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11 YEARS EARLIER
IT was very easy for Greer's dreams to take her back to that awful last day in the arena. When a small seventeen-year-old from District One became a crowned murderer.
A thick coat of sweat trailed the length of her face, tilting over the hollowed angles from weeks of malnourishment. Several of her knives were gone. She had at least two left, but they were next to nothing in these circumstances. So she gripped her machete tightly, as if her sun-burnt hands weren't tinging with pain, or her whole body wasn't begging to just let go. She couldn't. Not today. Not ever. That wasn't what the Academy taught her.
