Outskirts of District Two; former Sentinel base.

Blair Carnell, 18 years, District Two Male.

It's a different kind of pain.

Nothing like I've ever felt before. Not as bad as the fog from before, when it felt like any way could be up, when it felt like I would never come out of it. I don't think anything could as feel as bad as the glass coming out, as the blade digging into the juncture between my shoulder and arm, taking a piece of me off with it.

I also thought, delusionally, that it would end. That these days of pain would open up into something easier, eventually. That's what happens to most people.

I don't think most people were given the burden I was, though, or that most people have emergency amputations in a hovercraft in the middle of the woods. Nothing here is an ideal condition, not getting carried this far or sitting alone in this room, over and over again. I've discovered that moving in certain ways only makes it worse - walking on my own is a no-go, half the time. Doing anything on my own isn't easy.

That's why I told everyone to fuck off. It started happening yesterday, when they left me alone for the first time and went above ground. It comes and goes, seems to fade when other people are around, though I still wonder if it's just a distraction.

I just wish I would fall asleep, but apparently my brain has finally decided I've had enough, and it won't let me.

It feels like the arm's still there, like someone's got a hold on my wrist and is twisting and pulling at my entire arm, until it's about to snap off. Sometimes, if I lower myself close enough to the ground, it'll feel like someone's boot is pressing into it, cutting off all the circulation to my hand. I keep looking down, expecting it to be true. Expecting it to still be there.

It feels like it is, and I don't know how to handle it.

By some miracle the others have vacated the room, but not for long. I hear someone's footsteps approaching from the hallway, and close my eyes. Maybe if I feign sleep long enough they'll go away again, and leave me alone.

"Blair."

Alright, I take that back. I know I'm not doing that great of a job of looking nonplussed, serene, like I'm recovering, and there's no way Rory of all people is going to fall for it. Maybe if it had been someone else, someone who was less inclined to look so closely for fear that they'd have to deal with something they weren't equipped to.

Then again, who is that, anymore? Everyone here has dealt with the type of shit they never expected to.

"Blair," he repeats, and I grimace. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be peachy if you go away," I inform him, and he sighs. I know better than to think his retreating footsteps means he's actually leaving - it's more probable that he's going to get someone who listens to what I say and doesn't really care.

Sure enough, there's more than one set of footsteps that return to the room, but I still don't open my eyes to check.

What's the point? Either way I'm getting harassed, either way I'm being forced to confront something I've been trying to ignore for the past day.

"Blair," Dimara says, and then drops a hand on my knee. It's not forceful at all, but something still twinges on the right side of my body, a burn right through where I know my elbow would be, if it was still there.

"If you're in pain—"

"Been in that pretty consistently," I say, but they know that. It looked up there, though, for a few days. At least I got that.

"I'll grab Celia and we'll go see if there's any medical supplies anywhere," Rory says. "It's worth a shot."

"Not the kind of pain you can stop, unfortunately." Besides, it's not worth it anyway. They haven't found any weapons in this place yet anyway, and it should be full of them. Chances are the Capitol came through here and took everything useful several years ago, just in case. They couldn't just leave it alone, leave it for the people who needed it.

Did they really imagine we'd be out here right now, though? Probably not.

"What are you talking about?" Dimara asks.

"You're going to think I'm insane."

"I already think that. Out with it."

"It, it hurts. Like, where my arm was. Sometimes it doesn't feel that bad, but other times it feels like someone's trying to burn it right off. Or like someone's cutting into it. And it's not even there."

There's a reason I didn't want my eyes open for this - she's probably looking at me like I am insane. I wouldn't believe her. I've heard too many things, about phantom pain, and never really believed it until it was happening to me. It didn't seem plausible that something like that could really happen.

"I'm gonna go look," Rory says quickly, and then the two of us are left alone. There's no way this type of thing is fixable, not with our capabilities. Maybe somewhere else - I've heard people talk about it, and the solutions. But nine random kids in the woods don't have the solution for it.

"Maybe I," Dimara starts. "I don't even know. Maybe I shouldn't have done it."

"Like you said. I'm alive. And if you hadn't..."

I probably wouldn't be. We all know it. But right now it doesn't even feel remotely worth it. If I have to keep living with it, it definitely won't be. I don't way to say that to Dimara, because I know for all her joking she feels bad. Worse than anyone else. It's an eye for an eye kinda thing, I guess. I saved her life, arguably, and she saved mine. It's up for debate about whether either of us will still be alive at the end of it, because I don't have enough information to know.

I don't really know anything. Right now, I don't even know if I want to.

Rooke Arvelle, 16 years, District Nine Male.

You'd think I'd appreciate being above ground more.

Everyone seems to gravitate back up there, no matter what time of the day it is, and I'm not all that great at making myself follow them. I should. I know that would be the smart thing to do. Being around other people seems to help, once I can calm myself down long enough to realize that they're not going to hurt me, that they're not the enemies. Not anymore, anyway.

I take it wandering the long, black hallways more often than not, though. On my own. Staring down over the railing into the nothingness below it. We haven't been that far down yet. We don't even know where it ends, if it ever does. I don't really think anyone's willing to find out.

I hear the footsteps coming down the stairs, but the others have been coming and going all day. Getting food, or coming back down for something they forgot.

I turn around, and Rory nearly stumbles into me.

"Jesus," he says. "I didn't even see you. It's dark in here."

It is, and I'm used to it, but the sight of him still nearly sets me off. Arguably the least murderous Career in this whole complex and it's terrifying, to be anywhere alone with him. How can I think that, about someone who saved my life? No one else would have known it was me. No one else would have cared. I should've died back in the arena, and I would have, if he hadn't come after me.

And I still can't even look him in the eye.

"Have you seen Celia?" he asks, looking around. With this level of darkness, you shouldn't be going anywhere without a flashlight. No chance of seeing anything that could be ahead of you. That's exactly why I'm not carrying one. Better not to see any of it.

"I think she went up with the others."

Weird, because those two always go everywhere together, and everyone knows why. Well, or almost everyone, because I'm still convinced they're keeping it from Dimara for fun and games at this point. Games that won't hurt anyone, this time around.

Rory looks around, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"What?" I ask.

He looks down at me in surprise, and there's no doubt a similar expression clouding my own face. If it was anyone else, the word would have come out automatically. That's just human nature. Wondering what's going on in someone else's head, when it could be so many things. But it's different with him. There's a reason I've taken a wide berth around him every time, why I still have trouble speaking to him.

"You guys found a medical room yesterday, right?" he asks. "And it was empty."

I nod. Empty, just like most of this place. There's a few things worth finding, a few things that were overlooked five years ago, but that's it.

Rory sighs. "Yeah. I figured."

"Is something wrong?"

"Everything's wrong," he says, almost like he hadn't meant to even said it. It has to be something with Blair, at this point, because Vance is getting more and more steady by the day, and Kelsea's walking around fine now. There's only one person who's still in any amount of danger, really, and I'm having trouble looking him in the eyes too, mostly because I don't know if there's a chance that'll be the last time.

"I never said I was sorry, did I?" Rory continues quietly. "You look terrified of me right now."

"I'm not."

I know I could lie through my teeth, most of the time, but not right now. There's no reason for me to be treating him any different than Celia, but with her it was mechanical, years of waiting to kill someone, and with him it wasn't. Everyone in that room saw that arrow waver the way it did.

"I didn't want to," he says. "I didn't. And that may not make sense to you, but I just want you to know that."

I already knew that, but a lot more makes sense now. The way he looks at Celia, and how he only ever did it because it was her life or Parker's. It was never about me. I just happened to be there, had to watch it happen.

And yeah, that's awful. It's never not going to be awful. But I'm starting to understand things, a lot of things. Things that I never thought would make sense to me.

I make myself repeat the words. It was never about hurting me. At the end of the day, when he didn't have to, he saved me.

"It's okay," I say. Not an instant solution by any means, but it's a start. At least I hope so.

The air is stifling, suddenly, but at least this time it's not because he's standing too close, or because I'm afraid one of these seconds is my last.

It's like Tanis - we both grow up in the middle of wide open nothing, except for the fields and the trees. For a while it just felt like the darkness was easier than accepting any sort of light.

"I'm gonna go up," I tell him. "But if I see Celia, I'll let you know."

"Might need to turn on the radio for that."

Right. Again, silence easier than any other noise. I flick the switch back up and the light goes green, a very bright pinpoint in an otherwise very dark world. I start back up the stairs, leaving him somewhere behind me, and for the first time the urge to turn around doesn't rear it's very ugly head. I don't feel like I'm danger, despite the enclosing darkness. It doesn't feel like those shadows left a mark, even though I know they did.

For once, it doesn't matter that they did.

Because starting today, I need to start leaving them behind.

Vance Derora, 16 years, District Eight Male.

"You're seriously staying up here?" I yell at Tanis.

She's all the way across the clearing, and doesn't respond except to wave, which I assume is the closest thing to answer I'm going to get. It's starting to get cloudy again, rain gathering at the edge of the sky, and Tanis doesn't seem deterred by it in the slightest.

"Goddamn spider monkey," Nadir comments, and then shoulders past me and Kelsea to head back down the stairs, nearly running into Rooke in the process. It's pretty accurate, if anything. Over there's the only part of the structure that seems intact above the ground - there's a few walls formed together, pieces of the roof that are still hanging on. I guess asking a Seven kid not to climb things is about as easy as herding everyone in here together at once.

"You guys are going back down?" Rooke asks, staring over my shoulder. Unless he's caught sight of where Tanis is, then there's nowhere else to look. I don't think he's a big fan of trees, no matter what his tendencies to wander off say.

"Yeah," Kelsea says. "Why?"

"Well, nevermind then," he responds. "Was gonna come up here with you guys, but I guess not."

"Oh!" Kelsea says. I watch the change of course in her face. "Well, you can help us with something then. If you want."

I narrow my eyes at her. She grabs his arm and swivels him back down the stairs, giving me no choice but to follow. I don't think I'll be up here scaling walls any time soon. That doesn't mean I have any clue what she's talking about, or what she's thinking. Something that I feel like I've been thinking more often than not, lately, but right now I'm finding it difficult to unscramble even my own brain. I'm not about to tackle hers too.

"Vance told me earlier," she starts. "That he's a pretty good artist. So we thought we could go looking for some stuff, maybe? Supplies?"

"We did?" I ask, and she turns around to give me a dirty look. Her and I both know we could spend a hundred years down here and never find anything, because it's not an art supplies store, and I don't remember ever having this conversation to begin with.

Rooke glances at me over his shoulder. I'm more and more convinced that one or both of them is going to take a spill down the stairs by the second.

"We did," I say, only half-confident. "Yeah, we did."

I'm going to get hit for this one later. Kelsea rolls her eyes at me when Rooke turns back around. The one thing I do know is that she's been concerned, too concerned if you ask me. You'd think she's made up of it by this point - concern for me, and for him, for everyone. It's no secret that she's been wondering how Rooke's getting on alone.

We're all kind of paired off, when we want to be. And it's easier to come into a group when you have someone familiar at your side. Rooke has none of that.

I also don't know if forcing him is worth it, either, but Kelsea seems willing to try.

That still doesn't change the fact that there are no art supplies anywhere, not in a hundred mile radius. Unless she plans on me picking up handfuls of mud from outside.

She leads both of us into one of the food storage rooms, her hand still around Rooke's arm. It doesn't look like he's going to bolt, not anymore, but no one's willing to take any chances.

"Can you paint with radishes?" Rooke asks, picking up a jar. Kelsea takes it from him and unscrews the cap, smelling it with a wince.

"What if we need to eat that?" I ask her, and take the jar. The liquid is dyed a faint purple-red, but colored nonetheless. Probably not the worst thing I've ever painted with, to be honest, but I'll attribute that to being friends with Aubrey and Pax and all of their really terrible ideas.

"You could totally paint with radishes," Kelsea decides. "Keep that."

Keep it, and with it the inevitable questions from someone about why I'm carrying a jar of radishes around with me.

At least these two won't. It was Kelsea's weird idea in the first place.

I know it's just her trying though, after yesterday. She hasn't been keen to leave me alone since then, and now that I'm walking with less of a limp and trying to get back on the track to functioning to a normal human being, she's turned her attention to someone else.

Someone who actually needs it, I think. Rooke may be getting better but none of us would really know it, because none of us knew the him from before either.

"Alright, no more food," I say. "Let's go look somewhere else."

I lean forward to grab the both of them, before either one can decide to dig their heels in and say otherwise.

There's so many places in here yet, unexplored. Maybe one of them's holding something, even if it isn't art supplies. Maybe it'll be enough to distract us for the time being, until someone comes up with someone else.

I flick my radio on. "We're going a few floors down. Anyone else wanna come?"

Tanis makes a noise of discontent immediately, muffled from the other end, which I could've guessed. Similar noises from Rory, and then Celia a few moments later, as I hear the noise of the radio crackling to life on her end.

"I'll come," Dimara sighs. "Gonna look for some stuff too."

Whether we find what we're looking for our not, I do think it'll serve some purpose.

Distraction or not, it has to.

Rory Mirevale, 17 years, District Four Male.

"Hey, idiot," Celia says out of nowhere. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been looking for you," I sigh.

"Not doing a very good job, then," she points out, and hurries up to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. I don't even know where I'm going, now that she's here. Up until this point I was just picking random directions and hoping she'd be at the end of them. It didn't help that she'll answer other people on the radio but not me, apparently. Probably just to get under my skin.

"Why were you looking for me?" she asks. It's a little awkward, trying to walk with her so close, but it's not something I'm going to complain about.

"Doesn't matter now," I say. "Haven't found anything anyway. Dimara's looking now too."

She doesn't ask what we were looking for. Probably doesn't need to. Considering most of our priorities have been Blair-related these past few days, it would be more surprising for it to be something else. Eventually I drop my arm down over her shoulders and she squeezes my side, just once.

"So why are you moping?" she asks.

"I am not moping."

"Alright, well, if it's not moping, then why do you have a weird look on your face for no reason?"

"I talked to Rooke. I think it went alright."

She looks up at me. "Yeah?"

I nod. It's not a permanent fix to our problems but it's a start, at least. I never expected something like that to fix itself instantly anyway. Even the pace at which it went seems to be a little fast, but can't that go for just about everything, at this point? Maybe it's the close quarters, or the trauma, or the combined weight of everything hitting us all at once.

"Well," she announces. "Since you so nicely asked me what I was up to—"

"Sorry."

She doesn't even finish the sentence. Her arm tightens around my side again and that's about all the warning I get before she leans towards the wall and grabs the handle of the nearest door, pushing it in with a great creak. She drags me through to the other side, slamming the door shut behind us. It's pitch black, and I blink frantically, stretching out my arms. One hand hits the door and the other nearly brushes up against what should be in the far wall.

"Are we in a closet?" I ask, and she laughs. I can hardly even see her.

"Good detective work."

"There was no one in the hallway. Why did you have to drag me into a closet?"

I feel her shrug, and try my luck, reaching back for the door handle. She's swats my arm down before my fingers even close around it, and I can imagine the face she's making, even if I can't quite make it out.

"You're boring," she says.

"And you're a demon," I respond. "You can't keep me locked in a closet."

"Because this is totally the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Right."

I feel like that should ruin something, but it doesn't. Not coming from her. She knows everything, knows all the bad parts. At the end of the day I think she's just trying to make it better, trying to make it easier to forget. She said I could go home and I still believe her, foolish as it may be.

She tugs me down a few inches, grumbling about it the whole time under her breath, and then drapes her arms over my shoulders, apparently satisfied. My forehead brushes against hers and then settles there, and she tightens her hands around the back of my neck. It doesn't feel like I'm leaving any time soon. To be honest, it kind of feels like we've stepped into another place.

"I'm pretty content, honestly," she says.

"Still a closet."

Still can't see, either, but the eye roll is all too easy to envision. She leans up and brushes her lips against mine, just for a second, but it still feels just as momentous as the first time, just as absolutely insane.

I still don't know whether this is real. It doesn't feel like it is. If you had told me two weeks ago that'd we'd be here, in this exact moment, I wouldn't have believed it. Not for a second. I wouldn't have put that much hope behind something, not when there was no point. It didn't seem like anything like this was possible, no matter what angle I looked at it from.

"Shut your brain off," she says. "It's loud as shit."

I smile, but the radios at both of our sides crackle to life before I can get a word in edgewise. Celia makes a noise of discontent but lets go of me long enough to grab hers, bringing it up between the two of us.

"Uh, guys?" Tanis says hesitantly.

I don't know what it is, about that voice, but something in my stomach drops. Celia continues staring at it, like she can yank Tanis' next words out with her bare hands, but the silence stretches on and on, until it's almost uncomfortable.

"What?" Celia asks. More silence. I can just barely hear shuffling on the opposite end, very quiet breathing. Someone else repeats it, on another end, and the static crackles very loudly for a moment before Tanis' voice echoes through again, very confused.

"Guys, there are people in the woods?"

I am so ridiculously out of witty, inspirational, or even remotely cool author's notes at this point. Can't help but wonder what they'll look like at the end of all of this, if they're not already non-existent.

You know what I'm not out of though? Stupid cliffhangers.

Sweet shout-out to everyone and anyone who ever goes back and reviews everything, whether it's five chapters or thirty. You guys are the bomb, not me.

Until next time.