143 SECOND ECHORE

And at that time, Signet didn't know what they were talking about. He followed them mutely, confused that anyone other than him was conscious in these hours that he had thought were so sacred to only him. It was the night before the Reaping, and he had already filmed his Panem-wide announcement. His father still had a few weeks to live.

When he arrived at his father's private wing, his little sisters were already standing by his bedside. They were in tears. Signet felt like he was moving through sand, or a current determined to push him the other way, knock him off his feet.

The doctor spoke in hushed tones. He said that Alabaster Graymore would be dead within the hour. And Signet was on his knees before he realized he'd fallen.

"I can't do this on my own," he'd whispered to nobody.

He just wasn't enough, wasn't old enough, strong enough, good enough. He'd never even watched the Games, never done anything notable.