Amaris da Costa, District Four, 17

It's a good thing I'm hunting alone, because the first thing I do is fall down the stairs. I brush myself off and glance around to make sure no one saw that, other than the entirety of Panem. Okay. Good.

Except not really, because at least if someone saw it I could've just murdered the hell out of them. I'm here to kill people. That is the entire point of this exercise. So it's a bit of a bummer that there's no one around to kill.

"Bummer" is maybe an understatement. I'm bored. Dangerously bored. Angrily, furiously, ragingly bored. In a bloodthirsty sort of way.

I came here to kill people. I have trained my whole life to kill people. Dreamed about it. I played the good girl in District Four, sweet and innocent, knowing it would make it that much more fun when I finally, finally got to go all out, track and chase and charge and laugh and kill brutally enough to feel fulfilled. I've promised myself for years and years that I would get this chance to be totally unrestrained and unapologetic, shattering every rule of civilization, shattering people, because I can.

But there's no one here.

I have to find them because I have to win. I promised her. Speaking out loud to my empty room in the middle of the night, talking to the moonlit ceiling, telling the silence that I would kill and kill and kill to prove myself the best, to show everyone how good she was. Amani's pathetic, but Mom's strength is obvious in me. They'll see me and know it's from her.

I pace and stalk and prowl down hallway after hallway like a caged animal, promising myself time after time that there will be someone around this corner, no, okay, surely this one then, and then I can hurl myself at them and tear them to pieces.

Darkness. Flickering lights. Metal. The occasional monster mutt, but they crumble like frozen paper at my sword. My muscles are crackling with energy. I want to punch a wall just to get rid of it, but I'm not that stupid.

I search for hours and hours and find no one. At last I resign myself to a wasted day and start back to our base. I fucking dare anyone to mess with me tonight.

What I find at base, at least, lifts my mood somewhat. It's like a catfight, but instead of girls pulling each other's hair, it's pretty boys threatening to shoot each other in the face. Oh my god. This is the best thing ever. I've got to snapchat this.

Wait. Shit. Ugh.

My mood dives again. No phones, no coffee, no chocolate, no deaths. I want to scream, or throw someone through the wall, or both. Something has to give here. Soon.

Atlas Edenthaw, District Eight, 17

It's quiet and it's making me nervous.

We haven't run into anyone or anything since the clusterfuck in that intersection. I think we're going in circles, but Ted insists we aren't. It's not so much that I trust his judgment as that I don't care.

"Should we try another floor?" he whispers as we turn a corner into yet another dark hallway.

"If it's not broken, don't fix it," I reply.

"Good point."

We walk in silence for a few minutes.

"What was that?" Ted says sharply.

My stomach flips. "What was what?"

"I just… saw something. I think. Or I don't know if I saw it, but…" He trails off, squinting into the tunnel behind us.

My night vision isn't bad, but all I see is darkness. "Are you sure?"

"No."

"Well, should we keep walking?"

He shakes his head without taking his eyes off the distant blackness. "I don't think so. Then it'll be behind us."

"But you just said you're not sure it's there."

"Well, I… I'm not positive I saw it. But I'm pretty sure it's there."

I still don't see anything, but he's making me nervous. The blackness seems to grow more menacing by the second, like it's growing darker and closer.

It is growing darker and closer. Slowly but surely.

Ted narrows his eyes. "Is it…?"

"Yep. Let's go," I say hurriedly, grabbing him and taking off.

I still don't hear anything or even really see it, but I feel in my gut that we're being chased. That sharp, sick feeling that claws will sink into the back of my neck any second. I don't want to believe it. I can almost convince myself that it's all in my head, like that instinctive jumpiness of climbing up the stairs from a dark basement. Almost.

I risk another glance over my shoulder and wish I hadn't. There's something there. Something big. Flashing in the darkness, like dull metal. The pattern of its movements reminds me of a pile of snakes.

I gulp and decide to concentrate on running.

We pass a tunnel and I'm about to drag Ted down it when I realize the weird, opaque darkness is there, too. And the next one. And the next one. It's still behind us. There's no way it couldn't catch us if it really wanted to, whatever "it" is. It's herding us somewhere.

And then it's gone, retreating like it's been sucked back by a vacuum. The tunnels are still dark, but not that freaky, quasi-supernatural blackness.

Something's going to happen. They wouldn't chase us like that and leave both of us unharmed if there wasn't more to it. There's something here.

Ted nudges me, puts a finger to his lips, and points to a hallway that intersects ours maybe ten feet away. He's right. There's something in there, coming toward us. We back up against the wall in unison, so hopefully we'll see it before it sees us. I grip the knife until my knuckles feel about to crack, tensing to spring.

The sound gets closer. Stumbling, uneven footsteps. Too solid to be one of the pale mutts. Heavy breathing. A tribute?

Desdemona comes running out of the hallway, sobbing for breath. And just sobbing in general. She's gripping a pistol. She practically collapses against the far wall, her hands shaking. The thing that chased us must've chased her here too, and I don't think distance running is high on her skill list.

Ted and I exchange glances. I think we're thinking the same thing. No way we're killing her, but it'd be good if she didn't shoot us. I don't think she'd kill me ordinarily, but who knows what kind of crazy mood she's in?

"Des?" I say quietly, wondering if I should run or tackle her if she points the gun at me.

Of course she jumps, whirls, and aims it right at my face, wide-eyed and still shaking.

I freeze. "Uh, whoa."

She stares at me for a second like she doesn't recognize me, then runs at me. Before I can react, she throws her arms around me and starts crying into my coat.

Um.

I shoot Ted a panicked what-do-I-do look. He bites his lip. I think he's laughing at me. Jackass.

"Um… yeah. Hi," I say to Des, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "It's, um, it's okay. Sorry about… whatever."

She squeezes me tighter. For a thirteen-year-old girl, she's really strong.

"Des?"

She makes a sniffling noise. There's something jabbing my spine.

"Des, I can't breathe. And, uh, watch where you're pointing the gun, please."

She relaxes her grip slightly and stops aiming the pistol at my kidney.

"Okay. Better. Thanks."

This is… new. People running to me for comfort is exactly the opposite of how things usually go. I have no idea what I'm doing. Shoulder pats, I think, are a thing that people do, but I already tried that and it didn't work. Should I say nice things? Try to figure out what happened? Why wasn't there a booth for this at training?

"Castalia," she sniffs.

"I… who? What?"

"Castalia!" she cries. "The C-Careers, they… they p-pushed her in the pit, s-she…"

"Oh," I say, then run out of ideas. Ted gives me a Look. I give the shoulder patting another try, and she actually relaxes a little. I'm learning.

She thinks I'm a good person. It's the weirdest fucking thing. What am I supposed to do when she realizes the truth? Better to just keep her from getting too attached in the first place.

"C-Can I stay with you?" she mumbles into my chest.

Dammit.

My hesitation must show on my face, because Ted gives me what I'm starting to realize is his patented don't-be-an-ass look.

"Yeah, no problem."