I wake in a field of flowers, wilting from the warm summer temperature. I'm leaning against a tree, coarse bark digging into my back through my thin shirt. Micah sleeps peacefully beside me, exhaling softly through his nose. 

At first, everything is perfect. I am with a person I think I trust, alone on this beautiful, warm day, breathing in the fresh air from the nearby mountains. I have everything. 

And then everything rushes in. Thoughts, memories, feelings. They swarm me like a cloud of bees, rush over me like a tsunami, leaving me with nothing. 

My breath quickens hastily, knees curling up into my chest. 

But it's okay. I am okay. Micah is not a tribute, I am not a tribute, and I am okay. 

The previously-mentioned not-a-tribute wakes suddenly, meeting my eyes but looking away quickly. He yawns and stretches, rising just slightly from the slumped-over position he rested in. 

A smile curves at my lips, just slightly, but I don't let it fully form. Instead I stand, brushing dirt and bits of grass off my pants. Sap from the tree has stained my shirt, but that isn't coming off with a quick swipe of my hand. 

I turn to look at my fellow traveler, readying myself for what surely will be a harrowing journey ahead. 

Micah runs a hand through his hair, combing out the leaves and twigs. He meets my gaze and smiles softly. 

This time, I look away first. 

I don't want to, but at the same time I do. Because even if there were a spark between us, it wouldn't work out. 

Obviously. 

I'm from District Seven and Micah's from who-knows-where. We couldn't ever... be that. 

Moving on, we need to start trying to go somewhere. Honestly, I don't really know where we're going--the forest, the mountains, beyond Panem, probably. 

But we're still in Twelve, meaning there's a bit of a walk before we are finally free. 

The meadow me and Micah fell asleep in last night sits directly adjacent to a small outcropping of buildings. From here they look like small, rundown shops, most likely with people living above. They light their lanterns and brush greasy hair, staring through windows into the great big outside, wishing for another life yet stuck with the one they've already got. 

Not one person lends me and Micah a second glance as we set off into town once again. Of course, I'd rather us trudge through the forest instead of sneaking along conspicuous, silent streets, but this is the fastest way and we'd both much rather get wherever we're going faster than more hidden. 

We peruse the roads, exploring empty shops and chatting along the way. Micah doesn't share much about his life, but I get the idea that he's had it pretty hard so far, and so I leave it alone, dancing around the raw subject, lightening the mood with small jokes about the things I'm most terrified of, as if they don't keep me up til three AM most nights, staring at the ceiling--when I have a ceiling. 

At one point, we're joking around the topic of what we're actually doing right now. "I don't even know what I was thinking," I laugh, teasing myself for the possibly-terrible decisions I made in the past. Micah smiles wide, perfect white teeth that I'll never have glinting brightly in the afternoon sun. "I mean, running away? Ridiculous!"

I fall onto a wooden bench, ignoring the few stares I'm attracting with all my laughter. Micah's smile glimmers in my periphery, and the giggling continues. I don't care that we're attracting a bit of a ruckus--laughing is worth it. Smiling is worth it. Being happy is worth it. 

Micah sits beside me, opening his mouth to speak. I shut my jaws around yet another sarcastic joke, because his smile has already disappeared, replaced by something not quite grim, but definitely serious. 

"We're going together, right?" he asks. "In all seriousness. We'll find our way out there, together?"

I hold out a hand, trying to make my nod seem sincere. "Forever and always."

Another smile, and then Micah shakes my hand and turns, glancing at the grungy shop behind us. 

A woman sweeps the entryway, sending clouds of dust flying into the air. She meets my gaze and her eyes widen, and then she's disappeared back into the shop. 

I stand, all conversation of sticking together forgotten. "She knew something," I breathe, adrenaline pumping through my veins like five cups of coffee. 

Micah stands too, tensing. I take a step towards the doorway, trying to be brave and confident because that's what victors are supposed to be, right?

I walk through the doorway. 

A cloth covers my face, another shoved into my mouth. I scream all I can, but the sound is muffled by the rag that's also helping to suffocate me. 

"Amethyst!" Micah screams, and it almost sounds like he cares for me. I try to yell back, and yet my voice is still stifled by these new kidnappers. 

And then his shouts are cut off, too, and the world becomes silent. My gag is removed, yet before I can yell again, something sharp and metal is placed to my throat. 

I shudder, remembering the moment in my last prison--the girl, the psychopathic one, holding a knife to my face, deciding where to start. 

"Don't kill me," I beg, my voice sounding much too small. Micah hums through his gag, and the door slams shut, enveloping us in darkness. 

I squirm just a little bit, and the knife digs deeper into my skin. I let out an involuntary whimper as blood drips down my skin. 

My hands are tied behind my back, and then another cloth is pressed to my face, this one soaked with something that smells sweet. Some potion to make me sleep, I'm sure. 

I hold my breath until I can't anymore, and then I thrust my head forwards, soon feeling the satisfying thunk of someone falling backwards to the floorboards. 

And then I throw my head back and scream. 

No one comes, the door doesn't bang open with citizens, swinging on its ancient hinges. The only change is the dagger at my throat, which digs in even deeper, cutting into my flesh yet conveniently avoiding my windpipe. 

Pain burns through my body like flames, charring my forehead to my ankles. I fall to my knees, my scream catching in my throat. 

Micah yells again, and there's a huff of annoyance from my captor. "Stop struggling," she whispers, her voice gravelly. I wonder if it's the same person from outside--in the dark, I can't tell. 

I don't, but soon enough the cloth is pressed to my face again, and, struggling for breath, I let myself succumb to the sweet-smelling concoction. 

Then everything goes black.