“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed,” Claudius Templesmith’s voice rings out over the landscape. “Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Thresh and I look at each other. All that has happened, and now it comes down to us killing each other. He knows I can’t kill him, so he is going to be the victor.

He takes the knife from me.

“Do it, Thresh,” I say.

“How many entries did you put into the reaping?” Thresh asks. It surprises me.

“Eleven,” I say. “I have five brothers and sisters. None of them are old enough to be reaped, so I have to provide food for them. My grandparents live with me, too. Add up my parents, grandparents and siblings and it means I have ten extra entries.”

“I had seven,” Thresh says. This is surprising: most people his age have at least twenty. “My family hates me. I live with my grandmother and sister. I don’t help them at all. My diabetes makes it hard for everyone. Everyone told me when I was 12 that if I was chosen as a tribute, they wouldn’t come to say goodbye. They didn’t. Only my cousin did, he’s the only one who cares about me. The guards told me that my uncle took him away before he could get into my room. I saw the people coming to say goodbye to you, Rue. All your brothers and sisters, all of your friends and the rest of your family. District 11 will benefit no matter which one of us wins. Let it be you. You have so much more to support than I do.”

I don’t understand him.

“But I can’t kill you.”

He smiles sadly. “I know. Close your eyes, Rue. I don’t want you to throw up again.”

“I’m scared that if I close my eyes you’ll be gone forever,” I say.

“I’m going to do this whether or not you watch,” he replies. Do what?

He rolls up his sleeve.

“It’s good I paid attention in biology. Bright red and spurting. That’s an artery. Death within a minute, I think.”

“Stop!” I shout.

It’s too late. He made the cut. It is bright red and spurting like a fountain.

I count the seconds.

Five, six, seven.

He is on the ground. Not collapsed, just sitting. As if he doesn’t care.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.

“Make it stop!” I am crying again.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

“It doesn’t stop. It will keep on going until I have died.”

Thirty-eight, thirty nine, forty.

He has gone pale. There isn’t much time left.

Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven.

“I love you, Thresh. Not like Katniss and Peeta. You’re like a brother to me.” I sit down next to him and hug him tightly. Blood spurts onto my clothes.

Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six.

“I love you too, Rue. You cheated the Games. You won without becoming a killer. No one died because of you.”

Sixty two.

He is gone. A cannon goes off. I almost don’t hear. I can hear in the distance someone congratulating District Eleven and someone called Rue, winning the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. That isn’t me. I can’t have won. I manage not to throw up. Thresh isn’t with me anymore. We should have tried to think of a way to make them let us both live.

A hovercraft arrives.

“We have to take him away,” a gentle voice says. “Come with us.”

I cling onto Thresh. I can’t ever let go. He shouldn’t have died like this.

Two people try to pry us apart. I can’t hold on any longer but I grab his knife. I stab it into the hand that is holding my shoulder.

Hushed voices around me whine.

“Did she just-”

“Never been violent before-”

“Drug her-”

I still have the knife. I won’t let them drug me. Am I still on the cameras? Live? I hope so.

I roll up my own sleeve, ready for the first time ever to kill someone. But just then, there is a sharp pain in my leg and everything goes black.