Says I'm going to update a lot over the break - publishes three chapters then goes on hiatus for another month.

I'm sure you're all tired of my apologies, but I am really, really sorry about this one, guys. This past month at school was positively awful - so much stress, and then after that calmed down, I knew I'd get sick, and I did. Fortunately, that allowed me to take a break, which resulted in this update (in hindsight, this may not have been the best idea - this was written when I was stuffed up and drowsy and loopy on cold medicine, so be warned). I'm not entirely pleased with it, unfortunately, but I figured you guys really deserved an update, so here we are.

I promise, I am definitely planning on finishing this story for anyone still reading. If I follow my current plan, there are about as many (Games) chapters left as there are tributes anyways, so yeah, we are (slowly) nearing the end. For this reason, I wasn't sure if I should make another forum. The old one was deleted, and I know it got a lot of use, but many people seem to have stopped reading, so I was wondering, would the people still around like a new forum? I can create one if so, just let me know in a PM or review.

This is getting obnoxiously long, so I'll stop now. Just know that I'm incredibly sorry for the wait, and immensely grateful to anyone still reading at this point. You guys are seriously perseverant and awesome, thank you!


Arc Malvina, 14, District 4

It'd be so easy.

My eyes dart to my sleeping allies as I pace past them over and over. Despite the loud echoes of my footsteps, not one of them flinches. I've learned enough about Adia to know she sleeps like the dead, while I doubt anything will get Tully up after what happened with Magnus. Even Riri looks lost to the world, sprawled on her back, actually relaxed for once. This is the first time I've seen her sleep in . . . I don't know. Days, probably. Who knows how long we've been down here.

Who knows how much longer we'll be down here. Riley's gone. Don't get me wrong, I'm so, so relieved, but at the same time, I . . . well, after he stopped targeting our alliance and started gunning particularly for Reese, it's horrible, but I didn't have to worry as much. I could sink under the radar and everything would be fine.

Now, though, the biggest threat in this place is that monster. An animal, with no plans, no grudges, and nothing in the way of strategic thinking. It won't target the strongest tributes or the ones it hates, it'll just kill everyone. Like Magnus.

Like me.

Who'd have thought I'd be in danger because my enemy was too stupid to overlook me?

I shudder at the thought, gaze moving from my allies to each of the three tunnels leading away from our position. All empty, but then, it's not like we got a warning last time our world was turned upside down. And there's no kidding ourselves that this time would be better; a monster like that, we can't fight, and eventually we're going to get tired of running.

Andromeda Eriae, though . . . I bet she could beat it. According to the announcer, she didn't kill anyone to get in the final fourteen, but I still think she's one of the scariest tributes in here. Heck, maybe she killed Riley. She seems like the only one capable.

And so my eyes finish the routine I've been repeating for the past who-knows-how-long, jumping from my allies to the surrounding tunnels to the message on the wall. The one I know must have been left by Andromeda, because who else is still for the Capitol at this point?

. . . Me?

No—I don't think I've ever been on their side; at least, not in the conventional way. My parents sided with them because they knew the Capitol would end up victorious, and showing our support was supposed to keep us safe down the road. That didn't exactly work out, so Lizzy and I wound up on the street.

Lizzy.

I try to force thoughts of her out of my head, but with each passing day it gets harder until my stomach twists and the world spins around me and I feel like fainting. My twelve-year-old sister has been alone in 4 now for, what, three weeks? If she's still alive, it's a miracle. If she's not, I've failed her. And my parents.

My fingers find the unassuming necklace I've kept hidden under my tunic, pulling it out for the world to see for the first time since I got into the arena. It's nothing much, just a silver chain and a small lightning bolt charm, but kids at school used to tease me for wearing it, so as a habit I've always kept it under my clothes. I could never bring myself to take it off, though. Not the last gift I got from my father before the war began.

"I gave Lizzy a thundercloud. Can you guess what you're getting, Arc?"

"A . . . normal cloud?"

"A lightning bolt. Because the two of you should always be together. And I know sometimes you feel like people don't see you as much as Lizzy, but that's all right, Arc. You're still the bright, strong big brother who'll always be there to protect his sister."

"I will, Dad! I promise!"

I ruffle a hand through my hair, trying to remember the feeling of Dad doing the same, but the warmth in the gesture is gone. All I feel is the dirt and grease that have become permanent additions to my body. I've been in here too long.

The weight of that thought hits me, and I realise I really have been here too long. And I'm done. It's just like how I felt on the run back in 4, constantly watching out for danger, always on edge that I could be killed next, forever trying to keep my younger sister safe. It was exhausting then, and it's worse now, worse because I've got three sisters, all older than me but apparently still needing me to drag them out of whatever bout of depression or arguments they stumble into every five minutes. The only difference is, we're not really related; I made no promises to my dad or anyone else to keep them safe.

I don't need to stay, and I'm starting to realise I can't stay, not if I want to somehow make it out of here. The Capitol wants the rebels dead, but they wouldn't kill their own supporters. If Andromeda and I teamed up, surely they'd let both of us live.

So I should just leave, go find her, and everything will be all right.

Except then I'll have failed her test.

My eyes scan the old code carved into the wall for the millionth time this evening. Dad taught it to me in secret, hoping its knowledge might endear Lizzy and me to the Capitol should anything happen to him and Mom. He was so thorough in his lessons, there's no way I could be misreading it.

If for Capitol, kill allies.

I slide slowly to the ground, feeling like all the eyes in Panem are on me right now, watching my every move as I struggle, stuck between a rock, a hard place, and a rockier, harder place. If I stay with my allies, I'll most certainly die. If I go to Andromeda without killing them as a show of support, she'll most certainly kill me. And if I do manage to betray them . . .

The worst part is there's no obvious downside. Kill my allies, prove myself to the Capitol, and they should let me glide right to the finish line. Easy peasy. Except no, because consciences are a thing.

Actually, I think the worst part is I don't know if I'm hesitating because I'm genuinely conflicted, or because that's the "right" thing to do.

I tried to be a model kid when I was younger. There was nothing I was all that good at, but if I smiled and was nice to people, they tended to forgive me that. Then the war came, and I changed. I mean, I didn't kill anyone, but my parents' basically sentenced rebels to die in exchange for our safety, and I saw nothing wrong with that. While on the streets with Lizzy, I stole food and clothes that other people probably needed. When I got caught, I told the Peacekeepers an underground group of rebels had forced me to do it, and I gave up a meeting spot Mom and Dad hadn't had time to expose in exchange for my life. Even if I didn't see it happen, even if I wasn't the one with the gun, people died because of me.

There are tears in my eyes at the thought, but my fist remains firmly clenched around my necklace.

I . . . I'd do it again too. To keep me and my sister safe. I knew from the very start of this that I wasn't selfless, or a hero; I've been pretending all along, and it's gotten me nowhere. So it's time to admit who I am, and . . . and d-damn it, it's time to own it.

"Not a hero," I murmur to myself, barely aware I'm drawing the knife in my belt. "Don't need to be a hero. You're a survivor. Just like Riri—"

Oh god. Riri.

Could I really . . . no. No way.

But she's the biggest rebel of all, the only one of us who actively fought against the Capitol during the war.

But I . . . like her.

And am being even more of a selfish idiot than usual. The hand not shakily holding my knife is still clasped around my necklace, the tip of the lightning bolt digging deep into my palm. This is Panem. It's the Hunger Games. Stupid crushes and hormones don't matter here; they shouldn't matter, not more than my sister.

Still, I can't shake the nagging feeling in my mind, or the nauseating one in my stomach as, on my knees, I scooch slowly towards the sleeping girl I once admired so much. Riri Kramer, intelligent, badass, and always prioritising. I think she'd actually approve of this plan, if it didn't involve, you know, her d-dying . . .

No. Can't think about that. Pretend she's another faceless rebel from 4 who needs to die so you can live. After all, what do you really know about her anyway? She's got two parents and five siblings who she hasn't even seen in the past five years. They can take care of themselves. Lizzy can't.

It's scarily easy to rationalise it. The act of killing has to be pretty basic too: raise the knife and, I don't know, stab? Generally in the chest area? Seems like a safe bet. And yet, when I reach Riri's side, I find I can't move any further.

I stare down at her motionless form, eyes closed, one hand under her head like a pillow. My own hand is so slick with sweat, I can barely hold the knife; letting my necklace drop to grip the hilt with two hands doesn't help much either. I feel like I'm going to throw up, which feels completely ridiculous; this is life in Panem, right? You have to do what you have to do.

I try raising the knife, lifting it up high above my head. If I plunge it down, letting gravity do most of the work, then maybe I'll feel better about it. Except, nope, now I'm completely frozen.

The knife tip glints on the upper edge of my vision. I swallow hard. Maybe . . . maybe I could s-start with someone else? I mean, even the Capitol has to accept that this is tough; I've talked with Riri after all. But I've barely spoken to Tully, except when she was yelling at me for letting Magnus go off on his own. She could be a warm-up.

Except no, because Riri would certainly hear the commotion, and then I'd be dead. She's a threat; Adia and Tully, in their states, not so much. It has to be Riri first. Besides, get the toughest one over with, and the rest will be easy. Easy peasy.

"Easy peasy. Easy peasy. Easy peasy."

No matter how many times I whisper it under my breath, it doesn't become any truer. All I can think about is that I've never been this close to Riri before, and her eyelashes are almost blonde, and there's a little scar across her chin, and oh my god, this is a person, what am I doing?

The right thing? Not even close.

This is just . . . the only thing I can do, to keep myself alive. To keep my sister alive.

I jerk my head up and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to replace the image of Riri's face with that of Lizzy's. Then my own. Arc, the selfish, cowardly traitor. That's who you are. Don't pretend you're any different. So do it.

I've accepted that I'm a bad person, I have. My heart aches with the knowledge, but I know what I am.

So why can't I move? It's like my body has entirely shut down; I can't even drop the knife and hope gravity somehow works in my favour. The idea of ending a life—of ending Riri's life—has stopped me in my tracks.

And because I can't do anything that's useful, I start to cry. So, what, I'm even more selfish than I first thought? I'd rather keep some random girl alive than my own sister? Is that it? Am I really that horrible?

. . . Or maybe, just maybe, it's because you care. You care a lot, about a lot of people. You're not selfish, Arc; you're a survivor. And you want to help others survive too.

The words come to me in Riri's voice, inside my head, because apparently I've also gone somewhat insane. In this moment, however, I couldn't care less. The tears stop flowing as I realise inner-thoughts-Riri might just be right. I . . . I do care about her. And Tully and Adia, even though it's scary to admit because it makes me so vulnerable. When they're hurt, I hurt. What was I thinking, wanting to kill them? I want to protect Lizzy too, but not at the cost of others' lives. Not anymore.

My heart swells at the thought, my head growing light and woozy from doing a complete 180˚ in the span of minutes. But I know it's the right thing; even the nausea in my stomach has disappeared, replaced by a sharp pain that can only be from hunger. I can't focus on it; my heart is pounding too fast, and my brain is doing cartwheels from the realisation that for the first time in my life, I didn't take the coward's way out.

My eyes fly open and down to Riri, who, shockingly, is staring back up at me. I don't bother to find this surprising though, too wrapped up in the idea that her words, imaginary or no, just helped me become a better person. She's always seen a side of me that no one else has, and I've never even bothered to thank her for it.

I try to now. Open my mouth to apologise, or praise her, or express my utmost gratitude. Heck, in that moment, I swear the words "I love you" might escape, I'm on such an adrenaline high.

But they don't. Nothing does, except a wad of blood I cough up onto her face.

That . . . shouldn't be there. That shouldn't be there at all.

Neither should the knife sticking out of my stomach.


Tullia "Tully" O'Doyle, 17, District 8

I try to block out the screaming. Just another nightmare, another boy's dying cries to haunt me. And oh look, now I can hear Adia yelling, though I'm not deep enough in the dream to make out what she's saying. No doubt something about how I'm a failure, a terrible leader, not fit to lead, et cetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I get it. I'm a horrible person. I've known for a while now. So leave me alone.

The cannon fire is startles me. I hear plenty of it in my nightmares too, but none so powerful that they shake the whole tunnel around me. Dust trickles down onto my face, tickling my nose and making me sneeze.

. . . That doesn't happen in dreams.

By the time I realise I've got things backwards, that I'm too immersed in unconsciousness to fully register what's going on in reality, it's too late.

I stumble blearily to my feet, blindly grabbing for my knife even though, really, what's the point? If it's the monster from before, then let it kill me. I can't do this anymore.

It takes my eyes what feels like ages to focus on the scene before me. Once they do, however, even I can't help the sick feeling that manages to worm its way through my cloak of misery.

Arc is keeled over facedown on the ground, not even moving to breathe. Blood is pooling in the cracks between the stone, flowing from an unseen wound beneath him.

He . . . He's dead.

And that's only half of the newfound chaos. Mere steps away, both Adia and Riri are on their feet, one red-faced and screaming with fists raised threateningly, the other cold-eyed and tense with a knife in each hand.

"—could you?"

"If I hadn't, he would've—"

"Shut up!"

"Hey!" I shout, out of reflex or shock or whatever impulse I can drudge up from my dry well of motivation. "What the hell's going on?"

Adia rounds on me, her glare no less deadly. "I think that's fucking obvious, Miss Leader. Riri killed Arc!"

"It was self-defence," Riri says, her tone precariously calm. In her eyes, I can see just as big a storm as in Adia's.

Not that Adia notices. "Like hell it was!" she screams, whirling back around to face Riri.

"He was about to stab me."

"Right, Arc, the fourteen-year-old, the guy who's scared of getting hurt from a high five, was going to stab you."

"If you'd just listen—"

"Are you blind? He's been making moony eyes at you for the past week! But yeah, sure, he'd stab you in your sleep."

"Shut UP!"

This time, the command works. Adia's mouth snaps shut, as does mine; I'm nervous and I wasn't even making a sound. I've never heard Riri yell like that.

Nor have I ever seen her flushing with anger, eyes narrowed to threatening slits, her whole body shaking in an effort to stay where she is. Her breaths come loud and fast as she positively snarls in Adia's direction.

"You idiot. Those carvings on the wall? It's a message. To Arc, telling him to kill us in exchange for an alliance with someone else."

Adia shakes her head. "Arc would never—"

"Shut up," Riri repeats, enough venom in her tone to silence Adia. "He evidently would. So I protected myself, and both of you too. I saved us."

"You killed your own ally!" Adia bursts out.

"Only as a last resort."

"Oh, is that your defence?" Adia lets out a scathing, grating cackle that has no right to be called a laugh. "Yeah, right. I bet this was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it? Pick us off one by one until you go home, right? First abandon Katerina and Volt, then kill Bolt, then—"

"What?" Riri snaps. "I didn't kill Bolt."

I swear my heart stops when her eyes dart to me. Adia is too wrapped up in her rant to notice.

"Sure, sure, I'm going to believe you now. Definitely the best time to plead your case with the body of your next victim at your feet. I was willing to give you the benefit of doubt. I thought, 'Hey, it was dark, maybe it was an accident.' But you planned to do it all along, didn't you? You scheming bitch."

"I never even touched Bolt during that fight," Riri replies coldly. "I know how to manoeuvre in the dark."

"But Bolt doesn't, right? Because he's not a trained robot? So he, what, tripped and fell into the pool?"

I need to say something, but I'm frozen, too slow to stop Riri from turning back to me.

"Of course not. Tully killed Bolt."

The silence is even more deafening than when Riri shouted. I can practically hear the blood rushing to my cheeks as Adia turns to look at me, expression slack-jawed and incredulous.

"Tully?"

I have no answer prepared; I kept praying this day would never come. But before I can think up any possible response, Adia completely throws me off by tossing back her head and laughing.

"Tully. Right. That's a good one. But then, this is coming from the girl trying to convince us the fourteen-year-old head-over-heels in love with her was going to stab us all in the back."

There's a muscle twitching by Riri's jaw. "You don't know anything about anyone. Arc was playing us all along. And Tully killed Bolt," she adds over Adia's attempted interruption. "That was so obvious, I thought everyone knew. I assumed you'd already talked about it and made peace."

"Made peace?!" Adia sounds so outraged I can't help but flinch. Even though her words still aren't directed at me, each one lodges in my heart like a knife. "He was my friend. I could never forgive you for—"

"It wasn't me, it was—"

"Like hell I'd ever believe it was Tully!"

"Oh, come on." For the first time, Riri isn't holding back the irritation in her tone, making her sound a lot less like the calm, controlled rebel operative we've gotten used to and a lot more like, well, a regular fifteen-year-old girl. Like Adia.

"You aren't seriously saying you've missed all the signs?" she continues, throwing me a scathing glance that turns my stomach. "The crying, the guilty looks, avoiding you—"

"Yeah, it's called 'feeling bad that someone died.' I know it's not something you understand, but—"

"Please. If that was a normal reaction, why didn't she do that for Katerina? Or Volt? Hell, she hasn't shed a tear over Arc."

"You're one to talk, you sociopathic bitch."

Riri's lips, currently set in a hard line, quirk down into an uglier grimace. Her hands tighten around her knives and for a moment, I genuinely believe she's going to lunge forward and stab Adia. It looks like it's taking all of her resolve to stay where she is and merely point a blade threateningly in Adia's direction.

"You think you're so sure. I'm the bad guy, and you're the good guys who can do no wrong. Then ask her. Ask Tully if she killed Bolt."

My heart twists in my chest. Since Magnus, I've felt like I'm watching myself from outside my body, disconnected, unable to feel anything, but I still sense the old emotions of guilt, disgust and self-loathing creeping up from the pit of my memories. They knock on the walls built up around my heart as Adia turns to me, scoffing, so confident in her knowledge that I'm not at fault.

"Can you believe this? She's trying to get us fighting so we all forget she's the real evil here again. Fool us once, Riri, but not twice. We should have kicked you out of this alliance ages ago, but better late than never, right, Tul—?"

Adia breaks off when she sees my face. I can't imagine what I look like, but I don't have the strength to meet her eyes, and I think that tells her enough.

"Tully?"

Still hopeful, still self-assured.

Then, as the silence grows, ". . . T-Tully?"

Shaky. Hesitant. Doubtful.

I didn't think it was possibly to feel any worse than I did, but surprise, my heart can drop further in my chest. Even after everything that's happened, I knew there was a part of Adia, however small, that admired me, and, as conceited as it is, it's kept me going. I let my family down, I let Kai down, and I let Magnus down, but maybe I could finally do something right with her.

Now she's staring at me like I just stabbed her in the heart.

"Tully . . ." There are tears growing in the corners of her eyes, reflecting the torchlight so it looks like she's crying fire and blood. "Tell me she's wrong. Tell me she's lying."

I want to. My mouth is open to do so, but only the sound of a strangled sob comes out. Seems I've reached my capacity for lies. I can't even hide the truth from myself.

Adia trembles when I fall to my knees, like she's close to following suit, but remains held in place by pure shock. Her fists are shaking, her lips quivering—she's mouthing words she can't seem to manage saying aloud. No looks like the one syllable she's repeating over and over.

My head drops, eyes finding the ground, fiercely intent on watching each tear fall from my cheeks to the stone. I can't look at Adia anymore, but I can feel her gaze on me still, burning holes in through my chest. I wish she could actually do it; I wish she would take my knife and kill me with it. Death can't possibly feel worse than this.

Riri breaks the horrible silence with a surprisingly un-Riri-like sigh. With a start, I jerk my head up to look at her, firmly avoiding the sight of Adia a few feet to her right. Let Riri say something nasty again, please, anything to make Adia stop looking at me like this. Anything to get her yelling again, like usual, instead of staring with such a grief-stricken expression of betrayal.

But all Riri says is, "I . . . I'm sorry. I thought this had already come to light. Bringing it up like this was . . . indelicate. You two need some time alone, I see. I'll go, then. I have some words to speak with the person who left this message."

She nods her head towards the scratches on the wall, then steps forward heading towards the tunnel on the right. Before she can get anywhere, Adia's hand comes down on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

Riri tenses, but doesn't make a move with either of the knives she holds. "Adia—"

"The rebels fight for fairness." She's still staring at me as she talks, even though I'm doing my best to look anywhere but her face. "That's why we started the war. For fairness and justice. Because the Capitol was hurting us and getting away with it. And that's not fair."

Riri sighs again. "Adia, please—"

"You killed Arc. In cold blood. What kind of people would we be if we let you get away with that?"

"Smart people." Riri looks at Adia, trying to get her attention away from me. "Adia, let me go. What happened with Arc was self-defence."

"I don't believe you."

"Then believe me when I say I wouldn't hesitate to do it again, if it meant keeping myself safe." There's a new edge to Riri's voice, sharp like the knives she grips tight in her hands. "I don't want to fight you, but I will if I have to."

Even with the obvious threat hanging in the air, Adia keeps her eyes on me. She looks more than heartbroken now; she's desperate, wordlessly begging for me to come through for her. To prove that I can be the heroic rebel she thought I was.

"Please, Tully," Adia whispers. "What happened with Bolt, it . . . it was an accident, right? You didn't . . . you didn't m-mean it. You're still on our side. And we can still . . . we can still . . ."

Riri shakes Adia's hand off her shoulder with surprising gentleness before turning to me. Her expression is softer now, but she's still holding the knives and poised on the balls of her feet like she's prepared to use them.

"Don't do this," she says, her tone caught somewhere between pleading and commanding. "It's not worth forfeiting your lives. And you would die, if you came at me. I've trained for this, and I won't hold back. But if you walk away, I won't follow you. We can all keep living, and hope we never meet each other again."

"We can't run," Adia says, her fists clenched and shuddering in time with the rest of her body. "The rebels didn't run."

But I did. I hopped on the train out of 8 at the first chance I got, and left my family and friends to die protecting people like me. Then I ran again from the monster while Magnus—Magnus who was forever doubting his courage and strength—stayed behind to let us live. All I do is run, but Adia still thinks I can be more than that.

I want to believe I can be too.

But one look at Riri's dagger, and I remember the corpses in the streets of 8. I remember the cries of the dying lined up before the packed hospital. Then there was Selene being blown up, and Katerina's screams as she was tortured, and Volt's mutilated corpse, and . . . and . . .

I-I can't do it. I don't want to get hurt; I don't want to d-die.

So I run. Pick myself up off of the ground, turn on my heel, and sprint down the tunnel behind me.

I don't even manage to choke out an apology to Adia before I go. Another thing to hate myself for.


Adia James, 15, District 3

I just stand there, staring after Tully's retreating back in silence. Every time I blink, I think she'll reappear before me. Even when she turns a corner and disappears from sight, I'm convinced she'll return as the Tully I first remember seeing onscreen: ginger hair whipping fiercely about her head as she stormed up to the stage for the reapings, eyes narrowed in a hateful glare, chin jutted out proudly in defiance. A bold and beautiful fighter, the perfect rebel, not someone who'd ever run if the going got rough, like I'd done earlier that day on the subway. Here was a girl I immediately idolised—and now there she goes.

I can't even find it in me to be mad; that's the scariest part of all this. Hell, don't I want to run too? Isn't that all I ever do? Isn't that what the rebels did too? When the Peacekeepers came, they ran from district to district until 11 fell too, and then they were caught and killed.

So, there's . . . is there really no point to all this?

"Adia."

I ignore Riri, still watching the tunnel where Tully disappeared. Still waiting for her to come back.

"Adia."

She has to. And then she'll tell me that Riri's lying, that she never killed Bolt, and that of course she's still on my side and we can still win. Against Riri, against the Capitol, against everyone.

"Adia." A hand on my shoulder this time. "You should follow her."

I jerk away from Riri's grip, trying to glare at her, but it feels wrong. Like I'm still trying to play a part for a play that's long over. It was supposed to end with us victorious, or at least defiant in the face of the Capitol's weapons, standing proud as they were forced to execute us and turn us into martyrs. This—killing each other, running away—this isn't the right ending.

"Go," Riri says, nodding down each of the tunnels. "After Tully or your own way, I don't care. I'll avenge Arc, don't worry."

"Avenge him? You're the one who killed him."

My heart is numb, but I still get a small, sick sense of pleasure at watching Riri frown. Like if I can at least prove I'm not the worst person here, everything will somehow be all right.

"The person who wrote that message killed him when they convinced him to kill us," Riri says, looking way more adamant than she sounds. "I'm going to set things right. Besides, they're for the Capitol. I thought you'd want them dead."

I should, but then, I don't know what I want anymore.

Really, what I used to want was to make a difference. I thought that meant being a rebel. But what has our alliance of rebels managed to achieve over the course of these Games? Nothing except dying and killing each other. The Capitol's still in power. The Hunger Games are still going on. Bolt's still dead.

It's never going to change, is it?

Ironically, the only one still under that delusion is Riri.

"Killing the Capitol supporter isn't going to make killing Arc okay," I say, once again revelling in the awful satisfaction that comes from worsening someone's mood until they feel as bad as me. "And you know it. I can see your guilt, Kramer, and you know what? It's not going to go away. Not if you kill every last person in the Capitol. Not even if you get to go back to Four after all of this. You're still going to have to live with the fact that you didn't think twice about murdering a boy who considered you a friend."

Riri's lips twist into a scowl. Her hand rises, and in that moment, I swear she's going to kill me. I think, without realising it, I've just dared her to do it.

I don't even know if the thought scares me anymore.

Before I can figure it out, however, Riri's hand drops. She keeps both knives pointed down as she spins around and strides off down the tunnel behind her, just to the right of the one Tully took. Without turning back to look at me, she calls out, "I'm choosing to spare you. But mark my words, if you do come after me, I will kill you."

The part of me filled with reckless, spiteful abandon wants to test that theory. Honestly, I come this close to chasing after her. But my feet make my decision for me; seems after all this time, I'm still the same Adia who ran from trouble on that subway car.

Riri disappears from view as I turn around and take the third tunnel out of the intersection, now friendless, weaponless, and completely devoid of hope.


Riri Kramer, 15, District 6

I listen to the racing, retreating footsteps and release a silent sigh of relief. Adia's left me alone—good. Not that I'm not positive I could beat her in a fight; I am, actually, which is what had me so worried.

Arc's eyes above me, innocent and happy. In pain and in tears when he realised I'd stabbed him.

I grit my teeth, clenching the hilts in my hands until my palms ache. What happened with Arc was not my fault. He was going to kill me; he had a knife in his hands and everything. It's sad and regretful, yes, but I did what I had to do.

So how come all I can think about is that time he hugged me and cried on the rooftop?

He'd been making moony eyes at you, Adia said. Of course I noticed that, I'd be a fool not to. He was head-over-heels in love with you, she also said. But that couldn't have been true. Arc may have been an idiot, but he was smart enough to survive in 4 for two years on his own; you don't manage that by falling in love with random strangers.

The thought of where he's from hits me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't had the time to think about it, but . . . I killed someone from 4. From my home. What will they say about me when I go back there? Will they understand? Or will they be disgusted? Will they call me a Six, for being so needlessly violent against someone from my own district?

Soren had said I fit in perfectly with their mentality, back when he was still alive. He jeered at me that I was more merciless and hardened to violence than he ever could be. I ignored him, of course, but now here I am in a fight to the death, one of twelve—no, eleven—tributes remaining, while he was the first to die. What does that say about me? Have I really grown so accustomed to living in a world of violence?

Once again, my eyes find the tattoo of District 4's crest on the back of my hand, the only token I'll ever need. No, that's who I am: Riri Kramer, the girl from 4. Not 6. I adapt to survive, yes, but that doesn't mean I've changed permanently. I'll still go back to who I am, once the danger has passed and I can be myself again. I'd never have killed Arc under normal circumstances. I . . . I had to. It was the only course of action available, but contrary to what Adia said, I do feel bad about it.

And I'll prove it. I'll make things right. I'll kill the one who left the message to avenge Arc. Because I am a Four, not a Six, and I respect my fellow district members.

"I am a Four," I whisper, letting my eyes linger on my tattoo. "I am a Four."


Andromeda Eriae, 18, District 2

I haven't been able to sit down since the cannon, even though I'm trying not to get myself worked up. One cannon means nothing; anyone could have died. What I'm waiting for is three cannons in rapid succession. Then I'll know Arc Malvina got my message. This is just another random death, I'm sure of it.

Still, I can't help but pace back and forth across the rectangular cavern, twirling my sword anxiously in my hand. By the grace of the gods (or, more likely, the Gamemakers), I've managed to find my way back to the place where we were first plunged into the Labyrinth. It's here that I'll wait for Malvina to find me, provided he comes alone and proved himself by killing off his rebel allies first.

I'm expecting a lot of a fourteen-year-old, I know, but stranger things have happened. I was thirteen when the rebels killed my parents, and I managed to both stay alive and keep my brother safe as well. Same situation as Malvina, except I was a year older. He's been doing this since he was twelve; he'll pull through. That cannon could have been for his first victim.

Or it could have been for Lewellyn, I suppose. There haven't been any other cannons since I left him to the Ones, and there's no way he could have gotten out of that situation alive.

I refuse to believe I feel a twinge of regret at the thought of him dying. Nope, I'm not doing this again—Aemilius Lewellyn is a stubborn rebel ass, not my fucking brother. Comparing the two of them was a mistake, and not one I'll make again.

Not that I'll ever have the occasion to do so. The cannon that sounded, it had to be for him. The Ones took their sweet time with his death, I guess—they seem like the kind of twisted fucks who'd do that sort of thing—but in the end, they had to finish him. Not my problem; I've already thrown my lot in with Malvina.

Hours feel like days in this sunless hellhole, and I spend ages pacing back and forth waiting for the anthem until finally I decide the Gamemakers have decided to screw with us and not play the faces of the dead for today. Whatever, right? I already know who's kicked the bucket.

Of course, at that exact moment the first note of Panem's anthem blares, making me jump a foot in the air. Fucking hell, I can't believe that always gets me.

I pick up my sword from where I dropped it, internally scolding myself for being such a wuss, then look up to double check that I'm right. The sight of a face on the ceiling that isn't Lewellyn's stops me in my tracks.

Shit.

I slide my sword slowly back into its sheath, my sigh mingling with the quiet screech of metal as Arc Malvina's face slowly fades from the stone tiles. Well, there goes that plan. Fuck. Extra double fuck because I'd forgotten how young the kid looked, and seeing him staring down at me from underneath floppy brown bangs hasn't done anything good for my muddled conscience. I helped to kill him, after all. He had to have died from screwing up the murders of his allies; it's too much of a coincidence otherwise.

Suck it up, princess. This is Panem, and you're a Red Rose—you don't get to have a fucking conscience.

I take a long, deep breath and exhale through my nose. All right, Plan B. Which I haven't come up with yet, but it should probably involve me getting the hell out of dodge. Whoever got the jump on Malvina might be able to read Capitol code, or Malvina could have spilled the beans before he died that I'd be waiting for him here. Not that this maze isn't hell to navigate, but I have a feeling if the end result promised to be bloody, the Gamemakers would help whomever find their way here. I need to move.

Or . . . do I?

Fighting's what they want to see in here, after all, and so far, all I've done is kick Aemilius Lewellyn around a few times. No killing because I could never find anyone, or else I'd get too damn sentimental about my victims.

Not this time, though. Whoever killed Malvina killed the nearest thing to a Capitol supporter this arena has besides me. That makes them my number one enemy, especially if I want to get in the Capitol's good books. And if they're coming here, then why run? Why tire myself out when I could wait for them to personally deliver themselves to my door? It's a kill practically gift-wrapped for me. Even if it's all three of Malvina's old rebel allies coming for me, I doubt they'd be a problem. I'm wary of the girl from 6, but from what I've observed of the other two, it'd be generous to label their threat level "minimal." This really is the perfect situation.

I sit, cross-legged, in the middle of the room, laying my sword delicately across my lap. Surrounding me are eight gaping holes in the walls leading out to dark tunnels, any of which could hold my approaching opponent. For the moment, they're all silent.

So I wait.