble, welcoming eyes peering out at the crowd. Cove catches herself staring at her gaze, even if she isn't looking in her general direction. Something about it is just comforting, soothing the trembling nerves that ripple across her body.

Cove is just about to tread deeper into her thoughts when something strange happens. She almost thinks she's making it up, so she stares longer. But the longer she stares, she realizes she can't be making it up.

Mags is looking right at her.

Just when her heart begins to flail, the older woman gives a ghost of a smile. It's warm and soft, just like a hug. Then she nods, peeling away her gaze once the anthem starts. Everyone tenses, its chilling tone vibrating through the speakers placed all throughout the Square and neighboring streets.

Once the final note plays, Mayor Herring steps forward, adjusting her blazer. She's a short woman, but Cove can just tell by the muscular definition of her calves, she's certainly strong. Her dark hair is always in a neat, braided bun, the rouge on her face needing to be blended in a bit more. She clears her throat, beginning the same speech she does every year.

Like most of the other citizens, Cove tends to drown it out, waiting for that familiar line that signifies the real turmoil has begun. She catches some light applause as Mayor Herring gestures toward Finnick in his chair, likely recounting District Four's most recent Victor. There's flashes of the familiar propaganda across the large screens. Children smiling. Businessmen holding the door for one another. Teachers sitting on their desk as they point to a map of Panem with all thirteen Districts. Then comes the explosions of bombs, President Snow's voice echoing. "War. Terrible war."

Next, they get to hear all about how they're here today because their ancestors betrayed their country, forcing the government's hand. Clearly, they left them with no choice. The only solution was to kill their children in an annual pageant for all to watch. They made them do this.

And now everything's just peachy! The world is healed by the blood of innocent children, the rich are still fat and happy and keeping everyone else right underneath their shoe. Thank God for The Hunger Games, right?

Cove digs herself out of her mind in perfect timing, Mayor Herring stepping aside as the curtains open for a familiar face. She feels her eyes bug out of her head at the sight of District Four's Escort, Jasper Serling, his gelled hair bleached practically white this year. Nira, the girl beside her, snorts, and the two exchange smirks.

He strides out onto the stage exactly like one would expect a peacock to. Jasper always appears like he's walking in tune with some sort of song in his brain, toes perfectly pointed and hips swaying lightly. This year, he's dressed in a coral suit, the texture of it reminding Cove of the sea creature itself. When he waves to the crowd, she realizes there's some glittery pieces at the collar and cuffs. His lips are painted the same color of his suit, lashes long and organically shaped like coral.

Jasper taps the microphone twice, offering a big grin. "Is this thing on?" Then he laughs, holding his belly. "Oops, guess so! Good morning, good morning, good morning! Or, I guess it's not morning anymore?" He glances over to Mags, who just blinks back at him politely. Another chuckle. "Good afternoon it is, District Four!"

Crickets. Not even the bay answers in response. Jasper hardly even flinches, his pearly white teeth flashing again. "I can tell you're excited, so I might as well just get on with it, huh?"

"Welcome to the Reaping of the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games." The smile never ceases, but there's something devilish in his eyes. Unlike everyone else, he seems to relish every moment on this stage, performing like he's interviewing for his next gig. Perhaps he's hoping for a promotion. "And may the odds..." Dramatic pause as he searches the crowd. Then he raises his brows. "Be ever in your favor."

With that, the Escort giddily raises his hands into the air. Cove frowns uneasily, expecting him to bow, maybe even curtsy. She would laugh if she knew it would embarrass him, not encourage him ever more. He leans back toward the microphone carefully. "Ladies first."

It's when Jasper Serling finally begins reaching into one of the bowls on the table in front of him that Cove feels nauseous again. As ridiculous as the man is, any joy she gets from making fun of him and his mannerisms completely evades her now. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek again, it completely raw at this point. Her arms remain folded across her chest, slowly turning into an embrace as she clings to herself. Her eyes watch as he rummages mindlessly through the bowl like a reckless Hand of Fate.

You're okay, you're okay, you're okay.

Jasper hums when he finally snatches one to his liking. His devious gaze glimmers across the crowd again, a corner of his lips turning upward with amusement. Cove shifts her weight as he struts back toward the microphone.

Eight times, you're only in eight times. Just
eight—

"This year's female tribute for District Four... is..."

Say it already, asshole.

Jasper Serling smiles as he reads the name to himself, cocking his head to the side. He peers back toward the Victors along the stage behind him as well as Mayor Herring. It seems like he mouths, "Pretty name." Then a nod as he leans back into the microphone proudly.

"Cove Carraway."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ahhh thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you!!

I mean, we knew it was gonna happen, but wow, Cove has been reaped!! I'm not sure if you noticed, but our poor girl has some hardcore abandonment issues. Thanks momma Carraway!

Opinions? Thoughts? I'm so excited to write more, I can't believe I started this chapter today and also finished it today. That's a record for me lately honestly.

Thank you again!

Word Count: 5472