College is wild, but I'm back!

Pascal was crouched by the stream, scrubbing his hands off in the water. The blood had long since rinsed off and his hands were wrinkled. But he didn't care.

He could hardly see past the tears that filled his eyes.

He was trembling all over. He had killed three people, three children. He was a murderer. And he was sick to his stomach over it.

How dare the Capitol make him kill against his will like that! It was cruel. It was an awful way to kill, to believe you were defending yourself from creatures but were only killing peers. He hadn't wanted to kill to begin with, but the fact that the Gamemakers had used his brain against him to force him to kill made it feel even more wrong. He was disgusted at the Gamemakers, the Capitol, the Games themselves, and himself.

If he had done the math right, there were four people left, plus himself. He was in the final five. He couldn't believe he had made it that far.

He couldn't believe what he had done.

Finally after what could have been hours, he pulled his hands from the stream and dried then on his pants before wiping at the tears on his cheeks. His face was sticky with the dried tears he had cried and his glasses were speckled too. Sighing, he took his glasses off and leaned over, splashing water on his face with still-shaking hands. He scrubbed at the tear tracks with his palms before dampening the edge of his shirt and wiping the grime off the lenses of his glasses. He dried them on a dry part of his shirt and slid them back on. He blinked once, twice. He could see clearly again.

He could see nothing but the small forested area before him and the oddly beautiful orange and pink superimposed sunset. No movements, no signs of life from any human or creature. Somehow, that was worse than seeing someone coming for him.

They were down to the final five. The rest of the tributes had to know that it was nearing the end. Pascal knew there were typically two things tributes did; hide until the very last possible moment or they are spotted, or recklessly tramp around looking for someone to kill. The very thought of killing someone else made his stomach churn more than it already was and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to ignore the feeling, but all he saw were the faces of the people he had killed.

He hadn't eaten in a while, but he knew that in the state he was in right now, nothing would stay down if he tried. He had some food supplies in his backpack for later, if he felt like eating.

If someone didn't find him first.

He sighed. He shouldn't be there in that arena. He should be at home, dancing around the living room with Ada while his father the played the piano. He should be helping his brother fix a robot or watching his sister organize data on the computer while she painted her nails, or washing dishes while his mom hummed absently. He should be anywhere but here, they all should be. No one deserved this fate. No one deserved to be made a murderer or to be killed. Especially not children.

His eyes stung once more as he thought of Raine, so young and sweet, how she was cruelly pulled from her family, her baby sister, forever. Agnes, his brother's classmate, even if she was irritating, she didn't deserve to die. Maverick didn't either. No one, not one single tribute had ever deserved what they were given.

His own brother had three more Reapings, Ada's name could be pulled some day. The thought was unbearable. It wasn't fair.

From somewhere, a scream echoed, jerking Pascal from his thoughts. He pushed himself to stand on his shaky feet. Someone had been found.

He couldn't tell how close they were from the scream. Pascal wasn't close to any good hiding places. He could either jump the creek and run into the trees, or run about the same distance back towards the decrepit city.

He thought for a moment. And then he jumped and made a mad dash for the tree line. His pace was ragged and uneven, his legs felt like rubber. Just as he crossed into the trees, a canon sounded. Pascal's heart leapt to his throat and he carried on running for another few moments before falling to his knees besides a large oak, gasping for breath. He wasn't sure if the difficulty breathing was just because if the running, or if it was because his anxiety was through the roof as well. His chest was so tight, he felt so sick.

And now there were four tributes.

They must all be fairly close together, as the Gamemakers hadn't announced a feast, as they sometimes did when the tributes were spread out too much for their liking towards the end. They would be doing something soon though, something to get the final four together so they could have a finale. A few years ago, they had flooded the arena and the girl from 4 won simply because she was a strong swimmer. Pascal couldn't guess what they had planned, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty.

He decided that he would try and get some rest before that happened. He leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come. The faces of the tributes he had killed seemed to be taped to his eyelids.

A medical intern handed the little bundle to him, placed it in his shaking arms.

"She's beautiful," the young woman said kindly, giving him a soft, sad smile.

Pascal smiled a bit in response before turning his attention to the new life in his arms. His heart swelled the moment he looked at her. Rowena's features were already visible on her pink face and she was absolutely beautiful. Tears stung his eyes. She was his now, he supposed. His responsibility, his everything. He was a father now, at sixteen years old, and it was all a lie.

He was playing a dangerous game in lying about this, but Rowena would have wanted him to keep her baby girl safe. And he would do that, no matter what it took. He had a feeling this wasn't the first time he would be lying to protect the child now nestled in his arms.

"Have you given any thought to a name?" asked the intern.

"Ada," Pascal said, without hesitation. Rowena had chosen that name, she had told him on her last birthday. The very least he could do was honor her wishes. "Ada Grace Fierwel,"

The intern smiled again and nodded politely. She said something about giving him time alone with the baby and congratulated him before leaving the room.

His parents were on their way up probably. They had gone to see about arrangements for Rowena. They had no idea what he had done, but he would explain it to them when he got the chance. There was no way he was letting Rowena's baby get taken and places in the Community Home. This child deserved to be loved. It would be hard, but he could do it, he had to, for Row.

He had nearly fallen to his knees when he had been told Rowena had not survived giving birth. He wasn't exactly sure why she had passed, his brain seemed to shut off and he had immediately dissolved into tears. His mother, who had been sitting beside him, pulled him into her arms and held him tight. When the doctor said the baby was being looked over, but they could see Rowena if they'd like, Pascal looked up again. He had to. He had to say goodbye.

She had almost looked like she was sleeping to Pascal, but her skin was cool to the touch. Even so, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and told her he loved her, like he always did.

After a few moments, they had gone back to the waiting room, where Pascal was left to compose himself while his parents made a sad procession to try and contact Rowena's parents. It was there he overheard that the baby would be sent to the Home if the father or Rowena's parents didn't step up to claim the baby. He made his decision right then, to lie and say that he was the baby's father.

The staff had bought the story, about he and Rowena being together, but too shy to be public about it, and too shy to be honest about what they had done. It helped, he supposed, that he and Row were painfully close, that she was holding his hand when she came in. No one questioned it. It was almost too easy.

After his false admission, he had been lead back to meet the child. He realized then that he may have never even had met the child had she been sent off .

Part of him felt terrible for lying. He knew this could get him, his while family and trouble, and Ada taken from him. But he couldn't just let her be sent away. He would have to be careful. But he would do anything for Row, and therefore the little girl he was cradling. He was doing the right thing, he knew that. But he also knew it wouldn't be easy.

The baby cooed softly.

Pascal's throat was both too dry and too wet and his eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "You look so much like your mom."

The baby, his daughter, blinked open her brilliant blue eyes and she looked up at him.

"I love you, Ada Grace. Always,"