Chapter 19: Fracture Lines

We stand there silently, staring at one another. There's about a million different pains running through my body at the moment, but they're all secondary to the uncertainty I feel looking at the boy from Two. I don't know what to do, and seeing as he has yet to move either it seems like Cato is in a similar state of uncertainty.

"Should we—"

"We should—" we say at the same time. I snap my mouth shut and we both fall silent again. I'm almost thankful for the cough that racks my lungs, just because it breaks the quiet.

"We should move away from here," Cato says, his breathing becoming slightly more even. "The flood may be over, but it could still cause a mudslide."

I nod, but make no move to answer. Cato looks at me one more time before he begins walking. I try to shake the fogginess from my brain and then follow. Unsurprisingly, we trek in silence. It's definitely for the better though, because walking is difficult enough with the mud and how battered my body feels. I wonder if Cato is faring much better.

Neither of us mentions Mace and Nerissa again. Now that we're separated—and one of them is most likely dead—our alliance is over. I know that this needed to happen, that staying with them for too long would be too dangerous, but there's a new feeling of apprehension that settles in my gut. In a weird way, the two of them acted like a buffer between Cato and me. The only times we've ever been alone together were those two nights on the roof and right before entering the arena, and two of the three went very badly. Hell, almost every interaction we've had even with the others around has been bad.

There are no illusions now, no common enemy to target when things go wrong. Nope, now it's just the two of us and our special connection. The Capitol must love this.

Aside from that, we aren't losing much by being separated from them. It does make me hope that no one else is in an alliance though, because we'll certainly be outnumbered. I suspect that's not the case though. So I decide that, yes, this is a good time to be rid of them. They did nothing but threaten my chances of going home anyway.

Well, that and they got me this backpack, I think with some relief. It has the wire for the snare and the water bottle, which will definitely come in handy. I want to laugh when I think of how Nerissa refused to carry it because it would slow her down. I don't though, because my throat still hurts and I don't want to draw Cato's attention.

I squint up at the sky, noting that the sun shines brightly. I mentally chastise myself for not understanding the arena sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't have been caught in the flood. But in the end, I don't know this climate, so there wasn't much to go off of. Still, I could have died. It's the idea that I wouldn't have been able to put up a fight that gets to me most. The feeling of helplessness burns at my limbs, a sudden bout of restlessness coming over me. I know that it won't last long though. This type of adrenaline will wear off and then I'll crash. The events of today will catch up to me sooner rather than later, and as much as Cato would like to deny it, he's in the same boat.

With that in mind, I stride forward until I'm even with him. "We should rest," I say, trying to add a note of authority to my voice. It sounds more like a croak, but it's the best I can do.

He doesn't look at me when he asks, "Why?"

"Because we're both tired," I tell him.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe right now, but for how much longer? It won't do any good if we're dead on our feet. If someone attacked us right now, how good would we be?"

"I'd be fine."

I shove down the anger building in me. It's not like I didn't already know he's a stubborn jerk. "Maybe. But is it really a risk worth taking? What harm is there in resting for a little?"

His jaw clenches, but after a moment he stops walking. "Fine, but only for a few minutes."

I sigh in relief and follow him as he walks towards an area a little to our left. We both collapse onto the ground, and I know that I've made the right decision. If I were any less tired, I would be surprised by Cato's agreement. But then again, maybe I wouldn't be. Cato is a lot of things, but I wouldn't say stupid is one of them. He knows that we need rest now.

It may not be the wisest thing to do, but I sit back and close my eyes. I feel the exhaustion in my bones, the lack of sleep, and today's events taking their toll. I can feel myself slowly sinking into unconsciousness, the pull of sleep too nice to resist. Unfortunately, it seems like Cato has other plans.

"The other night, the one with the maggots," he says, "who was on the Fallen?"

I open my eyes, squinting slightly at the bright sun. Cato isn't looking at me. Instead he's lounging in the position I was before he spoke, his eyes closed to the world. I completely forgot to mention it, and I guess none of them remembered to ask either.

"Just the boy from Six—the one Mace killed—and…" I trail off. I wonder how he'll take the news, seeing as she was from Two. "And one of the girls from your district. Hera, I think," I tell him bluntly. There's no point in beating around the bush.

He looks unperturbed, but I wouldn't expect him to show me any emotion even if he weren't. I'm pretty sure the only thing he can express is anger.

"It's probably for the better," he says after a moment. "She was more competition than Valora."

I blink slowly at the boy in front of me. For a second, I can't comprehend his words, how callous they are. It's disgusting how easily he can toss this aside. But then again, is it really? It's not like I'm surprised by it. We both knew that all twenty-two remaining tributes had to die for us to win, and that obviously included both girls from his district. They're trained for this type of thing. They know that at most, only one person from Two is coming home. It's routine for them. In a morbid sort of way, it is for us back in Twelve too. The only difference is that we almost never expect anyone from our district to make it. As much as I hate to admit it, his lack of emotional attachment is probably a good thing. It can't be a distraction or get in the way then.

I chastise myself for having to remember that this is the Hunger Games, because I really shouldn't have to at this point. Or any point really. This moral high-ground thing doesn't exist anymore. It's not like I don't have blood on my hands. I've already killed two people, three if they count the crazed girl from Five. The thought makes the food in my stomach churn and so I push it away with my decision. If he doesn't care about her death, there's no reason I should. Not right now at least. There'll be plenty of time for that if I win.

Once I win.

"So that leaves nine more," he says, opening his eyes and looking over at me.

I nod, trying to clear the previous thoughts from my head. "Yeah, counting the cannon after the storm. Ten possibilities though," I say. Why couldn't both Mace and Nerissa have died?

"Mace, Nerissa, Topaz, Valora, Tilver, Murrow, the boy from Ten, the boy from Seven, the boy from Eight, and your friend from Six," he finishes, his voice noticeably more gruff on the last one.

I blink at him in surprise. Keeping track of how many cannons is one thing, but knowing who everyone is another. I'm sure Careers are instructed to pay close attention, but that's a lot of detail to remember. I would have assumed that he didn't think they were worth remembering, seeing as he doesn't care about them at all. He knows almost all of their names, but that's probably just because most of them are Careers. Still, though, knowing that he pays this much attention makes me feel a little better. That is until I remember that most of my advantage comes from the Careers having to rely on me.

"You need to be more careful," Cato says after a moment of silence.

My eyes narrow at the boy. "With what?"

"You can't stumble close to edge like that during a storm. You could have brought us all down."

I can feel my blood beginning to simmer with the implication. It's takes all my remaining energy not to tell him that I wish that were the case. "I don't think that's very likely."

"It would be if you caused a landslide."

"Well I didn't."

"Lucky for us."

"Like it would have made a difference? In case you forgot we still ended up in a flash flood."

"Just watch it next time."

I send him a glare, but don't say any more. I don't see the point. He's too stubborn and arrogant to back down. I can still feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, but I do my best to focus on my breathing to calm my heart rate. It's not like I caused the flood. We would have been in the same situation anyway, not that he'd even admit it. But I guess Cato meant every word he said about me being dead weight. As much as it frustrates me, I will have to be more careful. Any misstep I make will be viewed as a weakness to Cato, and that will be one step closer to him killing me.

Cato speaks again, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"We start moving again in ten."

I wipe at the sweat on my forehead, wishing we had made our way back to the swamp. I haven't bothered to bring it up because I know it won't be a welcome suggestion. Nerissa may not be the brightest, but Mace isn't stupid. And if he's the one alive—if both of them are alive— I can't risk going there, not if they've gone back for the nests. Cato might like his chances, but I don't. If only Haymitch could send me something.

We've been trekking for a few hours at least, the sun still shining brightly in the sky. The dry heat has returned, which indicates that there won't be a storm for a while. Not that it's much of a comfort. The Gamemakers could get bored again and change their minds. Who knows what they'd send down next.

I remember one year there was acid rain in some parts of the arena. Anyone caught in it was dead in a few short minutes. It's hard to forget the way their skin sizzled and burned, their agonized screams booming through the speakers. I shiver at the memory, praying that that particular scenario or one like it isn't in store for us.

There's heaviness in the air that has nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with the tension between Cato and me. It isn't anything new, but it makes me uneasy. My fingers twitch around the handle of my knife, grip tight all the while we walk.

Eventually, Cato declares it's time to stop for the night. I try to cover the relief I feel over the fact that we won't be hunting other tributes tonight. I'm sure that short rest we took hours ago wasn't nearly enough after the battering we both took in the flood. He won't admit it, but I can see that he's moving slower than usual. There's no doubt that he's still deadly, but he's definitely not a hundred percent. And then there's the fact that hunting would mostly consist of Careers going after Careers. Definitely not something he can risk.

Even though I'm exhausted, I know we need to eat. I take care of the snare and collect some food, while Cato scouts the area. By the time I get back, he's already on the ground lounging against a tree, looking lost in thought.

I pass over the berries and nuts I've collected without a word. Cato matches my silence. This is safe. This I can handle. We can't provoke any anger or murderous desires from each other this way. And then we can't make ourselves look bad to sponsors. Or, at least we can't make ourselves look any worse.

The anthem momentarily distracts us both from our thoughts, the pictures of the Fallen lighting up the sky. I hold my breath as I wait for the face to appear. My stomach sinks when it does.

The face of a beautiful girl from One—Topaz—appears, and she is the only one.

So they're both still out there. Mace and Nerissa, the deadly pair from One and Four. The only pair of Careers. The Capitol favorites.

"Great," I mumble. My gut clenches in both fear and frustration as the logo fades.

"What was that?"

I turn my gaze towards Cato. I see no point in lying. "I said that's just great. Of course they're both still alive. Because it would just be too easy otherwise."

Cato raises an eyebrow in reply, but I can see the tenseness in his shoulders. I doubt he's happy about it either.

"I'll take first watch," he says.

"I can do it," I say quickly, the sudden fear taking over again. Sleep doesn't sound like such a good idea anymore.

Cato's eyes narrow, and I can't help but feel like he can see right through me. He probably does. I wouldn't even be surprised if he was aware of how little sleep I've been getting. It makes me realize that the signs probably show on my face: the bags under my eyes, the tiredness in my movements. Everyone probably knows how tired I am.

"Weren't you the one saying how important rest is?"

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from frowning. "Fine," I say. I suddenly have no energy to argue with him. It's better that I go to sleep, I decide. I definitely can't defend myself against him if I'm ready to pass out.

As uncomfortable as it makes me, I put my back to a tree and face Cato. At least this way, I'll be more alert if he tries something. I grip my knife tighter just in case. It makes me wonder if he's worried that I might try something when he's sleeping. Although, he's made his thoughts on me pretty clear, so I doubt it. He may have said that he thought I had backbone, but there's a difference between talking back and actually following through. Unfortunately, I think we both know that I won't do anything unless it's completely necessary. The mere thought of a confrontation with Cato is enough to suck the rest of my energy away. Despite the fear clawing at me, my eyes begin to flutter closed. I'm asleep in seconds.

There's pressure on my leg, and I wish it would go away. I'm too tired for this. I relax a little when it disappears. Then it's back and gone again, and I'm not relaxed anymore. I feel the pressure again and I jolt up, my arm swinging out. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, my eyes landing on the source of the pressure. Cato is crouched at the end of my feet, an eyebrow raised in what I think is amusement.

"Be careful with that, Twelve. You could hurt yourself."

I scowl, but don't reply. Instead I pull myself to my feet seeing as his shift is obviously over. I hear Cato chuckle quietly to himself, and my scowl deepens.

"Wake me up in four hours," is all he says before settling back down.

Is that how much sleep I got? The sky is still somewhat bright, but that might just be the arena. I shake my head. It doesn't matter. It's more sleep than I've gotten in four days, so it's good enough for me.

` It's frustrating to realize that killing time in the arena is just as difficult as everything else. In some ways, I think it's worse. At least when we're moving, there are distractions. With a frown, I pull my knife out and continue with what I was doing yesterday. I think I improve a little too, but it's hard to tell. Who knows what would happen if I tried to use this in real combat.

Unfortunately, I tire of that far sooner than I'd like, and so I have nothing to do but stare at the artificial sky. Water, I remind myself thanks to the ache in my throat. That's what I can worry about right now. It's what I should be worrying about. I rack my brain for information, trying to recall anything from the training center that could help us. I know that there are some plants that hold water—like the cacti in Amelia's games—but none of these look similar to that or like the ones I remember. Think.

I get to my feet and start wandering around. It's not as easy to inspect the plants in the dim light, but it's the best I can do. Something hollow, I remind myself as I look up at the trees. I have half a mind to try to climb one to look for water, but I'd probably end up grabbing a vine and falling to my death. The thought makes me pause for a moment, and then it hits me.

The vines.

I grab one from the tree in front of me and cut through it. The effect is almost instantaneous. Water comes rushing out of the hollowed vegetation. I drink it eagerly, even more grateful that I decided to go to that station.

I consider waking Cato up, but ultimately decide against it. The more energy he has, the better. The more to kill me with. But I'd be kidding myself if I thought that even tired, I could beat Cato. There'd have to be something seriously wrong with him for that to happen. Or I'd need a miracle. The two are practically the same.

With the exception of birds chirping, the night is quiet, and, luckily, passes without incident. Cato wakes on his own, which I'm thankful for. I don't want to get close to him, especially when he has a death grip on the sword and no qualms about using it.

"I'm going to check the snare," I tell him. "Can you start the fire?"

He nods and says, "Don't take too long. We need to get moving soon."

I try not to. Not for Cato's sake, of course, but because I'm really starting to dislike wandering around on my own, especially now that I know Mace and Nerissa are on the loose. Cato's not exactly a safe bet, but it's the best option I have at the moment.

When I get to the snare, the first thing I do is fill the water bottle, because, really, I should have done that hours ago. Then I turn my attention to the animal caught in the trap. It looks almost like a large cat—at least three feet long—with its white whiskers and long tail. It has thick, black fur, which I can already tell is going to be a pain to skin. Its mouth hangs slightly open, revealing four incredibly sharp teeth. It makes me squirm, and I glance up at the trees in paranoia. Satisfied that there's nothing there, I remove the animal from the wire and make my way back.

The sounding of screeching metal reaches my ears and I freeze in place. It's coming from the direction I left Cato, and I don't need any confirmation to know what's happening. Knots form in the pit of my stomach and my spine stiffens with uncertainty. For a brief second, I contemplate leaving Cato to fend for himself. I have no clue what's going on. He could be outnumbered, and I could walk straight to my death. I inwardly curse at the feeling of guilt that curls in my chest and forces my feet forward. I'm not in any rush though. The sound of grunting and metal clashing carries over the light breeze, and then suddenly there's no sound at all. I stop where I am and wait for the cannon, but it doesn't come.

A few more seconds of silence tick by, and nothing. I move tentatively forward. I'm only about thirty feet from where I left Cato, but I can't see through the vegetation. There's the sound of footsteps, and I know they don't belong to me. Suddenly, a forms slices through the heavy brush and I rear back, but it is just Cato.

Except it's not. The last Cato I saw was splattered with mud and still trying to clear away the last remnants of sleep. This is an entirely different person. I thought I had seen the Career Cato before, but I realize that I was wrong. This is the real Career: cold, angry eyes and no hint of fear or remorse. He's carrying a spear he didn't have before and blood trickles from a gash on his shoulder. It doesn't account for the rest that I see on his jacket or the spots on his face. I blink, and it's Karn in front of me, soaked in blood and amusement. I blink again, and it's back to Cato, but it's not very different.

I'm terrified. I've never been this close to this: to seeing the darkest parts of someone. He is every bit as brutal as I imagined and yet it still shocks me to the core. It freezes me in place and makes me want to run all at the same time. It's not that I didn't expect it, because I did. I knew. But knowing isn't the same as seeing.

"What are you looking at, Twelve?" he says, his voice laced with anger.

He marches past me, but I can't move. I glance back in the direction he came from, uneasiness settling in my limbs.

"What are you doing? Let's go," he commands.

Silence meets his comment, and it's exactly why I can't move.

"There wasn't a cannon," I say. I don't know why, but it's all I can think about.

"What?"

My eyes trail over the red on his jacket, and I have to look away. "I didn't hear a cannon."

Cato's eyes narrow in my direction. "He's dead."

He. It's a he.

"He can't be," I say. "We would have heard one by now."

"By all means, then, go check," he says, his voice menacing.

My chest constricts and then my heart is beating loudly against my ribs. My mouth answers before my brain can catch up.

"Fine," I say and then I'm walking forward.

I can hear the sound of Cato stepping behind me, and I'm sure he hears my sharp intake of breath. There's a figure on the ground, unmoving and with their back—his back—towards me. He can't be dead, I know he can't be, so I keep a wide berth as I walk around him. I swallow dryly when the metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils. I don't do anything when I see his face.

Tilver.

I don't really know what to feel at the moment. There's a boy in front of me who's bleeding to death, but there's a horrible realization tugging at the back of mind that I don't really care. I remember clearly every word he said to me in the first arena, every hit, every second he distracted me that led to Barden's death. I don't care about him at all. But I still feel sick, because he's not dead. He's dying, but he's dying so slowly. I can tell because there's little air bubbles in the blood around his mouth. He's still breathing, but he doesn't stand a chance. It's like the girl from Five before Karn put her out of her misery.

"He'll die any second, Twelve. I struck him myself. Let's go."

I look to Cato, who's standing with his arms crossed and his face emotionless. But there's a new emotion in his voice that I can't quite place. I ignore him. For a second, I'm not aware of anything but Amelia's bracelet on my wrist. When the back of my eyes begin to ache, I pull a knife from my vest and crouch before the dying boy. I stare at him for a second, but he doesn't open his eyes, so I plunge the knife forward. I remove it, and wait as the seconds tick by. A cannon sounds.

The ache in my throat and eyes remain, but as I pick my stuff up and stand, my blood begins to simmer.

"Now he's dead," I say as I march past Cato.

I can't look at him. If I do, I might use this knife on him. Either that or I might start crying. That would look great on camera. They'd probably say I've lost it. Which might be true. What was I thinking? Why did I ever think that Cato and I could be a team, that he could be human? He was just going to leave Tilver there to suffer. The thought makes my stomach churn. Maybe him and Demetrius aren't the same—maybe Cato is worse. I'll never get away from him though. He'll kill me the second I make a run for it, and he would definitely make me suffer.

I don't even let myself begin to think about what my mentors or Mabel or Mr. Fairbain think of this. I can't believe I was so stupid. I keep making the same mistake over and over again. The only time it could have worked out was Barden, and it's partially because of me that he's dead.

"What's gotten into you?" Cato asks.

I whirl around to face the boy, to ask what exactly he's talking about. But then I hear it: my shallow breathing, the blood rushing in my ears. What's wrong with me?

"Nothing," I hiss. "I just need some water."

Of course, that means I actually have to stop. When I do, I realize that I'm still holding the dead animal. It's huge, and so I know that Cato had to have noticed it. Why did he let me just wander around with it?

"We should eat," I say. Then I immediately berate myself.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm all over the place mentally, and I hate it. I haven't felt this desperate, this helpless and angry in years. I'm suddenly exhausted in every way imaginable. I need to get myself under control.

It was bound to hit me eventually. Counting the first arena, I've been fighting for my life for two weeks, so a part of me is surprised that it didn't happen sooner. But still, it only makes me angrier. Get a grip, I tell myself, because I know that's what everyone who gives a damn about me would say.

I won't let them win. I repeat the thought over and over again, until I feel like my head isn't so foggy anymore.

"Are you going to start that anytime soon?" Cato asks, indicating to the animal in my hand.

My gaze slides over to him. He's splashing water on his face, wiping away the remnants of his fight with Tilver. At least that's different than Karn. My gaze shifts when I hear the sound of crackling. Apparently he started the fire too.

I've been standing here too long, I realize.

"Just making sure everything's set," I say, ignoring the way Cato's eyebrow arches. I'll have to do better to fool him too.

I set to work after that, thinking about nothing but what to do now that I remember that it's impossible for Cato and I to work together. As much as I'd like to think otherwise, I don't have many options.

I could make a run for it. I'm fast. But he'd probably find some way to kill me. He's deadly with a spear, so that's not a safe bet. I could sneak away in the middle of the night. It's more viable, but unlikely to work. Cato may have slept through the anthem, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're trained to be aware of certain types of sounds and movements even while sleeping. It might just be paranoia, but I'm not sure it's a risk I'm willing to take. I could attack him, but it's obvious how that would end. The last option is sticking it out until an opportunity presents itself. In the end that's what I go with—make a break for it when there's an opening. Not exactly sound planning, but it's the best I can do at the moment.

This would be so much easier if I wouldn't feel guilty about poisoning him.

The boy in question doesn't break my train of thought until we're in the middle of eating.

"Which one?" he asks.

My brows furrow, but I don't look over to him. "Which what?"

"Where'd you get the water? The trees or the vines?"

I look up out of pure surprise at how fast he put it together. It fades quickly though. It's one of the only things I've shown myself to be particularly good at, so it's not really that big of a leap. Though I am surprised that he's managed to narrow it down so much. I contemplate not telling him, but that's one way to ensure his wrath, so eventually I answer.

"Vines."

He nods and gets up, cutting a vine and refilling the water bottle. He tosses the bottle in my direction when he's done, and I frown down at it.

He must notice. "You said you needed water."

The way he says it is innocent enough, but there's something else there. It tells me that he didn't buy my excuse; that he could tell something else was going on. I don't know what he thinks of it though, so I just pretend that it was true.

"I did. I do," I correct. "Thanks."

We've been walking for a few hours, the sun beating down harshly on us. We have to stop frequently to get more water. At the rate we're drinking it, I'm surprised there's any left in the whole arena.

The only sounds between us come from our panting or the animals around us. Cato leads the way, slicing through the brush, and even he can't pretend that he's not exhausted. The only consolation to the tiredness in my limbs and the sweat spilling from my pores is that everyone in the arena is going through this. They are all just as affected as we are.

Hopefully.

We barely say another word to each other the rest of the day. When night falls, we are both tired and overheated, and even Cato is not up for picking a fight—with either me or another tribute. In a weird way, this is the most peaceful we've been since entering the arena. It's a terrifying thought considering what happened today. I'm sure Cato has his own opinions, but neither of us speaks them when Tilver's face appears in the sky.

Outside of "I'll start the fire," or "I'll check the snare," or "I've got first watch," the silence and peace holds strong.

I barely get an hour of sleep.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

SOOOO... Tilver is dead, Briar's horrified, and they still haven't killed each other. Let me know what you guys think!

SecretsWithSouls00: Not gonna lie, the flood was super hard to write. I watched about 20 different videos of flash floods and listening to the sounds of trees snapping for about an hour lol.

SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Could it get any worse? Oh yes, it can always get worse.

FriendlyNeightborhoodHufflepuff: Alas, it is neither Mace or Nerissa. What a shame.

CranberryTruffle: Hate probably isn't the right word for Briar and Cato... its probably more like resentment for a lot of different reasons. After this whole Tilver affair, we'll see if there's any healing to be had.

WhiteEevee: You're most welcome for the visual. I was definitely going for gross, so glad that worked. The fire/sword scene was indeed a reference to the movie xD The sand thing is true! I did a lot of research for this stuff to make sure I wasn't just talking out of butt lol. Not sure if there are any water filtration enthusiasts on here, but if there are, didn't want to offend them.

That's all for now! Thanks for reading!