Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Results of the "final four" poll are up on the blog. New poll on my profile, this time asking who (if anyone) you're surprised to see make it this far. As usual, read the chapter first, because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

Day Five
Listen to the Music

Sabine Plecity
District Five Mentor

"One more."

Sabine glanced over at Harakuise, who was clearly just waiting for her to ask for an explanation. She hated it when he did that – said something vague, waited for someone to ask what it meant. Sometimes, she was sure he just liked listening to himself talk. Other times, she thought maybe she was just a sounding board for ideas. That he talked to her because he knew that she couldn't resist asking for an explanation, that she hated an unsolved riddle almost as much as he did.

"All right," Sabine sighed. "I'll bite. One more what?"

Harakuise smiled a little, satisfied. "One more tribute."

"Until what? The lights come back on?"

"Well, that, too, I suppose. Not what I meant, though. One more tribute, and there will only be nine left."

"So?" Nine wasn't a particularly significant number. Ten seemed more important, more of a roadmark.

Harakuise shook his head. "It's just something Ryzer said during the interviews. Three times three to make up nine. What if she was on to something? Three's been an important number so far. Three tributes per district. Three cannons to change the lights. So three times three – maybe that's important, too."

Sabine nodded. That made some sense. "So what happens when there are only nine tributes left?"

"Exactly."

"No, I was asking. What happens?"

"I don't know," Harakuise admitted, drumming his fingers on the table. "That's the problem. I don't like not knowing."

Sabine couldn't help smiling. He was like this every year – trying to figure out what the Gamemakers would do next, what they had planned. At first, she'd thought he simply wanted to know so he could help the tributes be prepared for what was coming. But, two years ago, both tributes from Five had died in the bloodbath, and Harakuise had still spent the entire Games trying to work out what would happen next.

"Well, you probably won't have to wait long," Sabine offered. Mercury was headed for the cornucopia. Cassandra and Ryzer were prowling the halls on the other side. It was only a matter of time before they were forced together. Part of her hoped Mercury would have enough sense to run, but part of her was afraid the Gamemakers wouldn't let her.

Could she take on both of them?

So far, Ryzer and Cassandra hadn't faced a fair fight. They'd caught Radiance off-guard while she was running away from another pack, and Daedem had already been badly hurt. Then again, Mercury hadn't done much in the way of fighting, either. Her allies, yes. But Kinley was dead, Barclay was injured, Alasdair was in the garden with him, and Asteria was on the other side of the station.

Mercury was on her own.

Mercury Helix, 15
District Five

She was on her own.

Mercury gripped the piece of piping Barclay had given her in one hand and Kinley's knife in the other. She wished one of them was with her now. Barclay, Kinley – even Alasdair. But Kinley was dead. Barclay was hurt. And Alasdair…

Should she have brought him along? She hadn't even thought of it until he had offered. Why would he want to risk his life for Barclay? They hadn't been allies very long. He didn't know Barclay very well. And yet he'd still offered to come.

And she had said no.

Part of her still wasn't sure why. Yes, she had told him to stay and protect Barclay. But if something happened, what would he really be able to do? He would probably run the other way at the first sign of trouble, and she couldn't really bring herself to blame him for that. Alasdair didn't owe Barclay anything. Not like she did.

But if she'd brought him … Would he have been able to help? Or would he simply have gotten in the way? And if they'd left Barclay alone…

No. No, that wouldn't help – second-guessing herself now. She'd had her chance to let him come along. She had said no. That was all there was to it. The reason didn't really matter now. It was done.

And she was almost there.

Mercury took a deep breath as she crept closer and closer to the door in front of her. Any moment now, she would find out who – if anyone – was waiting for her at the cornucopia. A few minutes from now, she might be…

Mercury leaned back against the wall outside the door, trying to breathe as quietly as she could, trying not to make a sound despite her heart pounding in her ears. She didn't want to die. Not here. Not like this. Maybe she could turn around. Maybe she could go back.

But it was too late for that. She had come this far. The Gamemakers wouldn't let her simply turn around, the same way they hadn't let anyone run from the garden. She had to get what she came for – or die trying.

Or die trying.

Mercury took a step forward and peeked into the room. She could see shapes – dark shapes, throughout the room. But none of them moved. None of them showed any signs of life. Hesitantly, Mercury took a few steps towards the nearest shape. It still didn't move. In fact, it looked almost…

Dead. Only a few feet away now, Mercury realized she was staring into the cold, lifeless eyes of her district partner, Mirami. The body was propped up against one of the tables. As she circled the room, Mercury realized the others were the same. All dead. Mirami. Niles. Calissa, the other girl from Four – Kinley and Barclay's district partner. Others she didn't recognize immediately and didn't want to spend the time it would take to figure it out.

Mercury gripped her weapons tightly. Someone was here – or if not here, then somewhere nearby. The bodies hadn't been placed like this by accident. Someone had done this. Someone was using them – using the dead to try to scare away the living.

But it wasn't going to work. She was here for a reason. The dead weren't going to stop her from getting what she had come here for.

She could only hope the living wouldn't, either.

Cassandra Sake, 17
District Six

It was about time.

Cassandra grinned at Ryzer, who was nodding towards the cornucopia room. Whoever was inside was making a considerable effort to be quiet, but they still couldn't hide the sound of their footsteps, the soft rustling of someone sifting through the supplies, looking for something. Probably food and water. Maybe weapons.

Which was why they had to be careful. There was no way of knowing how many people were in the room, or what sort of condition they were in. Chances were, they'd already found the weapons. So they would be armed.

Cassandra turned to Ryzer. "Me first?" the other girl mouthed hopefully, grinning widely. Cassandra nodded her consent. If there was someone dangerous inside, maybe it was better to let Ryzer go first. She didn't want Ryzer to get herself killed, either, but, if it was going to be one of them…

But, as Ryzer stepped into the room, it quickly became clear that it wasn't going to be either of them. A scream from the other side of the room gave away both the other tribute's position and her terror. A girl's scream. Cassandra smiled and joined Ryzer, dagger in hand. Ryzer gripped her hand sickle tightly. Their prey was somewhere. Somewhere close.

There was a quiet rustling from near the bar counter. Then a scuffling. A tribute. Only one. Knowing she'd been heard, but hoping she hadn't been seen. Hoping she could still get away.

And she might have, if not for their night vision glasses. Her initial fear contained, the girl was moving very slowly, very quietly. Crawling along the floor. Injured, or just trying to be quiet? No, definitely injured. Her movements were limp, favoring one side. Probably why she had been desperate enough to come back to the cornucopia. Desperate enough to risk her life.

But not desperate enough to fight for it. Or simply too weak to do so. Easy prey.

Almost too easy.

The girl turned, horrified, as Cassandra and Ryzer approached, but she still didn't stand up. Maybe she couldn't. "Please," she whimpered. "Please. Just let me go. I don't want to fight you."

Cassandra shook her head. She didn't want to fight her, either. Didn't want to fight someone so pitiful. She was one of the younger girls – District Five, maybe? Clearly, it was sheer luck that she'd made it this far.

But no farther. Cassandra didn't want to fight her, but, fortunately, this wasn't a fight. It was a hunt. It made no difference that their prey was injured and scared. No difference at all. Cassandra glanced at Ryzer, who nodded towards the injured girl. It was her turn.

Cassandra gripped her dagger.

Ryzer Hijore, 16
District Six

She saw it too late.

Ryzer screamed as she saw the girl tense. It was a tension she'd seen so many times – the tension of a cat about to spring. About to pounce. "Cassandra!" she shouted, hoping her warning would come soon enough.

But it was too late.

As Cassandra's dagger came down, the girl sprang up, a knife in her hand – a knife she had been hiding somewhere. Perhaps in her sleeve, perhaps in one of her pockets. The knife sank deep into Cassandra's chest before she had the chance to react. Cassandra sank to the floor, the dagger clattering from her grasp.

Everything happened at once. The cannon sounded. The lights came on – not dim like before, but bright and blazing. And, from somewhere in the arena, there came a noise – a strange humming, almost like music.

Exactly like music.

For a moment, they stood there, the pair of them. Ryzer and the girl from Five, not injured at all, her knife covered in Cassandra's blood. Ryzer's glance strayed to her fallen friend. Then to the other bodies around her. In that moment, the girl charged.

And Ryzer ran.

The girl didn't follow her out the blue door. Maybe she'd been hoping Ryzer would run, hoping to simply scare her off from a fight. And it had worked.

For the first time in the arena, Ryzer was afraid.

Cassandra was dead. Just like that. No warning, no long struggle, no real chance to defend herself. She was just gone. And if Cassandra could die so suddenly, so pointlessly, anyone could be next.

She could be next.

She had thought she was ready for that. Thought she was as ready to face her own death as anyone else's. But, now that the moment was real, she wasn't just afraid. She was terrified. Cassandra was gone, lying cold and dead on the floor of the cornucopia room…

No, she couldn't think about that. She didn't want to think about that. She had to think about something else. Something else. Anything else.

The music.

Without thinking, she ran towards the music. Towards the odd, humming tone that was coming from somewhere down the hallway. Somewhere just a little farther ahead.

Just a little farther.

Barclay Mattison, 18
District Four

He thought he heard music.

That was the first thing Barclay noticed as he came to. The second was the light – brighter than before, almost blinding. The third was an odd smell, a smell he couldn't quite place.

The fourth thing was Alasdair frantically shaking his shoulder, calling his name. "Barclay! Barclay, wake up! We have to go!"

Go? Go where? Where was Kinley? No. No, he reminded himself. Kinley was dead. And Asteria was gone. But Mercury – she should still be here. Where was she?

"Mercury?" He barely managed to whisper her name. "Where's Mercury?"

"She left," Alasdair answered frantically. "She went back to the cornucopia – to get medicine for you. That was a couple hours ago – at least. And there was a cannon. Might have been hers – I don't know. But we have to go now!"

"Why?"

"Because of the gas!"

Gas? So that was the smell. Barclay smiled a little. So much fuss over nothing. The little boy really needed to calm down. "So put on a gas mask."

Alasdair stared, as if he'd gone insane. "What? Do you just happen to have some?"

Barclay nodded. "Have a look around. I'm sure Mercury put them somewhere."

The boy scurried about for a moment, then apparently found them, because Barclay felt something slide over his face. The gas mask whirred to life, and Alasdair came into view again. "All right for now, but these won't last forever. We have to get out of here!"

Barclay shook his head weakly, his voice muffled a little by the mask. "We should wait … Mercury's coming back … She's coming back for us."

Alasdair shook his head. "And how do you think she'll feel if she comes back to find two dead bodies because we choked to death because we didn't want to leave. Come on! We'll head for the cornucopia. Maybe we'll meet up with her on the way back, if she's still…"

The boy didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. If she's still alive. Mercury might be dead. The cannon that the boy said had fired – it could have been hers. If she was gone, then it was just them. Alasdair might be the only ally he had left.

So they should stay together.

Slowly, painfully, fighting the dizziness and the lightheadedness – maybe a result of the gas or maybe simply his injury getting worse – Barclay struggled to his feet. Alasdair did his best to steady him, but Barclay tried not to lean too hard on the smaller boy. Together, the two of them made their way out of the garden and into the hallway, towards the music. Barclay stumbled a little, leaning against the wall for balance, hoping they wouldn't have to go too far before Mercury found them, hoping they wouldn't have to walk all the way to the cornucopia.

He wasn't sure he could make it that far.

Asteria Cordey, 16
District Nine

She was too tired to worry about the music.

Asteria leaned back against one of the shelves of boxes, trying to work up the motivation to move enough to reach some of the food. She'd already removed the dagger from her left leg and bandaged it as well as she could with the strips of cloth she'd been able to find, but she'd lost a lot of blood before she'd finally gotten the wound under control. She wasn't just tired; she was exhausted.

Which was even more of a reason to eat something. Or at least drink something. Slowly, gritting her teeth against the pain, she dragged herself along the floor to where it looked like there were some bottles of water. Every movement sent pain shooting through her leg, but when she finally poured the water in her mouth, it was almost worth it. Almost worth what she'd done to get it.

What she'd done. Asteria's gaze strayed to the two bodies on the floor. Dead. She had killed them. She had killed them both.

And she almost didn't care.

She hadn't really known the girl. Hadn't even asked her name. The other girl hadn't asked, either. Maybe she'd figured it would be easier to kill someone when she didn't know their name.

Maybe she was right.

Asteria shook her head. This was certainly no worse than what she'd already done. No worse than killing Dennar, whom she had known. What made these two any different?

And yet they were different. They had fought back. Dennar had simply leapt in the way. He had let her kill him. Almost as if he didn't mind, as long as his ally was safe. Almost as if he'd wanted her to kill him.

These two hadn't wanted it. They'd fought for every moment, every breath. She had won, but they'd made it hard. They'd made her bleed for it. And now she was injured, too. If she died now, it would be their doing. Their fault.

No. No, she wouldn't give them that satisfaction. That was what they'd wanted – to bring her down with them. But she wouldn't let them. She wouldn't let them win.

Asteria ate a little dried fruit and lay down to rest. She didn't want to – didn't want to fall asleep like this, unprotected, vulnerable. But what choice did she have? She would have to sleep eventually. If she was going to heal, she needed to rest – regardless of the risk. And there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere that would be safer.

So she lay down quietly in a corner, out of sight, hoping that, if anyone stumbled in the door, they would see the two bodies and assume that the former occupants of the room had killed each other. Then they could simply take what they wanted and go. Hopefully, they wouldn't stay. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to fight.

Not for a while, at least.

Dewan Rutledge, 15
District Two

Every time.

Dewan groaned and rolled over. It seemed like every time he decided to try to rest, the lights came back on. Was that what was controlling them, maybe? Did the Gamemakers turn them on and off based on how many tributes were trying to get some rest? Probably not, but it certainly seemed like it.

He sat up slowly, trying to ignore the humming in his head. No, not in his head. The noise had gotten louder – a strange, loud humming noise coming from somewhere in the arena.

Either that, or he was losing it.

Dewan sighed. The second option wouldn't exactly surprise him now. He had food and water, yes. He'd made his way back to the medical lab in the purple section and bandaged his leg as well as he could. The girl's knife didn't seem to have struck anything important, but his leg still ached. And he needed sleep.

But how was he supposed to sleep if they kept switching the lights on?

Dewan rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the lights seemed brighter than before. Was that supposed to mean something? Something important? Or did they just seem brighter because he was tired?

Probably the second one.

Dewan drank a little of the sterilized water and ate a few crackers. If they weren't going to let him sleep, he might as well keep up his strength. And he had no reason to leave the purple section – not yet. Surely they wouldn't expect anything more from him so soon.

Unless there were only a few of them left.

Was that what the lights meant? Did that mean the finale was close? It certainly felt like it. He no longer had any real idea of how many tributes were left, but it couldn't be that many. The pair from twelve had run from him and the mutts, but there had been a few cannons since then. Maybe those had been theirs.

Maybe they were near the end.

Or maybe not. The Gamemakers hadn't shown any signs of corralling them together. Maybe there hadn't been as many cannons as he'd thought. Or maybe they were waiting for him to do something.

Dewan rubbed his eyes again. He was tired of 'doing something.' He'd spent the whole Games trying to do something, trying to make some headway, trying to get to the end. And where had it gotten him? Sure, he was still alive, but, right now, he didn't feel any closer to going home than when he had run from the cornucopia after killing Luke.

He wasn't even sure what he did feel anymore, except tired. Very tired. But not hungry or thirsty. So that was something. And, now that he'd left the domed room, now that he'd distanced himself from the body of the girl from One and the ashes of the girl from Ten, he didn't feel quite so … guilty? No, he had never really felt guilty for that. But whatever it was he had felt, most of it was gone now. He didn't feel anything. He just felt numb. He just felt tired.

He just wanted it to be over.

Blythe Ayers, 14
District Twelve

"Do you hear that?"

Blythe glanced at Brennan. "Hear what?" The lights had come back on – brighter than before – and the station's humming had grown louder, but that was it. What did he hear?

Brennan shook his head. "Listen. You don't hear that?"

She listened, but she still didn't hear anything. "What?"

"The singing."

Blythe cocked an eyebrow. Listening closely to the humming, she could see how it might sound like singing. But she was still pretty sure it was just the station's noise – just a bit louder than before. "I don't hear any singing."

Brennan shook his head impatiently. "What if it's a message? What if the Gamemakers are trying to tell us something? I think we should follow it."

What?

Hadn't he been paying attention? Hadn't he seen what the Gamemakers had done so far, what the mutts had done? If the Gamemakers wanted to lead them somewhere, that was the last place they should think about going. Blythe shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Come on," Brennan insisted. "If there's singing, there might be people. And if there are people, there might be food, and if—"

"And if there are people and food, there might be people who will kill us over that food," Blythe pointed out.

Brennan shrugged a little. "Who knows? We might be the ones to kill them over it. It wouldn't be the first time."

"You said—" He'd said the pair from Seven had attacked them. Had he and Grace started the fight?

"And you believed it, too," Brennan pointed out. "Wanted to believe that I wasn't capable of making the first move. But I am. I have to be. And now I'm saying we should follow that sound. Are you with me?"

Blythe stared. What had happened to him? This wasn't like Brennan at all.

But how would she know? She'd known him for … what? A week? Maybe two, by now. How did she know what he was really like? For all she knew, he'd been acting the whole time, and this was really him. Or maybe the others' death had shaken him harder than she'd thought. Maybe he'd simply lost it.

Blythe shook her head. "No."

"No?" Brennan repeated.

"No. I'm not with you. You want to follow some strange humming sound you think is music? Fine. But you can do it without me."

Brennan's gaze hardened. "Are you sure?"

Blythe nodded. "Yes."

Brennan clenched his fists. "Then go."

"Go?"

"Go. I'll go this way. You go that way. We part ways, and we don't look back. It has to happen eventually, and now's as good a time as any. I'm giving you a chance to go without a fight, so go." He smiled a little – a hard, dangerous smile.

"Before I change my mind."

Brennan Aldaine, 15
District Twelve

He'd never seen anyone run so fast.

Brennan watched as Blythe ran away – faster, he thought for a moment, than she had run from the mutts. He waited. Waited until she was gone. Waited until she was far enough away.

Then he sank to the floor, leaned back against the wall, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.

Take care of her, Grace had said. But he couldn't. So he'd done the next best thing. He'd let her go. And, more than that, he'd given her a reason to go. A reason to leave. A reason for them to part ways, and make it seem like an act of generosity that the parting had been peaceful.

It wasn't the best scenario, but it was better than the alternatives. Better than fighting her. Better than staying together until she died in front of him. He didn't want to see that. He'd never wanted to see that.

Brennan closed his eyes. Listening to the station humming now, it almost did sound like music. Hopefully, he'd been convincing enough. Blythe would think he'd lost it. She wouldn't even think about coming back. About trying to find him. And if their paths crossed again…

Then what?

Maybe she would even strike first. Then he could defend himself. He was pretty sure he could do that – kill her if she struck first. But if she didn't…

No. No, he didn't want to think about that. Chances were, they would never see each other again. It was a big station. She had run one way; he would make sure to go the other, once he found the motivation to move again. The chances of them finding each other again were slim.

Brennan started to push himself to his feet, only to be stopped by a sudden, sharp surge of pain in his right wrist. "Damn it," he muttered, dropping back to the floor and clutching his wrist tightly, as if that would stop the pain. It didn't. Brennan sighed. Maybe he should just stay here a while and rest. Maybe…

Just as he was starting to close his eyes, however, a flicker of motion caught his eye. Something skittering across the floor, off to his right – the opposite direction from the way Blythe had gone. A rat? A mouse? Something small and furry – and alive. Brennan scrambled to his feet. If it was alive, then maybe he could eat it.

As long as he could catch it.

Brennan took a step forward, and the creature – definitely a rat – scampered off. Brennan followed, all thought of pain forgotten. The walls around him turned from grey to brown, and he barely noticed. That didn't matter now. All that mattered was that, in a moment, he could have food.

The rat scurried down a hallway – a dead end. Brennan followed. The hallway was scattered with debris – piping, broken pieces of wood. Brennan snatched up a pipe and lunged at the frightened creature in the corner. It was a clumsy blow with his left hand, but the pipe found the rat's head, nonetheless, and blood splattered up. The rat twitched for a moment, then went still.

Brennan reached for the tiny, fur-covered body. It was small – only a few mouthfuls, at best – but there might be more, hiding in the walls, where none of them had thought to look. For a moment, he hesitated. Thought about calling for Blythe. Maybe there would be enough for her, too.

No. No, he had let her go for a reason – a reason that went beyond the fear of not finding enough food for both of them. Sooner or later, she would have to die. It wasn't his job to protect her – not anymore. His job – his only job – was to protect himself. To get himself out of this alive.

Brennan tore open the rat and took a big bite.

Lynher Palmieri, 16
District Eleven

At first, he thought the singing was part of a dream.

Lynher slowly opened his eyes. It sounded like singing. Or, at least, it had a few moments ago, when he was still half-asleep. Now it sounded like the station humming again – only louder than before. The lights, too, seemed brighter.

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

It was gone now – the singing. But, for a moment, it had seemed so peaceful. So beautiful.

Slowly, Lynher got up and headed over to the faucet to fill his water bottles. It hadn't taken him long to discover that the room had running water. He still had one full bottle, and the other was about a quarter full, but, if he had to leave in a hurry, he didn't want to have to stop and fill them then. Better to be prepared in case something happened.

Because something was sure to happen eventually. The other tributes and the Gamemakers had left him alone for a while, and he'd used the opportunity to get some rest. But it wouldn't last forever. When something did happen, he wanted to be ready. He turned the handle.

But nothing happened.

Lynher frowned. No water. He turned the other one – still, nothing happened. But why? What had he done wrong? He hadn't done anything.

Maybe that was the point. He hadn't done anything – not since leaving the cornucopia. Maybe Daedem's idea had been right all along. Maybe they had to keep doing something. Maybe the Gamemakers had decided he'd sat there long enough.

At least he still had a full water bottle, though. And he still had food. He could stay here for a while yet.

But what if this was a hint? What if they were trying to tell him to leave, to go do something, before they had to make him leave? Wouldn't it be better to leave on his own?

"All right, all right," Lynher mumbled crossly. "I get it." He stuffed the food and water back into his pack, gathered up his weapons, and stepped out into the hall.

Just in time to see the girl disappear.

Lynher stared after her, surprised. He was pretty sure she hadn't seen him. Maybe he could pretend not to have seen her. He didn't want to chase after her. Whoever she was, she was probably scared. Tired. She might even be running from someone. Maybe he should just duck back inside the room. She would never know.

But the audience would.

He was well-rested. He had food and weapons. He was in about as good a condition as a tribute could ask for in the arena. And there weren't that many of them left. If he passed up the chance now – the chance to make that number one less – what would the audience think of him?

But if he took it, what would he think of himself?

Lynher gripped his dagger. There was a third option. He could pretend to follow her – long enough to convince the audience that he was trying to catch her, but not long enough to actually do so. Letting her go was one thing. But if he lost her … Well, they couldn't really hold that against him, could they? Not when he clearly had no experience with this sort of thing.

Lynher smiled a little, and the chase began.

Alasdair Bryant, 12
District Three

He wasn't sure how much farther Barclay could go.

Alasdair stumbled a little as the older boy began to lean more heavily on him. They were both doing the best they could, but it clearly wasn't enough. Once they'd left the garden, a door had closed, sealing the gas inside. They'd taken the gas masks off, and now Alasdair was carrying them both. But Barclay still looked like he was about to collapse.

Maybe they should have stayed there. Waited there for Mercury to come back. But he'd wanted to keep moving. The gas was a message: The garden wasn't safe for them anymore. He'd figured they should get as far away as possible.

He hadn't even thought to grab any food, Alasdair realized as he and Barclay trudged along. He'd been so focused on getting out – and getting Barclay out – that he hadn't really given any thought to what would happen once they left.

Now he wished he'd brought something. Food, water, anything. But it was all he could do to carry the two gas masks and try to keep Barclay going. Any extra weight would just slow them down.

Extra weight.

Just then, Barclay took a bad step, lurching forward suddenly and tumbling to the ground. Alasdair toppled beside him, exhausted. "Okay," he gasped. "Okay. New plan. You … stay here and rest. I'll keep going. I'll get Mercury. We'll come back for you."

Barclay smiled absently. "No, you won't. But that's all right. You go ahead. Go find Mercury." He closed his eyes.

Alasdair gritted his teeth. "I will come back for you. I promise."

The words left him before he'd realized what he said. But he was surprised to find that he meant it. No matter what he found up ahead – whether he found Mercury, or whether Mercury was already dead – he could think of no reason why he wouldn't want to come back for Barclay.

After dropping the gas masks by Barclay's side, Alasdair took off down the hall, hoping he was still going the right way. Hoping the cornucopia was still ahead. They hadn't turned around, as far as he knew. But the hallways had occasionally curved. Was he still going the right way? "Just get to the cornucopia," he muttered. "Just get me to the cornucopia."

Suddenly, lights began to flash.

Alasdair nearly jumped. First a loud humming, and now red, flashing lights – in the direction he was running. Did that mean he should keep going? Or that he should turn around? What was waiting for him up there?

Alasdair took a deep breath and kept going. If the Gamemakers wanted to send something after him – if they were trying to kill him – they could do that no matter which way he ran. So he might as well keep his promise. He might as well keep moving forwards.

Suddenly, in front of him, he saw a green door. A green door like the one he, Dennar, and Enzo had run through during the bloodbath. It seemed so long ago. How long had it been? Days? Weeks?

Alasdair crept closer and peeked inside the door. He could see a shape. A tribute, rummaging through the supplies at the cornucopia. He must have made some sort of noise, because the tribute looked up, startled. Alasdair grinned. "Mercury!"

Even as he said it, a panel opened in the ceiling, and a parachute floated down.

President Richmond Hyde

"Don't you ever sleep?"

Hyde took a sip of coffee, shrugging, as Helius continued fiddling with the switches in front of him. "Not much during the Games," he admitted. "You?"

Helius shook his head. "Not much. We take shifts, but I'm always on call in case something happens." He glanced up. "You've got a question."

Hyde smirked. "How could you tell?"

"You're here," Helius shrugged. "The three tributes on your list are dead – and the last one quite spectacularly, if I do say so myself. So it can't be that. But you're here, so it's a good bet you've got a question."

Hyde nodded. "The music – what is it?"

"What music?" Helius asked innocently.

"The music you've mixed in with the station's humming. Just quiet enough in the background that you can't hear it unless you're listening for it, but it's there. Some of the tributes hear it, too. But others just hear the humming. So … What is it?"

"Just music," Helius admitted. "An odd chanting that I thought was particularly unsettling. Just another little something to keep them awake at night, wondering what it means, wondering if it's leading them towards something or away from something, when, really, it's not doing either. It's only doing what they want it to. If they want to run, it's giving them something to run from. If they're searching for something, it's giving them a direction to look in. Nothing more."

Hyde smiled. "The audience is enjoying it, I hear. Analyzing it to death, I might add. Some of them say the tributes who hear the music are more likely to win. Some say they're simply the first to go insane. Some think it's a giant dragon mutt snoring. Some think it's the spirits of the dead tributes singing." He chuckled. "I particularly like that last one. Very spooky."

"Very spooky, indeed," Helius agreed. "Not at all true, I'm afraid, but very interesting, nonetheless. No, the music's nothing special. But how the tributes react to it – well, that might tell you a thing or two."

"And the water – you shut it off intentionally, I presume? Everywhere on the station?"

"Quite right," Helius nodded. "What they have now is what they'll have to make do with for the rest of the Games – barring the kind whims of sponsors."

"Speaking of kind whims, Mercury's sponsors sure came through." Mercury and Alasdair were on their way to find Barclay again, with the medicine from the parachute.

Helius smiled. "Mercury's, yes, but also Barclay's and Alasdair's. There was some collective pitching in, I assume. The mentors make quite a convincing team."

The tone in his voice was unmistakable. "But…" Hyde added for him.

Helius shrugged. "But they can't be a team forever. The mentors know that. The sponsors know that. Even the tributes know that. Sooner or later, they'll have to choose."

Hyde nodded. From the tone of Helius' voice, he would bet good money that it would be 'sooner.'

"You seek meaning."

"Yes."

"Then listen to the music, not the song."