Thank you guys so, so much for being so patient with this update! I was working all last week, usually at shifts that went for at least fourteen hours, so I had absolutely no time to write. But I'm back home now, and all is well, so we'll hopefully be getting back on the schedule of at least one update a week - hopefully.

Also, don't think I've said this yet, but ahhhhh, thank you all so much for getting the reviews over 600! You're super amazing and I love you all!

Adia James, 15, District 3

It's as if the entire world realises it just lost a ray of sunshine. By noon, dark clouds cover the sky, threatening to release their fury at any moment. Everything looks gloomy and depressing, as it should.

This is when Arc and I lay our friends to rest.

Magnus wanted to help, but he's still barely able to walk, let alone help carry bodies. All it took was one wince as he stood for me to send him back to bed with a dull "thanks, but no."

Tully, I haven't seen since dawn. After . . . everything, she ran into the nearest bedroom and hasn't left since. Part of me wants to drag her out, remind her she's still our leader and demand she help, but every time I make a move to do so, I hear the muffled sobs coming from her room and freeze. She sounds so tormented, like she's taking this even worse than me.

As for Caragh, well, she retreated to the garden. When we entered to ask her for help, she was gone. As were a handful of the edible plants Riri had pointed out to us a lifetime ago.

I want to be mad at her for leaving. Even if Tully was our leader, Caragh was the oldest member of our alliance, and there was something reassuring about having an eighteen-year-old present. She left us for dead, probably so she could go team up with Reese. Did she even think about how her absence would affect our already crumbling alliance?

Still, I can't blame her. Hell, half the time, I want to storm right out these doors and never look back.

But I can't. I can't leave him.

Arc and I struggle as we lift the corpse off of the ground. The District 4 boy keeps shivering and losing his grip on the ankles, but surprisingly, continues to persevere. I had him pegged as a selfish coward from the start, but maybe only part of that is true. As nauseous as I can see he is, he's still trying to help.

Not that it's doing much. Arc's no bodybuilder, and I'm not exactly Miss Muscles myself, plus my stupid hands won't stop shaking. Our grip on the corpse is slipping, yet I can't bring myself to look down and readjust my hold. We've covered it with a spare blanket from one of the rooms, but I know if I spot even the slightest hint of features poking out from underneath the cover, I'll stop thinking of the corpse as an it and start thinking about him, Bolt Andrews, my kind, cheerful district partner.

My hands shake, then release completely. Arc lets out a squeak, drowned by my much louder shriek, because oh god, he's going to fall, his head's going to hit the ground, how could I have—?

The body is caught before it touches the floor, though not by my frantic hands. I look up to find Riri staring back at me.

With a gasp, I grab the corpse's shoulders and pull it away. "Leave. Now," I snap.

"You need help."

"Not from you."

"Why not me?"

"Because you don't care about him!"

Riri frowns, not sad or hurt, but confused. "Of course I do. He was our ally. He sung nice songs and kept everyone happy."

Anger is so much easier to deal with than despair, and I can feel it overtaking me now. "That doesn't mean you care about him! That means you cared about what he could do—for you! How selfish can you be?"

"So why do you care?"

"W-What? I care because of . . . everything! Bolt was my district partner, he was nice, he was funny, he—"

"Made you feel good."

"What?"

"He made you feel good. That's why you're sad he's gone. When you boil it down, all relationships are built on selfish ideals. We surround ourselves with the people we need to make us feel good."

If I wasn't holding a corpse, I'd punch her. As is, I'm strongly considering dropping the body and doing so anyways.

"Guys. Guys!"

We both turn on Arc, and though he cowers under the might of our combined stare, he manages to squeak out, "C-Can you . . . not do this? Not after everything, and not here w-with . . ."

He swallows, nods to the blanket-wrapped corpse, and just like that, the anger goes out of me. What am I doing? This is supposed to be a funeral, and I'm trying to turn it into a fight.

After a glance at me to clarify we're done here, Riri steps forward and helps lift the middle of the corpse. I'm still tempted to tell her to fuck off, but she's significantly stronger than either Arc or me. Without her, I doubt we'd ever get these bodies to the house across the street.

It's almost easy to carry the corpse after that. Volt is more difficult, being so much taller and bulkier, but, gruesome though it is to have to cut him down from where he hangs above the doorstep, he's a lot closer to our intended destination.

I feel bad when we dump the 7 boy rather unceremoniously into another one of the spare bedrooms before I rush back to Bolt. I'll pay my respects to our leader later. For now, my district partner needs my attention.

My hands brush along the blanket still covering the body, fingers trembling as they pick at the edges. I know I should take it off and prepare him the same way he prepared Katerina—it's what he would have wanted. But I still can't equate my district partner to the corpse before me, and what's more, I don't want to. My memories of Bolt Andrews are filled with smiles and laughter; they'd be ruined if I stared into his dead face again.

I-I can't do it.

My eyes start to sting again, and I've got that horrible sensation in my throat like it's closing up. Furiously, I blink back the tears, trying to force away the sadness. Fuck, I hate crying.

Thankfully, footsteps distract me before I crack completely. Rubbing my eyes and trying to erase the tear tracks on my cheeks, I turn back to face Arc and Riri waiting in the doorway. The latter appears to be holding a handful of . . . acorns?

"What the hell are those for?" If she's eating at a time like this, I swear I'm going to hit her.

"Flowers are a big part of funerals in Four," Arc jumps in, still trying to play the peacemaker. "Y-You know, like the ones Caragh put with Katerina. We were gonna bring you some of the same, but, um, Riri thought, um . . . well, different flowers represent different thing. Acorns—"

"Symbolise life," the girl interrupts smoothly. "Immortality."

At first, I think this is her idea of a sick joke. She wants to surround someone dead with plants that mean life—how ironically awful is that?

But even as my mouth opens to yell at her, I realise she might have different intentions. Perhaps the acorns are not meant as a joke, but as a tribute. A tribute to a life well-lived, a life that will remain immortal so long as there are those to remember it.

And there will be people to remember Bolt. I know I will.

Forever.

So I scoop the acorns out of Riri's hands and begin placing them around the blanketed corpse. Despite still feeling like shit, I have the strangest urge to laugh. This is exactly the kind of nutty funeral Bolt would have wanted.

Nutty. Ha ha. Hopefully wherever you are, Bolt, you caught that horrible pun.

I can almost hear his laughter in my ears, high, clear, and full of cheer. The corners of my mouth quirk upwards just at the thought.

"Thanks," I whisper, not looking in Riri's direction, but addressing her all the same. "I never thought you'd, um, be good at this kind of thing."

All is quiet behind me, before she replies with an equally soft murmur, "This isn't the first time I've said goodbye to a friend."

By the time I turn around, she's gone, leaving only an equally confused Arc in her place. When Riri said that last word, she almost sounded . . . sentimental. Which is not something I'd ever thought Riri was capable of feeling. What's going on with her? First helping us with the bodies, then the acorns, and now this—has Bolt's death really affected her more than I'd expected?

Or maybe, a cynical little voice whispers in the back of my head, maybe she's not sad at all. Maybe she's just guilty.

No one knows how Bolt wound up in the pool this morning. Everyone agreed when Magnus said he must have slipped—the thought that he was pushed hadn't even crossed my mind.

Until now.

I have no evidence, and right now, I'm too exhausted from grieving to start something on mere suspicion. Besides, Bolt wouldn't want me to fight, especially not with my own allies.

But the seed of distrust has been planted. A seed that will only grow with time. Already, my fists are clenching just at the thought of Riri having something to do with Bolt's fall.

Perhaps Caragh was the smartest out of all of us, getting out of here while she still could. This alliance is poison, killing off our members one by one, and now that it's collapsing in on itself, I have a feeling the death rate will skyrocket. Bolt was only the beginning.

Magnus Chase, 17, District 8

Riri returns to our base alone, striding off into one of the unoccupied bedrooms without so much as a glance in my direction. Shortly after, Adia and Arc return, taking the last two bedrooms for themselves and leaving me alone in the atrium.

I try to call after Adia before she disappears from view, but words stick in my throat after I catch sight of her tear-stained face. How can I ask anything of her at a time like this? She needs to be left alone to grieve.

Besides, she's two years younger than me. It's wrong to pass off such responsibility onto a kid when I'm supposed to be the more mature, capable one.

But the job that needs to be done . . . I c-c-can't. Just the thought of it drags me back into the realm of nightmares.

My breaths come short and fast, shoulders shaking as unwanted memories flash before my eyes. I'm on my feet before I can think, wincing through the pain and taking a shuffling step forward, forcing myself to realise I'm not back at the warehouse. I'm f-free. I'm safe.

Safe-ish.

"T-Tully?" I call out, bracing myself against the wall as I stumble towards her doorway. My voice sounds even weaker than I look, like a pleading child crying out for help, but then, isn't that what I am? A feeble, cowardly child too scared to do anything himself. I always knew I lacked strength, but now I realise I never had any to begin with.

Tully will help, just like she promised. She'll take care of what needs to be done, and then everything will be all right.

Nevertheless, my cheeks redden with embarrassment as I reach Tully's room. The worst thing about . . . what happened is it's left my mind panicked enough to be of no use to anyone, but sane enough to be fully aware of just how useless I am.

As if I didn't hate myself enough already.

"Tully? I-I was wondering, could y-you . . ."

I stop short as I peer around the corner. Tully is lying on the bed with her back to me, curled up into such a tight ball it must be painful. All I can see is the back of her tunic, her messy blonde hair, and the tips of her fingers wrapped around her arm, digging so forcefully into the skin she's drawing blood.

The sounds are worse. The creaking of the bed as she shakes violently, and then the sobs, oh god. She's not even heartbroken—she's just broken, like she's been destroyed from the inside out, leaving only this withering husk in her place. Soon, that will crumble away to nothingness as well.

Why is she like this? I understand the trauma from Bolt's death—I cried the whole morning myself—but she's . . . she's acting like she'll never recover. I'm starting to wonder if she'll ever get back out of bed.

My feet take me back into the atrium before I'm even conscious of making the decision. It's horrible, I know—I should go back in there, comfort her, try to be strong for her like she's been for me throughout this whole ordeal. But I can't. The sight of Tully, the toughest person I know, so shattered makes me want to throw up. If she can't pull through this . . . how can I ever hope to?

"Boy, am I lucky you were the first idiot to coming running into my arms. Cowards always make for the best victims. Just a little slice here and . . . ah, yes, the perfect scream! It takes nothing to get you going. Best of all, I don't even have to worry about you running or fighting back. Know why? You're weak, Magnus. You're weak, and that's why you'll never escape me."

"No." I put my hands to my ears, failing to block the memory of a voice that exists only in my head. "No, no, I got away, I'm safe."

Are you really?

It's worse now, so, so much worse, because he never said that to me. Suddenly, I'm not just hearing echoes from days past; Riley's voice is in my head, speaking my thoughts, and no amount of focusing on the present can make him go away.

That's right. I'll always be with you now. You haven't really escaped me. Even the real me is out there, just waiting for you to slip up again. And you will. After all, that's what you do, isn't it? Screw things up, and then get put in your place by your superiors.

I wonder what I'll take from you this time. More fingers? A hand? A whole arm? Maybe I'll just keep slicing and dicing until there's nothing le—

I lunge towards the front door, collapse from my injuries, and continue the rest of the way on my hands and knees. Anything to keep myself moving; anything to remind myself I'm not tied up any more. And I won't be ever again, once the j-job is complete. A job I'll just have to do on my own.

Adia helped Reese early this morning, and considering we've heard no screams or cannon since, I can only assume Riley didn't catch her. Which means he probably doesn't even know she's gone, and he'll keep targeting us until someone . . . t-t-tells him.

I'm not going to leave the base. I'm just going to open the door and sh-shout the message. I know he camps close to our base—otherwise, how would he have caught Volt and Katerina and m-me? All I have to do is yell that Reese is gone, and then he'll leave to find her, and then, then we'll be safe.

Maybe after that, I'll finally get better.

I reach the front door and struggle to my feet, glancing fearfully over my shoulder, but none of my allies emerge from their rooms. G-Guess I really have to be the one to do this, then.

My fingers brush against the door, but I freeze when I catch sight of the bandaged stump between my thumb and middle finger. Bile rises in my throat as I sway on the spot, nightmares overtaking consciousness.

Oh god. Oh, no, no, I can't do this, I—

Get ahold of yourself! the remaining sane part of my brain snaps. You don't even have to face him, you just have to shout a few words outside and the danger will be behind you!

B-But why can't Tully—

Because if she does it, or if anyone else does it, then you're useless. Think about it, really, what have you done for this alliance? What?

I w-was injured—

Even before then, what did you do? Tully left you behind on the food hunt because she knew you couldn't do anything right, and then you ran off and this whole business with Riley began. You started all this, Magnus. Now you have to end it.

O-Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. I can d-do this. Just shout a few words. Then I'll be done, and Riley will be gone. And I'll have been useful.

Forcing myself to only think of Tully's grateful smile when she realises I actually did something for her, I shakily inch the door open wider and wider until I can see out onto the street.

The scary, open stre—

No. Don't think about it. Just act.

"H-H-Hey," I squeak out. Then, louder, because I don't want to be out here for any longer than I have to. "H-Hey. I know y-you're out there, but Reese . . . Reese is gone. She left this m-morning, so you can stop t-targeting us. We're not in the way of your feud anymore. So . . . p-please," I can't help but beg. "Please l-leave."

All I receive in response is silence. Not that I was expecting a sign that he heard—if there was one, I'd probably have a heart attack—but . . . how do I know it worked? What if he's out of earshot and doesn't know and then stays here to torture us and gets his hands on m-m-me a-again . . .

I swallow hard, blinking back tears and forcing myself to stand upright. He's not here; I'm in no danger. Maybe I should just be a bit louder—

My lips part just as a massive hand reaches around the open door, grasps the front of my tunic, and yanks me outside.

I don't even have time to scream before I'm slammed against the outer wall of our house and another meaty hand slaps across my mouth. The gesture is unnecessary; I couldn't make a sound even if I wanted to. My throat has closed up, my blood has frozen, and my heart has stopped. I'm dead, I know it, dead and in hell, because life could not possibly be so cruel as to send me back to . . . t-t-t-to . . .

Oh god. Oh god, there are those cold, grey eyes staring at me again, and no, no, I never escaped, it's happening all over, I'm going to be beaten and cut and burned and oh god, no, n-n-no, please.

Riley smirks and leans in close. "Miss me?"

My vision goes black. I must faint, at least for a few seconds, because the next thing I'm aware of is a painful slap across my face.

"Wake up. God, you little bitch, wake up."

The hand is in my hair now, shaking my head and knocking it back against the outside wall. I jerk back to consciousness all at once and open my mouth to scream, but the hand is back across my lips before I can so much as blink.

"Ah, ah, ah. Wouldn't want to alert your little friends, now, would we?"

Yes. Yes, we would. Tully, Tully, please, hear this and come outside. I need you—I'm going to die. Help me, save me, please. PLEASE!

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Riley rolls his eyes as tears start pouring down my cheeks and over his muffling hand. "You cry more easily than that fucking fourteen-year-old. Relax, bitch. I just want to talk."

His shark-like grin moments later says otherwise. I whimper again as he brings his head closer to mine, breathing that awful, familiar scent in my face. The one I smelled when he cut open my chest, and stabbed my foot, and oh god—

"Hey. Focus." The command, though hushed, is so forceful I obey immediately, terrified of what might happen if I don't. "Good. Now, you were saying about Reese—she's gone?"

Fear has me too paralysed to respond, until, with a growl, Riley releases his hand on my tunic and digs his fingers into one of the bandaged wounds on my chest. With a muted scream, I nod furiously.

He eyes me suspiciously. I nearly faint again at the thought of what he might do if he decides I'm lying.

But then something in his expression shifts, and he nods. "All right. I'm going to take my hand away now, and you're going to tell me where she went. Scream, or talk any louder than a whisper, and I will take this," he gestures with his free hand to the sword at his belt, "and pin you to the wall with it. And after I deal with whatever idiots come to your rescue, I will drag you back to that warehouse, and we will continue our fun from before. Got it?"

I barely hear the last bit. As soon as he says 'warehouse', everything in my mind disappears except a long, high-pitched scream.

"Are you excited to play?"

No, not again, not again, I c-can't take it.

Riley takes his hand away, and, biting back a sob, I stutter, "Please, I-I don't know w-where . . . sh-she ran while we were distracted, and I . . . p-please, please don't h-hurt me."

He looks like he's definitely considering it, but before he can make a move, I'm saved by a gift floating down from the sky. Mind you, after what was in the last one . . . oh god, what if this is worse?

I whimper as Riley snatches the item from the air before it can touch the ground. Unlike the previous one, this appears to be a single, rolled up parchment rather than a huge box. Not a weapon. Not a weapon. Please not a weapon, I pray as Riley undoes the ribbon around the paper and opens it up.

Upside down, I can't make out much of the finer details, but as Riley scans the paper, I see enough to understand what it is. A-A map. They just gave him a map of the arena. A map with a large, red circle around a collection of buildings and large, block letters that spell out five words.

She's heading for the forum.

Riley smirks. I want to cry. Reese may not have been my closest friend, but she was still my ally, and I've just helped a psycho killer find her. In that brief moment, I'm almost accepting of my inevitable death at Riley's hands; at least my corpse can't screw things up further.

But Riley simply rolls up the map, shoves it in his backpack, and turns to go. I'm left bracing myself against the outer wall, not wanting to tempt fate, but unable to stop myself from stammering, "Y-You're not going t-t-to . . ."

"Kill you?" Riley glances back and gives me a bone-chilling smirk. "Of course not. The Capitol wants you alive, and who am I to argue with my generous sponsors? Besides, you're too fun to torment."

He fakes a lunge at me. My legs give out, and I collapse on the ground, curling into a ball and shaking in anticipation of his attack. Instead, all I hear are his quiet chuckles and footfalls as he strides off down the street. By the time I gain the courage to look up, he's gone.

I-I can't think. There's too much to focus on. The fact that I came face to face with my torturer again and very nearly died. Except I didn't, because he finds my pain too fun to end abruptly. And then there's that statement about the Capitol wanting me alive—what does that mean?

But the one issue that triumphs above all the rest is that of Reese, my friend and ally, who now has a psychopath on her tail because of me.

The clouds up above choose this moment to finally let loose their downpour The rain surges down, mixing with my tears as I find I can no longer hold back either.

"I'm so sorry," I sob into my hands. "O-Oh god, I'm so, so sorry."

The storm rages on, and I can't help but feel it's an omen for horrible things to come. And by horrible things, I mean Riley Byron.

Oh god, I pray neither Reese nor anyone else is at this forum.

Milo Heath, 13, District 12

Chance and I race after a crazy Jeanette, who let out a squeal of delight and took off outside as soon as she saw the rain. In seconds, all three of us are drenched.

"What are you doing, you psycho?" I shout as she skips through the fast-forming puddles. "It's raining!"

"What? I'd never have guessed!"

"Ha, ha. Get back inside before you catch a cold!"

She sticks out her tongue teasingly. "No thanks, Dad. Don't you want to dance in the rain?"

"Uh, no. No, I don't."

"Oh, come on!" She grabs Chance and me by the arms, dragging us further out into the storm. "Don't you guys like the rain?"

She looks to Chance, who shrugs nervously. "Um . . . sure?"

Well, I, at least, won't let her woo me with that smile and get me onboard with this craziness. "Of course not. It's cold and wet and gross!"

"It's like a colossal springtime shower! Live a little, Milo, come on!"

She laughs and splashes through the nearest puddle. I'll admit, it looks like fun; providing you have a warm house to go back to after the rain. I can just picture Jeanette running through the streets back in her home district, unafraid of hypothermia or colds or soaked clothes because her family was waiting for her just down the street with a dry dress and a mug of hot chocolate. Sure, if that was my life, I'd love the rain. But in 12, for me, rain meant a leaky roof and extra mopping duty, as well as free time forced to be endured indoors in the same room as all the orphanage bullies. From Chance's expression, I gather rain wasn't much better for him.

But Jeanette's smile is infectious. Since the whole lightning trap incident, oddly enough, she's been happier, grinning and laughing like she's not scared anymore. I don't know what brought this change in behaviour on, but it's nice to see her more relaxed. It puts me in a good mood, and even Chance has been acting more optimistic.

So, of course, Jeanette eventually gets us dancing right alongside her in the rain.

"Wow, it is like a shower!" I shout, grinning like a fool as I splash through a puddle. I can feel the grime rolling off of my legs, and though I'm not unused to being dirty, it does feel nice.

"I told you!" Jeanette says, chuckling and kicking some water Chance's way.

He hesitates, then splashes her back, and soon we're engaging in a three-way water war. It's ridiculous for any number of reasons—the least of which being we're all so drenched we shouldn't care about getting splashed more—but we keep it up because it feels normal. I dunno about anyone else, but after five days of nothing but sun, that became the "arena weather". To have it rain reminds us we're still in the world we once knew, and it's great—almost makes us forget where we are and what we're supposed to be doing.

Maybe it's immature and irresponsible to try and have fun when the Capitol wants us to kill each other, but so what? Since the trap, nothing bad has happened to us, and thanks to Jeanette's positivity, I'm starting to think nothing will. After all, it's not like we're enemies of the Capitol or anything. The rebels are the kids they want dead, not some random thirteen-year-olds and their preteen friend. Sure, Chance may have been wanted back in 2, but the Capitol must have realised by now he's not the enemy. For god's sake, he's twelve, and his puppy dog eyes could melt the coldest of hearts, believe me.

Even the memory of the two cannons earlier today can't put a damper on our spirits, because you know what, they don't mean anything. Maybe the Capitol is trying to mess with our heads—or maybe some kids actually did die, but it was the bad guys, like that crazy guy from 10 or Chance's scary district partner. Either way, I won't let the thought drag me down into sadness—not like Tierza's death did.

So we dance in the rain to preserve a sense of normalcy and cheer in an otherwise dreary place. It gets even better when we grow cold and I realise that this time I actually have a warm home to return to. No mopping duties, no bullies, no leaky roof—just a warm hearth holding an ever-burning fire in the round building Jeanette calls the Temple of Vesta. And yes, we checked this one for traps thoroughly before settling down in it.

Best of all? It's still a part of the forum, right by all the delicious food shops. We haven't felt hungry since we got here, and judging by all the supplies here, we won't again for a very, very long time. Even Chance couldn't fathom leaving this place behind.

Jeanette rustles up some blankets from within the temple's precinct, and we bundle ourselves up to sit by the fire, still giggling breathlessly. The cavernous room echoes with the sound of our laughter and voices as I launch into a hilarious story about my time pranking the orphanage headmistress. Jeanette and Chance listen attentively, huge smiles on their faces, and in this moment, I swear I couldn't be happier. We're cheerful, we're well-fed, we're safe.

Things are really looking up.

Andromeda Eriae, 18, District 2

It's when I hit the wall that I realise maybe, just maybe, I'm going in the wrong direction.

"Fuck." I grit my teeth, stumbling back and rubbing my nose. Yes, I actually hit the wall. What, it's still cloudy, and it's getting dark, and I may or may not have been distracted listing every single thing I hate about this arena in my head. Sue me.

Also, if there was one thing I definitely didn't think I'd find walking down the road, it's a goddam brick wall blocking my path. Even if I didn't pay a lot of attention to my dad's lessons on Ancient Rome, I know enough to know when something's out of place. This shouldn't be here.

My hand brushes against the wall as I walk to the right, looking for an end to the barrier, or at least something of significance. Because it has to be significant in some way—why else would the Capitol put it here? I know what technology they have with their mines and electric force fields; if they wanted to pen in the arena, they wouldn't use bricks.

So if this isn't the end . . . what is it?

I get my answer soon enough. It starts as small, flickering lights I can just barely make out through the rain, but as I approach, I realise they're candles. Candles surrounding an enormous gate.

The brick ends in two towering pillars of pure marble, curving overheard to for an intricately carved arch. Filling the space is an enormous wooden set of double doors made of the finest mahogany, something I highly doubt the actually Romans had access to, with shiny surfaces and curving golden handles.

The most striking feature, however, are the alcoves carved out of the stone surrounding the doors. One, two, twenty in all, I count, and each is home to a small, stubby candle protected from the elements by its stone shelter. Only six are lit though; maybe some rain got in and doused the others?

I don't know why it seems like a good idea, but I can't stop myself from taking out the box of matches I stole from the Ones and striking up a small fire. Keeping the flame sheltered from the rain with my palm, I take it over to the alcove closest to the ground and light the dead candle inside.

The flame catches on the wick instantly, and for one short moment it shimmers brightly in the darkness before an unseen force extinguishes it.

Huh. Cautiously, I touch the tip of the candle's wick—not even hot. Okay then, so there's a reason only six candles are lit.

Six . . . that's the same number as the amount of cannons that have fired so far. But that doesn't make any sense—if these candles are supposed to represent the tributes, wouldn't there be twenty-four instead of twenty?

I kick the wall in confusion (regretting it moments later as my toes begin to throb) and turn to leave this stupid gate behind. Just as I do, however, a loud blast of music has me whirling back around. Did that come from the gate? Dammit, if I've stumbled into another fucking trap . . .

No, idiot, it's the anthem.

Right, I'd forgotten it was about that time. Normally it's not worth paying attention to, but last night revealed the face of that crazy girl from 11, and tonight, we're supposed to see more. The deaths are really picking up—not that I've been of any help with that so far. Can't kill the rebels if I can't fucking find them.

Except it looks like I don't have to. As I look up, first the boy from 3 smiles down at me, then the guy from 7. Both gung-ho members of that stupid rebels alliance, and now both dead as doornails. Just like their other ally from last night.

But who could be taking them out? Riley Byron? No, he made it clear his district partner was his first target.

Vesper, then? I think I remember something about his family supporting the Capitol during the war. But no, he said he was neutral. And besides, he's got that ice queen bitch holding his leash, and as much as I want to see Tesla Sinclair skewered, I have to admit, she's not stupid. She'd never send her attack dog in to take on such a large group.

So Aemilius? I want to believe it was him, if only because it means he's warming up to my idea of teaming up to support the Capitol. Still, last time we, er, chatted, he was more than a bit reluctant to do the logical thing, and something tells me a heel-face turn is not up his alley. Shame, really—allies could bring me one step closer to getting out of here.

. . . But Aemilius Lewellyn wasn't the only guy I had my eye on, was he? Admittedly, he was the only one I really cared about, because the other option was a scrawny, stuttering fourteen-year-old with less backbone than a slug. Yet here we are with three rebels killed, a job impossible for any one fighter considering their numbers. Somehow, these kids would have to have been killed on the sly.

An easy job for an inside man.

Did I really underestimate Arc Malvina so much? He seemed so weak to me, but then, he's a Capitol supporter from 4, and he hasn't been lynched by his rebellious district members. Anyone with our values either runs before they're killed, like me, or they learn to lie pretty damn well. Perhaps Arc is simply a better actor than I gave him credit for. And killer, if I'm right about how the girl from 11 and those idiotic boys with the rhyming names died.

Maybe it's time to let Aemilius stew in his problems alone. Maybe it's time to meet back up with the other boy who shares my beliefs in who the right side is.

I turn to go, but my eyes flit down to the gate once more before I leave, and what I see stops me short. The last bar of music is fading, Volt Tron's face disappearing from the sky, but for a moment, there was enough light to catch what has been carved into the marble above the doors and candle alcoves.

COLOSSEVM

It doesn't make sense at first; my mind blanks at I totally forget the stupid Romans decided every "u" would be a "v" for whatever dumb reason. But then I remember, and I realise exactly where this gate leads.

The Roman Colosseum. I'd figured such an iconic location would play a much bigger role in this game, but perhaps the Capitol is purposely keeping it locked up until the end.

The end . . . six candles lit so far, and twenty in total. When fourteen more fall . . .

Ah. So that's what they have planned for their finale.

Well then, I better make sure the guys accompanying me in there are those on my side.