Chapter 24: Revelations and Complications

Warning: language

We don't talk about it in the morning, the stuff that happened yesterday—the whole saving his life thing. I think we both like it better that way. I try not to think too much about the rule change either, because I don't want to go back to being afraid of him every second. Denying what he's capable of may not be the smartest thing to do, but I don't want to ruin whatever tentative peace there is between us.

He looks infinitely better than two days ago, even better than yesterday. His skin has returned to a normal color, and he seems a lot more focused. It's a huge relief, because I don't think attacking another person in his defense will work out quite as well for me, especially not with how my body aches from the impact of the fight. And that would probably make him angry. Once is okay, but twice… that would be a problem. That would be a failure.

He still moves gingerly though, and I can tell that he's trying to hide the pain. Even with the medicine, I'm sure it's still terrible. I let myself be impressed by his tolerance, considering how much my own body hurts, and I wasn't even injured. I think that should at least make his district somewhat proud because most people couldn't do that. All I can do is hope that it will make up for what's happened, but I don't spend too much time thinking about it. They sent all this really nice stuff, so they can't think he's too much of a failure.

I look over to the boy in question. "We should leave," he says, as he finishes rolling up the blanket.

"We should," I say. "We should probably avoid the lagoon, though."

He stops what he's doing and stares in my direction. "Why?"

"There are these… poppies there."

"So what?"

"I wasn't finished. They're not normal poppies. They blind you. Temporarily, at least," I add, trying not to shiver at the memory of being so vulnerable.

"Nice," he says with a roll of his eyes, evidently sharing my frustration. It makes me feel a little better that even a Career can get fed up with this. "We should move away from the forest we came from at least. The farther in you move, the thicker it gets. It's too difficult to navigate. And I'd rather not get set on fire."

"Set on fire?"

"Pits," he says as he stands. "They light themselves on fire every half hour or so."

I shake my head as I swing the backpack onto my shoulders. "Lovely. This place is just gets better and better."

He doesn't say anything in response, just walks past me towards the entrance of the cave and out.

So I guess that hasn't changed.

"What happened down there?" he asks as we walk down the incline to the forest below.

"The storm. Kind of hard to—" I pause for a second, suddenly remembering that Cato said he couldn't remember anything after getting poisoned. I guess he must have missed the storm, too. I shake my head. "Anyway, it sounded worse than the previous ones."

"It looks like an earthquake."

I move faster, trying to catch up with him. "What looks like an earthquake?"

He throws a look over his shoulder before facing forward again. "The giant crack in the earth."

"Oh," is all I say because I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks.

"How did you miss that if the storm was so bad?"

I look at the ground even though that won't cover my embarrassment from the cameras and say, "I was asleep, and I was in the cave, so when it woke me up, I just went back to sleep."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really careful," he says, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

I send him a glare. "Hey, I had just spent who knows how long trying to navigate through the forest blind. I wasn't exactly bursting with energy."

He just hmmms under his breath and says, "Well, you'll have to be more careful now. There aren't enough people left to get away with that."

We walk in silence after that. We stop for water a few times, and a couple other times because of the heat. I keep an eye on Cato as we move through the brush, trying to see if he's in any pain or not. He doesn't give anything away, no more than a wince here or there. I don't even consider asking him if he's okay. But I'm okay with walking in silence, because despite the lengths I've gone to in order to help him, I don't trust him. Not completely. And it's ridiculous that I feel even an ounce of guilt for it because he hasn't really given me a reason why I should. I don't regret what I said about not hating him, nor would I take it back because it was the truth, but that doesn't mean I can erase what I know about him.

There's a single boom of a cannon and we pause, waiting to see if another follows. Unfortunately, it's just the one.

"Probably the kid from Four," I say to Cato as I start walking again.

"Were there any others? While I was out, I mean."

"No, just the one."

"Too bad," he says. "So there are seven of us left. Things will start moving more quickly when it's down to five. We've already been in the arena a long time."

I nod along to his words. "Almost two weeks. Is that…" I pause, not sure if I should ask or if I want to.

"Is that what?"

I could shut my mouth because I know I probably won't like the answer, but my curiosity wins out. "Is that normal? I mean a normal length of time? How long do the Games usually last?"

From all the ones I've seen myself, they don't seem this long, but it gets confusing with the two arenas. I'm rambling, and Cato seems to notice because I see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, they're usually about two weeks, or just a little over. The first arena was pretty short."

My mouth opens and asks the next question before I even have time to think about it. "What was the longest anyone was in the arena?" I ask, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. I fail.

"28 days. 32nd Games. The arena was a cavern. Everyone wandered around blindly for days. Wasn't very entertaining. District Four eventually won, though, because there was an underground lake that they used to their advantage."

There's barely time to focus on his extensive knowledge of the Games, because the only thing in my head is the number. That's nearly a whole month in the arena. I can't do that.

"You would think the longest was the 2nd Quell, with there being 48 tributes," he continues, oblivious to my internal panic. "That's the year your mentor won."

"Uh, yeah, it was," is all I can say. I try not to imagine how gruesome it was.

"It was a smart move—manipulating the force-field like that."

I don't know what he's talking about, but I almost stumble over my own feet at the compliment. Haymitch is a joke to most people, even in Twelve. Especially in Twelve.

"Haymitch is a smart person—most of the time," I say with a small smile, because he really he is. He got Katniss and Peeta out, and I've at least gotten this far.

"You mean when he's not drunk?"

I narrow my eyes. "He's not always drunk."

"That's why I said 'when he's not'."

"Well, whatever he is, it's working." He must notice the barely concealed annoyance in my tone.

Cato chuckles, but it's not a happy sound. "You're giving him too much credit. You've barely got a scratch on you," he says. I'm positive that there's a hint of bitterness in his voice. "He didn't do that."

He speeds up so I can't see his face, and I'm too stunned to move and catch up. I'm pretty sure that that was a compliment, however bitter it sounded. I don't know what to do with it, so I don't say anything in response. Besides, he's not completely right because I'm pretty sure my entire body is bruised. But I don't want to say that either.

After about an hour of walking in silence, Cato changes direction, but gives me no indication as to the reason. He's back to taking charge, which is both annoying and a relief. I just try to focus on the fact that this looks normal to sponsors—him leading, a little bit of arguing. This is normal.

"Where are we going?"

He stops and looks at me, gesturing in the direction we were walking. "Back towards the Cornucopia. Maybe make camp there."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He sighs, and sends me a droll look. "And why not?"

"It does this thing, where it…" I shake my head, trying to figure out how to explain it. "It starts shaking, and then it just drops down into the canyon."

"How often?" he asks. He doesn't even try to hide his impatience now.

"I don't know. I saw it once, and I didn't stick around too long after."

He stares at me for a few seconds, his eyes searching for something. I fidget under his inspection.

"What exactly were you doing after we got split up?" he asks. There's a weird note in his voice that sounds similar to disbelief, but I can't figure out why that would be. Probably surprised I'm still alive.

"I don't know. What does anyone do in the arena?" I ask with a shrug. "The storm hit and the Cornucopia started shaking so I came over here, and then I just walked around for a few days, and then I found you."

He doesn't look like he believes me, and it's probably because I make it sound like I was just taking a stroll through my district. I'm sure he knows it wasn't that easy, but I don't tell him about how close I came to death, and I don't plan to. My experience at the Cornucopia makes me curious about his though.

"When did you get over here anyway?" I ask.

"Same day I got hit with that fucking dart," he says bitterly. "I went to check the Cornucopia, and then there was a fire on the other side, so I came here."

"A fire?"

He nods and says, "Yeah, half of the thing was burning."

I don't ask about how he got away from the mutt and he doesn't ask me. It's slightly surprising, but I'm glad because I really don't want to relive it. Besides, he's probably sure that he'll see it on the recap. Even if I don't win, he might still.

I nod, seeing that as the end of that particular conversation. "So what now?"

He shrugs. "We go somewhere else. Who knows what else is here. Or who else."

"We could stop and eat."

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "We keep going."

"Are you sure?" I ask. I don't mean to say it out loud, but he's been favoring one side for the better part of the morning, and I'd really rather he not hurt himself further.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says, his tone brokering no argument. I have no choice but to follow after him.

"Do you always wait this long to eat when you're hungry?" I hear Cato say from in front of me.

His voice startles me out of the semi-comfortable silence.

"What?"

"Your stomach is growling again. Loudly."

My face is probably splotchy from the heat, which is good because my cheeks are definitely red. I barely even noticed my hunger, but that might just be because I'm distracted making sure Cato doesn't keel over suddenly. And if it is that loud, it's his fault because I'm the one that wanted to stop for lunch, and he was against it.

"Well, I'm hungry," he says when I don't answer him.

I send him an unamused look but grab some berries off the plant beside me. "Here," I say, extending my hand to Cato.

He stares at the pink berries in my palm, a suspicious expression overtaking his features.

"What?"

"Aren't those poisonous?" he asks, looking distastefully down at my hand.

My eyebrows knit in confusion as I look down at the berries, because they're not poisonous. "If I wanted you dead, Cato, don't you think saving your life first wouldn't have been the smartest course of action?" The skepticism doesn't leave his face and after a moment, the source of his confusion suddenly dawns on me. I can't stop the smirk from twitching at my lips.

"Oh right," I say. "What happens if you eat these again?"

Cato's eyes narrow, his gaze drifting from the berries to my face. "You said they cause hallucinations."

"Right," I say, nodding my head along with his words. "About that… I might have lied." I definitely lied.

"What?"

I try to stamp down the urge to smirk. Who knows how Cato will react. "I, uh, I lied about that. They're not really poisonous."

"You lied…" Cato's face is carefully blank. "Why?"

It causes nervousness to settle low in my stomach as I answer his question. "I'm not stupid, Cato. This," I say, gesturing towards the surrounding area, "is my advantage in the arena. And Mace and Nerissa"—or you—"were never going take me remotely seriously or stave off their urge to kill me unless I made myself valuable to them." I shrug, thinking about our conversation on the roof. "If they thought they needed me to stop them from accidentally poisoning themselves, then I bought myself more time."

He looks ready to speak, but I jump to elaborate. I can't have him angry with me over this. Things were just starting to get better. "Mace and Nerissa are going to remember which plants I said are poisonous and which ones aren't. And even if they think I lied or didn't know what I was talking about, they aren't going to risk it. They don't want to go out like that. The more food I say is poisonous, the less food supply they have. The less food, the less energy… It's not much, but it's better than nothing. It makes things more difficult for them at least," I finish, anxiety creeping up on me as I wait for him to reply.

His voice is calm and makes it impossible to tell what he's thinking. "So none of this stuff is really poisonous?"

"No, a lot of it is. I wasn't lying when I said the arena was full of it. I just lied about, like, 70% of the stuff they asked about."

He's still for a moment, and my heart beats loudly against my chest. For a second I think this is it, the moment he kills me. But then he smirks and takes the berries from my hand and begins walking forwards again. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Wow, thanks for the compliment," I say dryly as I follow behind him. But there is no malice in my words. Relief and something like pride washes over me at his approval. I try not to get too ahead of myself, but I finally feel like Cato and I are making progress, like we can really do this. We can win together.

We continue in silence for a while, both of us picking at the berries and surveying the area. It doesn't last very long though.

"So all of those symptoms…?" Cato asks, throwing a glance my way.

"Made up," I tell him. "I mean, those are obviously all real things that can happen, just not from those plants. I just tried to think of things that would bother them the most."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "You told Nerissa that one of them causes boils to appear on your face."

I smirk and say, "Like I said, things that would bother them. Not all poison is life threatening, but it can threaten you in other ways. Nerissa thinks her looks are one of her best assets with sponsors. There's no way she would want something to mare that pretty face."

It's not until we've set up camp for the night that I begin to feel the anxiety creep up on me again. I have no advantage anymore now that Cato knows I lied about the plants. There's a brief flicker of hope in my chest that he won't kill me now that I've saved his life, but that just makes me think of Amelia and I'm nervous again. I really need to stop comparing Demetrius and Cato if I want to sustain our timid peace, but it's difficult to convince my brain of that. It's not fair to assume that they're the same person, because all I have to do is think of myself and Amelia to know how different siblings can be. These last few weeks—all the people I've killed—have proven that. I fall asleep that night trying to convince myself that I'm right and that I don't have to worry about him.

Three days pass without Cato and I encountering any other tributes or any real sort of problem. The only exception is the injuries Cato sustained during his fight with the boy from Four. They haven't shown any signs of infection, which I figure is a result of the sponsor medicine, but I can tell that he isn't back to his normal self. His footsteps have always been loud—it's a wonder he hasn't alerted everyone in the arena to our location just by walking—but they're even worse now. He favors his right side pretty much all of the time, and I can hear the grunts he tries to cover when he practices sword fighting at night. I have extremely limited medical knowledge, but I'm almost positive he has some type of internal damage left over from the trident wound. The last time I tried to make sure he was okay, it became very clear that it was not a welcome question. I still can't help but notice though, and it makes me feel a little bad, because it's mostly for selfish reasons. I don't want to be left alone again, and so I have to make sure Cato is okay. In some horrible twist of the universe, I'm pretty sure it's the only way to stop myself from going insane.

That only makes me think about how quick I was to attack the boy from Ten or about how easily I killed him. I'm jealous of the people who don't know what they're capable of, because the knowledge is shaping a fissure in my chest that only grows wider with every day I spend in the arena. It's no use to think about it though, which is why I need Cato to distract me from my thoughts.

"Is this fun for you or something?" Cato asks when I snap the ribcage of our dinner. I would think he was mocking me if his voice didn't sound so genuinely curious.

I scrunch my nose up when the scent of blood drifts up from the animal. "Not really," I answer.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" I ask in response. My evasion of the question is terribly obvious.

He shoots me a droll look over the fire. "I just didn't think that butcher was a typical job for a sixteen year-old girl."

I want to point out that it's a lot more normal than being trained to be a human killing machine, but I don't think that would go over well. "No, I guess it's not," I say instead. "How do you know my age?"

He gives me a strange look. "I studied all the tributes. Didn't you?"

"No."

"How are you still alive?" he asks, the same disbelieving tone in his voice. It's weird because I'm pretty sure it's a real question that's not meant to be insulting. Too bad it is, even if I wonder the same thing to myself sometimes.

"You never answered my question," he says when I don't reply. Does he actually want me to explain to him why I'm alive?

"What question was that, Cato?" I ask, trying to cover the irritation in my voice. I'm positive at this point that he enjoys pushing my buttons, and apparently he's very good at finding them.

"Why do you do this?"

I look up in time to see how is face has scrunched up at the sight of the dead cat-like animal, and a little bit of my irritation fades.

"The same reason everyone works, Cato. For money," I say. It's the only answer I'm willing to give.

"But I thought that… Never mind," he says, suddenly looking very angry. At what exactly, I don't know. He does that a lot; asks questions without waiting for an answer or getting angry before one is given.

"Toss me the backpack," he says after a moment of staring harshly at the fire.

His tone is still just as angry, so I do it without question.

He stands when it's in his hand, taking something out and then stalking away.

That's the most engaging conversation we have for the next two days. The tense set of his shoulders and jaw have eased and he's not exactly mean. Moody is probably the right word because sometimes—when I manage to forget that he might still kill me—we're cordial to each other, bordering on actually getting along, and then others he stalks around like everything that moves is personally offending him. That might actually be the case, but for someone who's so open with his anger, he's impossible to read otherwise.

We're walking along the tree line when we hear another cannon go off.

Cato smirks, but I think I see him relax a little more. "It's about time."

I can't help but feel the same. This is going on too long. Thankfully there are only… "Five others left," I breathe out, the disbelief evident in my voice. My mind can't comprehend the fact that I've made it this far—that we've made it this far despite all the problems between us.

"The interviews have already started," Cato says, and my stomach rises in my throat.

"What?" I stutter out.

Cato looks down at me as we walk, both eyebrows high on his forehead. "The interviews with people from the tributes' districts—family, friends, teachers. They do them with the top eight every year," he elaborates.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say, trying to seem more nonchalant. "I just forget."

What I really mean is that I never expected to make it this far, and knots twist painfully in my stomach when I think about the Capitol invading my home like that. Who are they even talking to? That isn't going to get me any sponsors. I don't even want to know what district Two is going to say about me. I can already imagine them interviewing his friends and family and all of them saying that they can't wait for him to kill me. Suddenly, those six other tributes might as well be a hundred.

"How could you forget about that? It's important for sponsors."

My blood burns all of the sudden. "I know that, Cato," I bite out.

"What's gotten into you, Briar," he says back just as harshly. The use of my name is mocking, and I'm mad at myself for doing this. I'm not angry with him, but he's the only one around to receive my anger.

"It's nothing, just leave it," I say, walking more quickly ahead of him.

And then I'm suddenly yanked back by the hood on my jacket. I fall backwards, landing on my butt. Panic jolts up my spine as I wait for Cato to attack, but the blow doesn't come. I glare up at him, but he just stares at the spot I was standing moments ago.

"What the hell, Cato?"

He doesn't say anything, and seconds of silence tick by. The heat rises through me rapidly, and I feel like I'm about to explode.

Something beats me to it.

There's a guttural hiss and then a burst of water from the ground. It shoots straight up, and a gasp slips out of my mouth. It must be at least fifty feet in the air, and I can feel the heat radiating from it. The spray of water sizzles as it hits the ground.

We're still for the few minutes the hot water erupts from the ground. The power of the water dims and eventually ceases altogether.

"I hate this fucking place," Cato mutters under his breath before walking forwards again.

I scramble to my feet, trying to calm my heavily beating heart as I rush to catch up with him.

"What was that?" I internally curse at the scared, breathless tone of my voice.

"A geyser," is his short reply. The anger in his voice is punctuated by the aggression he uses to cut away at the vegetation in front of us.

"How did you know that was there?"

"There was steam coming from the ground, didn't you see it?" he asks. I hate how condescending his voice is.

He takes another swing, and the grunt he lets out is audible even above the sounds of wildlife.

"Are you okay?"

He whirls around in a flurry, his face contorted in anger. "Yes, Twelve. Why don't you try worrying about yourself?" he spits, stepping closer to me. He's trying to intimidate me.

It's working.

The use of my district number doesn't go unnoticed, and I find myself taking a step back at the malice in his voice.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he growls.

I don't take a step back this time. "You need to calm down."

"I'm fine."

"Stop attacking me. What good does it do? We have a common enemy here, Cato. Can't we just work together?" I almost choke on the words. They leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn't want to be back in this place with him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I'm being hypocritical. I was short with him first. But he's way worse than I am. I just get angry. He gets… he gets dangerous.

"I just stopped you from burning your skin off. That seems like working together to me," he says. I can hear his heavy breathing in the silence that falls around us.

Then he curses under his breath and stalks forward, leaving me to chase after him once again.

We don't talk for the rest of the day, and it has my stomach twisting painfully. I don't know what I've done, or even if I have anything to do with Cato's anger. And it's so frustrating because it makes me indignant and terrified at the same time. What if he decides to kill me in his rage? He pulled me back from the geyser, which could have killed me, or at least the injuries would have. Does that make us even now? But if he were mad at me, why would he have done that?

My fate is the only thing I can think about when The Fallen appears in the artificial sky, and then Zeppina's face flashes, and I'm not thinking about myself anymore. Now I'm just thinking about what killed her and the fact that I'm not particularly sad about it. And that makes me feel like a horrible person, which makes me think that I still have a shot at winning this.

There's no way of knowing until I see a recap, but I'm almost positive that it was Zeppina who shot both Cato and her own partner. I don't question for a second if she was capable of it, because I constantly felt like she was going to stab me in the back in the last arena. Either way, if it is true, I feel even less sad about her death.

"What was her name?" Cato asks.

My head snaps in his direction, but he isn't looking at me. He's poking something in the fire with his sword, and I look away again.

"Zeppina," I answer. "Why?"

"You were allies with her in the last arena. You let her go once in here," he says seriously. "You aren't going to get stupid now, are you?"

I ignore the irritation sweeping through me, because really, it's not a bad question. If Cato let someone that wasn't an ally live, I'd wonder the same thing.

"No," I tell him.

"Positive?"

"Yes," I answer, feeling like we're back at the start of the arena—like he's asking me if I'm capable of doing what it takes to win. Maybe he still is.

"Good," is all he says, and we are silent after that.

I'm exhausted when I wake up in the morning: tired of fighting with Cato, and walking on eggshells, and being afraid for my life. I'm just tired, but I don't have time for tired. I also don't have time to skirt around Cato.

"Could you get some water while I check the snare?"

He nods, which doesn't really give me an answer to what his mood is today, so I just have to hope that it's at least a little better than yesterday.

It's harder to see through the brush when the sky is gray like it is today. Everything casts a dark shadow, and my head is on a permanent swivel. I'm so paranoid by my surroundings that I almost miss what's right in front of me.

I crouch down and my eyes furrow when I look down at the snare. The wire is broken, and it takes me a second to realize that it's cut straight through. I move to stand, and something collides heavily with my back. Pain shoots down my spine as I tumble into the tree in front of me. The air is gone from my lungs and I don't have any time to get it back because I'm being yanked backwards. I kick my legs frantically and whip my head back. It burns hot, the pain beginning from my head to the base of my spine, and I can't help but cry out. There's a loud grunt behind me and then I'm whipped to the side. Everything is out of focus for a second. I struggle to get to my feet, and I end up stumbling to the side. An axe swings down where I was standing a second ago.

A gasp leaves my mouth. I know I'm moving too slowly, but I can't help it. I turn around, and I only catch a glimpse of my attacker—the boy from Seven—before a fist lands across my cheek. The blood floods my mouth, and I feel like I'm choking. It leaks out the corner of my lips when I whimper. I stumble back and swing an arm out wildly. It makes contact and he recoils, but it's only briefly. The knife falls from my hand.

He swings the axe down again, and I barely manage to sidestep it. It clips my shoulder and I can't stop the cry that leaves my mouth. I'm too off balance and I've lost my knife. He comes at me again, and I have no time to reach for another. I have no defense. I punch my arm out towards his stomach. It makes contact and he gasps, the axe slipping from his grasp.

It's only a small opening, but I take it. I feel sick with dizziness, but I run forward. I try to make myself move faster, but my vision is blurry and my legs are unsteady beneath me. I can hear the leaves crunching behind me, and then he's grabbing my arm. He yanks back, and sharp pain radiates from my shoulder and down my whole body. I scream at the pain, but it gets cut short. I'm swung back into the tree, and all the air leaves my lungs. Tears spring to my eyes, and I'm pulled forward and slammed back again. My head collides with the tree, and everything goes black. I'm distantly aware of a high-pitched sound filling the air, but I can't focus no matter how hard I try. There's two of the boy from Seven, both as hazy as the other. There's pressure on my neck, and I can't breathe. Or is that just my head? My chest is too tight, and I try to kick out, but there's no force behind my movements.

And then suddenly there's no pressure at all. I collapse on the ground in a heap, and I want to cover my ears because everything is too loud. There's loud screeching, and I think it's metal on metal but I can't be sure because everything is so blurry. There are shadows of movement, but I can't follow them. I try to push myself up, but the feeling of nausea is so overwhelming that I can't. Everything is too hazy.

I briefly wonder if I'm dying, maybe even dead because nothing feels real. But then I decide that I can't be, as the blurs of colors move in front of me and loud grunts fill the air, because if I were dead, everything wouldn't be so loud or fuzzy. I can taste metal and that only makes the nausea worse.

I can't figure out what's happening. There's a thunderous sound and my head lolls to the side as I try to find the source, but it's no use. It doesn't matter, though, because the screeching stops. I blink slowly, feeling my muscles relax.

The ground is so soft and I'm so tired.

Everything's bright. So, so bright. Scattered yellow lights everywhere, flickering through the shadows. It's beautiful, and I wish I could touch it, but it's so far and⎯-

Cato is suddenly blocking my view.

"Hey, don't close your eyes. You have to try to stay awake."

"Okay," I tell him.

I won't close my eyes. Not for long at least. Just for a little. There's too much to do. I have to hunt, and find the other tributes. I have to help Cato, and we have to win. Mabel's birthday is coming up, and I don't want to miss it. Cato has to go home.

…

I groan when I'm pulled from the soft ground. I suddenly feel like I'm floating, and I curl into the warmth that envelops me.

"Will you listen to me for once? Don't close your eyes."

My head throbs, sharp pain shooting behind my eyelids when I try to lift them. My eyes are open long enough to see Cato. He's blurry, and his voice is too loud, and if I could just go to sleep, then I'd feel better.

"Come on, we're almost there. Just stay with me."

…

There's a buzzing, thick and muted in my ears. A voice.

I frown. I know that voice.

Cato. Cato's voice. It sounds weird, like⎯-like he's choking on it. Like panic. That's what it sounds like.

I don't want him to sound worried, because that means that something is wrong, but I can't bring myself to follow what he's saying. His words are no longer words. They're sounds, and no matter how much I try to piece them together, that's all they remain.

I want to open my eyes, to tell him that I'm fine, that he doesn't need to worry. But I'm too tired. My limbs no longer feel like a part of me, and my head aches, and I just want to sleep. I can't remember why I wouldn't let myself before, so I keep my eyes shut and give in to the desire pulling me under.

There are more panicked sounds, and then there's nothing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

AHHHHHHH WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO BRIAR? WILL SHE BE OKAY?

SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Will there be romance though? Briar's already stated that she thinks Katniss and Peeta were nuts for bringing romance into the arena. Who knows, anyway. Briar could still die... or Cato

Mely-the-Mockingjay: Briar is definitely a little stunted when it comes to social interaction (she has been along for a long time), so it felt natural to make her awkward. She has gets stuck in her own head a lot so that doesn't help.

S-A-16: Thanks (:

SecretsWithSouls00: Will they win though?

WhiteEevee: Ahhh, descriptions of his wounds were so hard to write. I've seen some pretty nasty things, but obviously not that nasty, so research was a bit rough. I love picturing the Capitol (and Districts 2 and 12) during this, it ranges from hilarious to annoying and everything in between. The uh-ing and um-ing is less about him being attractive and more about feeling off-kilter. She definitely doesn't know how to approach this situation, especially when she never expected to be here.

FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Cato's okay, but now Briar isn't ):

GreenonBlack: No problem (:

Thanks guys!