"Twenty-four are reaped, not just two. They can't both be spared because that's not how it works, Thor. And you know that. You think there is any room for compassion, here?" Loki laughed hollowly. "There is no compassion in the Games. Believe me."
Loki approached his brother's turned back slowly, hesitantly, as if sneaking up on a feral creature. The lines of his own body were tense as Thor spoke, and when he did, Loki felt it like a fist in his gut. He settled a hand on his brother's shoulder. "There was a time when you wanted to play yourself," he intoned. "All the plans we had. Everything..."
He stopped. They had never spoken of it, not directly, but Loki had always suspected that one of the reasons his brother had waited so long to volunteer went beyond strategy. That maybe he'd waited because each year he a and Loki shared the reaping pool was a year that Thor could volunteer for him, if necessary. Even then, under all the pretense of glory and honor, they had known, on some level, that this was about bloodshed, that it was a dangerous, that it required sacrifice.
"She won't contact me," Loki said softly. "She knows what I am. I made sure of it. She knows I have no honor." His grip around Thor's shoulder tightened just a little. So did everyone back home, in Two. It had not gone as Loki had planned. Not at all. Not at all.