Sorry this took forever! I'm studying abroad and it took me a while to get my bearings, but I think I've got it all figured out now and I'm ready to continue Long Way Down! Expect updates to come around twice a month? I am very busy now ahaha.

Vote in the poll! Pls!

Jackson "Jax" Brooks, 17
District Four Male

By the time they managed to stumble onto the elevator, the time on the electric clock over the steel doors read 9:17. "We're late," said Jax, as the doors slid closed. "Do you think Roman's gonna torture us in the middle of training for it?" Then he yawned, jaws forced to gaping by the intensity of it. "I'm so tired," he said. His eyes streamed tears. "If I fall asleep during training," he said, brushing some of the tears away with the back of his hand, "Just kill me."

"No problem," said Starla. Her green eyes were fixed on the slim gap between the elevator doors. Underneath each eye was a half-moon of puffy, plum-colored skin. "I'm ready to die myself." From somewhere above them came a single chime. The elevator doors slid open. "Oh, Capitol," said Starla, stumbling into the corridor. "If the Games are like this, color me a Bloodbath." Then she scowled.

"If we have to wake up anytime before noon," said Jax, "I'll murder a Gamemaker."

"Sure," said Starla. They walked up the corridor to the gym. Jax pushed open one of the doors and held it for Starla. "Make sure you say that a little louder," she continued, walking into the gym, "So they know how tired you get in the morning and send mutts after you."

"Pshh," Jax muttered. "They'd better not. That's unsportsmanlike."

The training gymnasium was as busy as it had been the day before. The movement of the other tributes seemed so vibrant and awake to Jax that he had to yawn again. "Capitol," he said. "What did Roman want us to do today?"

"I'm practicing with the trident," said Starla. "I dunno what you're supposed to be doing."

He raised his eyebrows, grinned a bit. "I still can't believe you chose the trident," he said. "Of all the stereotypical District Four weapons. I could've gotten you real good at throwing knives before the Games."

"Genius idea," said Starla. "And then have us fight over the knives in the arena?" She snorted, rolled her eyes. "It's bad enough that Ivelisse and Alluvion are both bowmen," she said. "You know there's gonna be some weird District One fight about a bow at some point."

"Who knows?" said Jax, shrugging. "Ivelisse is a nice person, and Alluvion… well, I think if he emoted more it'd be easier to tell, but I don't think he'd get super worked up about it."

She smirked. "I'm gonna go over to my station," she said. "You'll figure something out. You always seem to."

"You know it!" called Jax, after her retreating back. "I'm the king of doing something fun when I have important stuff to be doing instead!"

A small group of tributes passed between him and Starla and he lost track of her. He rocked back and forth on his heels and drummed his fingers on the sides of his legs. What now? he thought, scanning the stations. Roman had told them to intimidate, if they could. I'm not doing that again, he thought, rolling his tired eyes skyward. That was ridiculous. The girl from District Seven was actually laughing a little, I think.

As he watched the crowd, a familiar shape came surging out from behind a row of tables. The first thing he made eye contact with was Alluvion's tattoo. Hydra, he thought, staring at it, recognizing the many-headed monster emblazoned on the walls of District Four's Justice Building. He glanced at Alluvion's right arm, at the thorns and barbed wire and incomprehensible symbols that crawled their inky way up his arm to disappear underneath his shirt sleeve.

"Hey!" called Jax, cutting across the gym floor to fall into step beside Alluvion. "What're you up to? You look like you're about to murder somebody. Is it a Gamemaker?"

Alluvion did not turn to look at him. "I was going to take paint from the camouflage station and dump it on Ivelisse."

Jax sucked in a breath. "No," he said.

"Yep. More fun than training."

"By the Capitol," said Jax, quickening his pace to keep up with Alluvion. "You're a legend."

In the end, they acquisitioned a can of pink and a can of yellow, and hunted down Ivelisse where she sat at a mutt identification station, picking up laminated pictures of mutts and more often than not coming up blank on their names. Even in the baggy training clothes she seemed perfectly manicured, perfectly poised. She did not even look up as they flanked her, positioned their cans, and turned them over onto her head.

The resulting scream was so loud that Jax's ears were still ringing when Ivelisse grabbed him around the collar and shook him. "You little brat!" she wailed. Pink and yellow paint pooled at her crown, streaked down through her blonde curls to drip off the ends of her hair onto her t-shirt. "Do you know how long my stylist had to work on my hair?! And you—" And here she lunged at Alluvion, who sidestepped to avoid a swipe from her long nails, now decorated with pink and yellow droplets. "You son of a— You should know better, Alluvion, you're from District One!"

Jax had fallen to the floor after Ivelisse shook him, and remained on the mat, laughing so hard he thought his core muscles might overexert themselves. "Oh Capitol, Ivelisse," he wheezed. "Your hair looks like Starla's!"

"I hate you," said Ivelisse, fluttering tragic eyelashes dripping with pink. "I hate you both. I'm not even kidding."

"You'll forgive us, though," said Jax, sitting up. "We're lovable."

"In your dreams, fish boy," she muttered. "I have to go take a shower. When I get back here I expect presents." Her eyes narrowed.

They watched her walk away, leaving pink and yellow footprints in her wake. "What kind of present are you thinking?" said Jax.

Alluvion seemed to consider this. "More paint," he said.

This time, Jax laughed so hard that it devolved into an intense coughing fit. It took him fifteen minutes to recover.

Saege Olyviere, 18
District Eleven Male

At 11:15 Saege hefted the weights in both of his hands and swung them back onto their racks. The metal reverberated and clattered so hard that the vibrations shook his teeth.

Elliot turned at the sound, let the bar across his shoulders fall and bounce against the padded floor. "You done?" he said. "If you're going back to scythe training I won't be joining you. I'm not learning how to wield something like that in three days." His smile was crooked. Sweat stood out on his temples and on the vein that leaped on the side of his throat.

"No," said Saege, "I was just going to go to the bathroom." Then he paused, considering. Do I tell him? This alliance probably won't work if I keep secrets from him.

"Actually, that's not all," Saege said, drawing nearer. Elliot stepped in, swiveled so that he blocked Saege from the rest of the gymnasium with his body. He knows I've got a secret to tell, thought Saege. He's making sure nobody else can hear it. I guess he sees this sort of thing in his gang all the time.

"What is it?" said Elliot. His voice was low, conspiratorial. "Are you safe, Saege? Did someone threaten you? I know the Careers have been watching us."

"It's not the Careers," Saege said. His voice was so low he could barely hear his own words. "It's my district partner, Clover. This morning, she asked me to meet her in the bathroom at 11:20. She says she needs a favor."

Elliot pulled away slightly, raising a hand to rub at his chin. "Interesting," he said. "Do you think she wants to join our alliance?"

"She's trying to join the Careers," said Saege. "She told me that much. I don't know what she wants with us." He frowned. "I think something about her joining the Careers hinges on me. On us. I can't figure out what, though."

Elliot scanned the gymnasium with narrowed eyes. "Alright," he said. "You should go. Find out what she wants and don't make her any promises." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Come back to me when you figure out what's going on," he said. "I'm going to scope the rest of the tributes for potential allies." He glanced at Saege. "What do you think about the girl from Seven? Jasper? She seems handy with an axe."

"She could work," said Saege. "In a fight I think she'd back us up."

Elliot nodded. "Alright, then. If you don't come back in twenty minutes I'll come looking for you." One of his hands curled into a white-knuckled fist. "If she's stringing us along," he said, "If she tries anything, tell me. I'll take care of it."

There was something almost casual about the way he'd said it. He's done it before, Saege thought, as he walked away from the weight training mats and headed for the far side of the gym where the bathrooms were. Who knows the things he's done back in Eight. The way he talks about discipline, fighting, killing, it's all so… routine. Day to day kind of stuff. And I'm with him now, for better or worse.

For better. It was what Saege had decided, after a long conversation with his mentor Wheatgrass Lowe. Elliot was confident, clever enough to recognize that Saege would be a valuable asset, no stranger to circumstances that would have chewed up any number of the other tributes he would be facing. And he would be facing them. The Careers, thought Saege, Would have been coming for me no matter what. I'm too big and too good with a scythe for them to ignore. But if I'm with Elliot, he'll watch my back for me. It's how he operates. And if I'm loyal until the end, in the final fight… When it's all over… I could take him. I think I could take him.

It was a thought that was accompanied with a twinge of nausea. Already the thought of a fight with Elliot Sole needled at the edges of Saege's conscience. He has to die, Saege thought. If I want to win… Him and Clover and all the others.

The nausea was getting worse.

He reached the short corridor that led to the bathrooms, slipped into the darkness feeling something like relief. Seeing the other tributes working their hardest, fumbling with weapons they would never really learn how to use, making paper-thin friendships that would tear once the cannons started sounding… I want to go home, he thought.

He shoved open the bathroom door with one palm and stepped inside. His first thought was, Someone turned on all the faucets. Each sink was gurgling out as much water as it seemed capable of, the taps splayed apart at odd angles. In the row of stalls, only one was half-ajar. Clover was sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her upper arms. When their eyes met, she lifted a hand and beckoned him into the stall with a jerk of her wrist.

He slipped into the stall and closed the door behind it, latching it with a click. "Right," he said, turning around, "What's going on?"

"Lower your voice, okay?" said Clover, who'd gotten up and was facing him. Her own voice was tiny, near-imperceptible. "I turned on all the faucets to make it difficult to hear us, and I'm convinced these public bathrooms are less surveilled than our private ones upstairs. It's why I wanted to meet you here."

"Sure," said Saege. Conscience bit at him. "You're not in danger, are you, Clover?"

She winced. The scarred skin around her lips reflected light for a moment, caught his eye. "Technically we're all in danger," she said. "But no, nothing imminent." Her lips hardly moved when she spoke. He leaned closer, inhaled the smell of her. "I need a big favor from you," she said. "I need you to ask your boss to cut himself on a spear. Bad enough to draw a lot of attention."

Saege frowned. It's not a trick, he thought, If she were trying to sabotage other tributes she wouldn't be so blatant about it. "Why?" he said. "Elliot's not going to want to. We're doing our best to seem dangerous, and I don't think he'd throw that away for no reason. Plus he'd be at a disadvantage in the Games."

"Nope," said Clover, shaking her head. "They'd patch him up today, good as new. And I'd pay him back." She sidled closer. "I need him to get hurt so I can join the Careers," she said. "This is the job they gave me to do. If I hurt another tribute, or arrange for them to get hurt, I'm in the Pack."

Her breath brushed against his cheek. He pulled away. "That's… Does it even count if you just ask someone to do it?"

"Probably not," said Clover. "That's why I'm being so secretive about it. I'll tell the Careers that I sabotaged one of the spears and Elliot was unfortunate enough to pick the one I got my hands on. I don't think there's anyone in the Pack clever enough to dispute me." She bit her lip. "Like I said," she said, "Elliot gets something out of this."

"What?" said Saege.

She raised her eyebrows. "Me."

The realization hit him like an arrow to the brain. "You'll defect," he said. His whisper was sharp with urgency. "After… I dunno what you're planning. And you'll come to us so we can protect you for the rest of the Games, and you can give us everything you have on the Careers."

She winked, smiled. "Presto. I'll even do what I can to take some of them out before I abandon ship." Her smile faded. "I know it's a lot to ask. But I think your guy will know a good plan when he sees one. Together the three of us might make it to the final fight and hold our own there, but with the Pack at full strength I just don't see it."

The subtext was unnecessary. And at the very end, if we have to turn on each other, I could take you out more easily than I could take them. It was a cruel strategy. Saege would know, since it was his plan too.

He nodded. "I'll ask," he said. "I can't tell you what Elliot will say."

"Don't bother," she said. "Just have him do it right before lunch, if you can. If you can't, the Careers won't accept me and I'll look like a moron. No big deal." Although the glimmer in her brown eyes suggested that it might be a big deal. "I'm gonna go," she said. "Come out in a little while. Turn off the taps while you're at it." She unlocked the stall door, paused in the threshold. "I hope this works out," she said. "For you and me both."

He nodded again. Then she was gone. He stared after her for a while, settling onto the toilet seat and crossing his legs. This is crazy, he thought. This is never going to work.

That was the thing, though. It could. It actually could.

That girl, Saege decided, Is too clever for her own good.

Clover Forney, 16
District Eleven Female

When she pulled her hand away from her face, the tiny gaps under her fingernails were bloody. I was picking at the scabs again, she thought, grimacing, wiping away what little blood had welled up with the back of her arm. Thinking about the scabs made her think of all the times she'd failed to get away from testing out some facial product or another. This isn't the time to be remembering failures, Clover thought. Not when I'm about to succeed.

The Avoxes were getting the lunch tables ready. Tributes were drawing near to the tables in knots and streams. She leaned against a rack of throwing knives and watched them all. That's an alliance, she thought, spotting the pair from Six. And that girl, from Twelve, she's alone. Alluvion Scorand came surging out from behind the wrestling ring. And he's a Career, she thought, following him. He sat himself at the only empty table. She slid into place next to him.

"Hey," she said. "Any idea where your leader is?"

Alluvion jabbed a finger over her shoulder. "Walking towards us right now," he said. His voice had no inflection to it, nothing for her to latch onto, to analyze. He'd kill me, I bet, thought Clover. Without thinking too much about it.

She felt a warm palm on her shoulder. She jerked back, and Roman Ward raised his eyebrows and smiled and said, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He sat on her other side. "Did you ever figure out how to do what we asked you to do?"

The other Careers were approaching the table, but Clover had eyes only for Roman Ward, towering Roman with muscles built by meals she'd never have been able to taste, equipment she'd never have had the opportunity to use. "Yeah," she said. "I figured it out."

She looked to the spears station, the closest weapons station to the lunch tables. Where is he—he's there, she thought, and the relief that bloomed in her chest felt like the gentle unfurling of a flower's petals in sunlight. "I'm in luck," she said. "Look over at District Eight."

Roman followed her gaze. "That guy?" he said. "Is that—"

"Elliot," she said, narrowing her eyes, watching him as his fingers brushed the shaft of the spear. "I watched his reaping. He was pretty stoic. He's gonna be a tough competitor." Make this convincing, Elliot, she thought, clutching at the fabric of her athletic shorts. Make this look good.

He wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the spear. Then, as if coated in grease, his hand shot forward, still wrapped around the wooden pole and then around the spearhead. The metal edges bit deeply into his fingers. Elliot's lips curled back into a snarl and he tore his hand away from the spearhead, clutching it at the wrist. Dark blood ran in streams from a slit in each one of his fingers, a deeper one in his palm. So deep she thought she could see muscle. All the while Elliot didn't make a sound, just clutched the wrist of his wounded hand and stared at the dark blood with gritted teeth and flared nostrils.

He will be a tough competitor, thought Clover, wide-eyed. I'm glad he just agreed to let me on his team, because I'm not sure I'd want to be against this guy.

Trainers were already converging, surrounding Elliot and ushering him away from the bloody spear. He'll be alright, she thought, watching him go. They really will have that cleared up by the Games. I know for a fact they've got people on hand to make sure any training accidents can be fixed, so everything's fair and square. Her mentor had told her.

Roman tore his eyes away from Elliot's retreating back. "You," he said. "How did you—"

She shook her head. Cameras, she mouthed. "I didn't do anything, of course," she said, as an Avox whipped a plate of crisp leafy greens in front of her. She reached for her fork, winked. "I certainly didn't coat that spear in a layer of grease. If I had, I'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Right," said Roman. His eyebrows furrowed. "Regardless. I think you've made your point."

"I think so too," said Clover.

"Well," said Roman. Around the table, the other Careers had begun to lean in, to show interest. Jax munched on a tomato and listened with wide eyes. Ivelisse smiled when their eyes met. Starla made every effort to keep from looking over, but Clover could see her peeking when she thought no one was looking. Only Alluvion did not seem to be paying close attention to what was happening. Instead he was stealing food off of Starla's plate as she stared unwaveringly at the other side of the room. And these are trained killers, thought Clover. I don't think I'd be doing any of that if I'd gone through one of their Academies.

"We talked it over amongst ourselves after you first asked to join," said Roman, "And the consensus was that if you managed to complete the… task… we gave to you, you'd be invited in." He thrust out his hand. "Welcome to the Careers, Clover."

She shook it. A grin overpowered her face. "Thanks," she said. "I'll do my best to be useful to you."

"Good," said Roman. "We expect you to be as innovative as you've proven you can be."

"Welcome to the Careers!" said Ivelisse, from across the table. "I'm Ivelisse. It's good to have you on the team!" She smiled. It was a beautiful smile. "I think you'll fit in really nicely with the rest of us."

"Sure," said Jax, "You look like you can handle a gaggle of trained idiots." He grinned. "I'm Jax Brooks. The sulky one over there is Starla, and the man of mystery with the neat tattoo is Alluvion."

"I actually watched all of your reapings," said Clover, "So I had your names down pretty well. But thanks for the refresher." She nodded. "Looking forward to working with you all."

As chatter began to sweep through them, she settled into her seat more firmly and chewed on her salad and thought, Later I'll have to betray them. If I'm still with them during the final battle, whoever's left could kill me in seconds. That's what I need Elliot and Saege for, to buy me some time during the final fight. So I can figure something out.

She wanted to bury her face in her palms and never come out again. But that was only for a moment, and when the urge vanished it was replaced with the resolve she was familiar with. Steely, unyielding. Whatever it takes, she thought, eating her lunch and not tasting it. When it comes down to it, that's what I have to do. Whatever it takes.

Flax Newell, 17
District Eight Female

"Alright," said the trainer. "Let's test your snare." He plucked up a cloth bird with long fingernails and positioned it over the loop of wire. "The bird flies in for the food… and…" He dropped the bird. It brushed the wire. Then the wire constricted into its neck, digging in so hard that its head bulged and its glass eyes seemed likely to burst free from their stitching. The whole thing had taken no time at all. She'd seen it brush the wire, and in the amount of time a blink might take, the wire had choked it. Killed it. Would have killed it, if it had been alive.

The trainer smiled. His narrow face was further compressed by his raised cheekbones. "Nicely done, Miss Newell," he said. "Now let's see if you can do it without me showing you how."

She nodded, reached for the loops of wire and the stick she'd used as the trigger. I remember how I did it, she thought. And if it's not perfect, I can jury rig it. A shudder struck her, crawled from her shoulders to her knees. Capitol, in the Games I might not even get any wire. Her hands on the wire began to shake. I'm not doing the Bloodbath, she thought. So what are the odds I'll get any wire?

She stilled her hands, pressed her fingertips into the wire until the skin furrowed around it. Can't think about it, she thought, nostrils flared, focusing on her hands so hard that her eyes began to burn. If I keep thinking about it I'll go crazy. Either… either I'll figure it out or I won't. And not figuring it out isn't even an option. It's not, it's not.

For a while she looked at the wire in her hands. Then she began to knot it.

It was absorbing work. Her hands wove and darted and fed wire through loops and knots so small she could hardly see them. I wonder if this is how Judith felt in the factory back home, she thought, and a pang of longing, visceral and agonizing, struck somewhere in her breast. I want to see her, thought Flax. I want to see my sister.

Again she'd paused at her work. This time when she started up again, she thought she could hear her heart beating, somewhere in the meat and muscle of her chest. Sweat slicked across the white expanse of her skin. I'll see her again, she told herself, as she bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. It's not over just yet.

There was movement beside her. She turned, tried not to wince as another tribute pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. The girl was stocky, with long blonde hair so dull it reminded Flax of a white sheet that had gone too long without being washed. Their eyes met. The girl smiled, but there were dark circles under her eyes, and worried lines dug into her skin between her eyebrows. "Hi," she said. "I'm Theresa. District Twelve."

Flax's hands stilled on her snare. "I'm Flax," she said, looking at her lap.

"Nice to meet you," said Theresa. She glanced at the wire, rocks, branches, and instructional pamphlets littered across the table. Then she reached for the closest booklet.

"I can help you!" said the trainer.

She glanced at him. "Thank you," she said, but there was something frosty about the way she said it. It was a tone she hadn't taken with Flax, not quite. "I'll figure it out for myself, though, I think."

As Theresa gathered supplies in front of her, Flax fed the coil of wire through another loop and thought, Why'd she talk to him differently? She sounded… angry, with him, almost, in a way. More tired with me.

Well, that made sense. The guy was a Capitolian. Flax was just another doomed tribute. She hadn't asked to be here.

She watched the snare in her hands. When she glanced at Theresa, she saw that the girl was watching Flax's snare as well, holding up her hands and wearing an expression that bled confusion. "Sorry," she said, when she realized Flax had noticed. "I just wanted to see what you were doing." The corner of her mouth flicked up and dropped down, a smile as swift as the needle-quick flash of a piston on one of the factory machines in Eight. "Snares aren't exactly my thing," she said. "I'm much better at sitting around."

There was a short silence. Then Flax came back to herself, forced a tiny laugh, and concentrated harder on the snare in her hands. Another knot… here, she thought, palms sweating, refusing to turn and look at the girl beside her. Tug on the end. Don't look at Theresa. Flip it over… And we're done.

She leaned back and looked at her snare. It was rougher than her first, the loop gaping limply, but it seemed as though it might work. I think I did it, thought Flax. Any pride she might have felt was frozen and killed by the fear that lurked in her chest. But it was something. She'd done something.

Theresa had leaned a bit closer and was examining the trap. "This looks really good," she said. Her blue eyes were narrow with concentration. "You don't mind that I'm looking at it, do you?" She glanced up at Flax, another almost-smile twitching around the corners of her mouth. "You're a lot better at this than I am, I think. Was this something you'd do back home?"

Flax pushed away from the table.

"Uh," she said. "No. This is new." She clambered to her feet. Even her limbs felt awkward. "I'm pretty much all done here," she said. The familiar flush was creeping up to her cheeks. "You can look at my trap all you want." She tried to smile. She could not tell if she'd succeeded. "Well," she said, already turning. "Bye."

Theresa probably replied. But she didn't stick around to hear it.

She walked until the wrestling station hid her from view. Then she took a few deep breaths and wiped the sweat on her palms onto her shorts. It's alright, she told herself. You're not here to make friends. It's better that you don't. That didn't help the shame. Maybe I'm not here to make friends, she thought, But that's different from not being able to make friends—

She cut herself off. Down that road lay madness.

After a few moments of deliberation, she went for the station advertising knife skills. At the end of the day, if she didn't have people by her side… well. A knife in her belt was going to have to do the job.

Manny Axelworth, 13
District Five Male

The plastic of the chair felt as though it were melding into his back, he'd been sitting for so long. Manny kicked his legs, dug his heels into the seat of the chair. This is boring, he thought again, tuning out the lanky trainer who was brandishing a picture of a successfully hidden camp in an indoor arena. I'd never be able to make anything like that, he thought, looking at the picture, the way the bedrolls were camouflaged behind draperies, the supplies piled up underneath abandoned and empty sacks. It's a good thing I've got Zippy with me. She's a genius. She'll get this sorted.

Zippy was frowning at the picture, green eyes narrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. She asked the trainer a question. All Manny heard was the roar of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart. A genius, he thought again, smiling. She can solve anything.

She looked at him. "Alright, Manny," she said. "I think we're done here. There's something I want to talk to you about, anyway."

He nodded. He would have responded, but he did not trust himself to speak. It was more than likely that the words would get stuck on their way out, and even if they didn't, the enormity of what he was feeling was too much to describe. So much for being a writer, he thought, stumbling after Zippy as she ushered him towards the wrestling ring. If I get the chance to write another Clara St. Michaels I'm going to have to brush up on my vocabulary.

His smile vanished. It's a big if, he thought, hurrying after Zippy, too-big athletic clothing billowing around him. There's a lot of people who have to… who have to die, for that to happen. A cold fist clenched at his guts. Ichabod, he thought. Dante. Even…

He would not think it. He would not.

Zippy stopped by the rope that separated the wrestling ring from the rest of the gymnasium. "Okay," she said. "Here's what I was thinking. I think it'd be a good idea to invite Dante into our alliance."

Manny raised his eyebrows. "Okuh-kay," he said. "Why?"

"Good question," said Zippy, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Well. For starters, he's bigger than both of us and in much better physical shape. He knows more than I do about hunting animals in forest settings, and I'm sure he knows more than you as well. He is more than proficient with a bow and arrow, and neither of us is capable of wielding a weapon with anything resembling mastery." She paused to catch her breath. "Most importantly, though," she said, "I talked it over with my mentor Natalie, and she agrees that it doesn't seem like Dante is trying to play or use us. Kill…" And here she swallowed hard, and looked at the ground for a moment. "Killing us," she said, biting out the words from clenched teeth, "Might be popular with the Capitol, but we have to believe that he's being genuine when he's friendly. Besides," she said, "I offer him a lot in terms of cleverness and innovation. And you—you offer me a lot in terms of…" She bit her lip. "In terms of inspiration," she said. "So we're both useful to Dante." She took a few deep breaths, cheeks pink. "What do you think?" she said.

"It's a guh-guh-good idea," said Manny. "Anythuh-thing you cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh-come up with is guh-guh-guh-guh-guh—"

"Thanks," said Zippy, peering around the mat, "But look, Manny, Dante's coming over here, I think he saw us." She clenched one fist. "I'm gonna ask him. Wish me luck."

"Guh-good luck," said Manny.

Dante's grey t-shirt was darkened in patches with sweat. As he came up to them, he smiled and raised a hand. "Hey," he said. "I was just trying to teach Ichabod how to use a bow and arrow. He's still over there if anyone wants to join him, but I wanted a break."

"Maybe later," said Zippy. Her words were clipped, stiff. "Dante," she said. "I have a proposition for you. I hope you'll hear me out."

He raised a black eyebrow into a near-perfect arch. "Sure," he said, burying his hands into his pockets, leaning back on his heels.

"Right," said Zippy. "I think that if we teamed up in the arena we could help each other out. You make up for me and Manny in physical strength and combat power, while I can pull my weight with my encyclopedic knowledge and nearly-perfect memory." She had clasped her hands behind her back and was squeezing them together. "So I think we should ally," she said. "If you want to."

He stared at her. Then a slow smile curled across his face. "Alright," said Dante. "If you'll have me."

Zippy let out a huge breath, slumping where she stood. "Oh, wow," she said, wiping sweat away from her forehead with her fingertips. "I wasn't sure you were gonna say yes. I'm really relieved." Her smile was enormous. It was the loveliest thing Manny had ever seen. "Welcome to the team, Dante."

"Thanks for asking," he said, smiling down at her. "You and Manny are going to be good teammates. I can tell."

Manny blushed, mumbled a thank you, squirmed a bit. Dante was on the team, cool, tough, badass Dante. If survival had been far before, he felt it drawing nearer, close enough to reach out and grasp.

The cold feeling in his guts came back, bit down with steel teeth. They have to die, it said, They all have to die for you to live. This is no 74th Hunger Games, and as star-crossed as you are it won't end that way. There's two ways this story ends. And one of those endings is the ending of everything for you.

He had to stare at Zippy for ten minutes to get the dark thoughts out of his mind. There was nothing, he decided, that couldn't be solved by looking at someone so perfect for a little while. Her light banished everything that hurt him. She made him alright.