I promised that I would watch her.
When the train pulled away and there was more tears then cheering and more silence then either. When her father came through the crowd with her by the hand and told me to watch her. To keep her safe. To send her home if I could.
And so I promised.
When we were no longer struck dumb by the luxury I played games with her in her room and built a fort with her out of her sheets so we could pretend that the stars were over top of us and the fine silk would shield use from rain. She taught me a bird call that was a two note whistle and I should her how to wield a knife and conceal it when it was better.
She was a fast learner. But not nearly fast enough.
She curled up in my bed when she had nightmares and I told her stories about my family: my brothers and sisters and the games we played together. I told her about working in the fields and then swimming in the creak and she said quietly she would have liked to do that.
Neither of us said that she never would.
I held her hand when we came into the capital and watching the buildings stretch over us and the splendor of all of it making my legs weak. She turned this way and that way to take it all in and I told her she looked like a bird frightened by her shadow and she told me I could never be afraid of anything.
But I feared for her.
I got angry at anyone who got too close: when stylists tried to change her look or make her "prettier." When our mentor told her to put on a good show instead of trying to survive. When the others brushed her off as the first to die and called me out that I might be the last.
If I could change it I would. Me the first and then her the last.
She told me that I didn't have to. That I didn't have to keep the promise. That one or both of us would die and it shouldn't be on me to prevent that. She knew that it was hopeless.
And I hated that she was right.
I told her that I liked her dress and then watched as she sat for the interview. I couldn't remember which of my sisters that she reminded me of and at that point it didn't matter. All of them or none of them I would keep her safe.
Because I promised.
On the last night we made that fort again and pretended we could see stars through the roof. I told her there would be stars in the arena. That they were simulated by the game makers. That she was to watch them and know I was doing the same. And that if the worst came to pass I would be among them and watching her from their faces. She buried her face into my chest and whispered 'thank you' as she went off to sleep and leaving me confused.
I hadn't done anything yet.
When the timer counted down and the tributes all tensed I kept my eye on her as she braced herself and vowing to tear down all that went after her. When it hit zero and we all ran I tacked a boy right on her heels and threw a bag of supplies at her before yelling at her to go. To run. To hide. To stay safe.
Alive.
I bid my time as I hid in the woods and watching for the other tributes. I savoured my supplies and kept out of sight and when the night came I watched the stars. I hoped that she was safe and that she was watching them with me. The sky didn't seem so big if I thought she saw it. It could have been the roof of our fort.
And with her safe underneath it.
But it was the cannon and the image that told me wrong when I saw her smile up in the stars and the hate and agony burning in my chest. I howled and cried like a wounded animal and tore at the rocks and trees around me as I heard her father's words and my promise to keep her safe.
I failed.
I killed that career girl when I heard her say her name; smashing in her head and letting the other one go when I knew she was her ally. She had succeeded where I failed. For however long she had kept her safe.
And I had failed.
I knew the other one would come after me – the career boy who everyone thought would win. I heard him track me in revenge for the girl I killed and I let him when I knew it was hopeless. The fight lasted for hours or minutes and by the end I could only see blood and her eyes above me.
It was dark when I finally died.
The stars were finally coming out and I could see the brightness of them in the sky with the game makers making them so. They weren't really stars. And the sky wasn't really the sky. It was the roof of our fort and it was her waiting for me underneath it with her gentle 'thank you.'

But I didn't do anything.