Day Five

Milo Tesla — 9:00 AM

Milo almost smiles when he wakes up and notices that Jonas's soft brown curls are brushing against his chin. Almost, because he suddenly remembers that the little boy sleeping next to him, huddled like a little brother, isn't a member of his family, and that he has only known him for the past couple of weeks. And, most importantly, that they will eventually have to face the possibility of splitting up and ending their alliance, because Milo cannot bear the thought of hurting him, but he knows that they're too far into the Games for an alliance to work.

They are down to the Final Ten, and Milo knows what that means better than anyone else. It means that the Careers will become even more ruthless, and that even those who felt more reluctant towards the idea of killing other people may even begin to consider the possibility of doing so if it means getting to go home in the end. Hell, Milo himself has been racking his head about it ever since he realized he stood a solid chance at winning — and, for the first time since the Games began, he wonders what he's going to do if it's down to him and Jonas. Would he let the boy kill him? He would never be able to kill a twelve-year-old who reminded him so much of his little sister Margot, and he doesn't think Jonas capable of hurting him, either. He's a healer, not a killer; his childish soul may have been tarnished by the Hunger Games, but he knows that at the end of the day he is but a sweet, caring twelve-year-old who always puts other people's well-being in front of his own. He took care of Ted until his last dying breath, and he has been nothing but a loyal friend and ally to Milo ever since the Games began.

He just sighs and rubs his eyes, guiltily realizing what the Games have turned them all into.

"Hey, Jo," he pats the boy's shoulder gently. "I think we should get some breakfast and then try and fetch some stuff from the abandoned market we found yesterday."

"Hm." Jonas cracks an eye open and offers Milo a little, sleepy smile. "Okay, but I wanna go see what's inside the abandoned temple first, all right?"

Milo sighs. They have been camping inside a colossal church ever since Ted died — he has always found it a little creepy, with its walls crammed with ancient paintings and Baroque-looking statues hovering above them, but they had both gathered that it would be the safest place to establish themselves in after having spent the last few days wandering through the streets of the Arena. The stylish architecture and the complex disposition of the place intrigues Milo to no end — he doesn't know whether it is an exact replica of an ancient city that had served as an inspiration for this year's Gamemakers, or if they had simply tossed them into the remnants of one of those cities that had been destroyed by the nuclear war that preceded the creation of Panem. Either way, Milo had never seen anything quite as stunning as the half-chapel, half-palace that they had been living in for the past couple of days, and he feels thoroughly impressed by the amount of detail that the Gamemakers have thrown into it this year. It is a Quarter Quell, after all, Milo tells himself as he pushes his specs up, marveling at the painting of a man touching another man's hand with his index finger on the ceiling above them.

He even smiles a little when Jonas offers him half a cookie. "So much for a healthy breakfast, right?"

"Mom and Dad would always say that breakfast's the most important meal of the day," Jonas explains as he munches on the cookie — slowly, relishing on every bite, trying to trick his stomach into thinking that he is eating a whole meal instead of a mere digestive cookie. "I hope they're proud of how we've been doing so far. I think they'd really, really like you, honestly."

"Do you?" Milo smiles a little at the idea of getting to meet his younger friend's parents, of letting them know that he owes the boy his life and his sanity as of right now. He tries to avoid the grim thought of meeting them during his Victor tour, hugging a devastated mother and shaking an equally upset father's hand. He tries to shake the thought off immediately, and adds, "Margot would really like you, too. Now that I think about it, you'd make a great brother-in-law, you know. I'd be more than happy to set you two up."

Jonas pulls a face at him, visibly disgusted by the idea of marrying his friend's sister — or anyone at all, for that matter — and then shakes his head vigorously.

"That's gross," he states, brushing a few crumbs off his shirt before standing up. "I'm never getting married. Supposing I get to grow old at all, of course."

"Hey, don't say that." Milo frowns, realizing that his ally is just as acutely aware of the position that they're currently in as he is. He stands up and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He is almost a foot taller than Jonas, and the gesture comes off as both endearing and even a little threatening. "You've got to fight, all right? Remember what Ted told us — we've got to do whatever it takes to make it back alive."

"Yeah, but if I live, you die, when you're the one who saved me from dying in the Bloodbath to begin with," Jonas replies, a sad smile on his face. "I just don't think that's fair, honestly."

Milo gulps, lowering his gaze quietly. Jonas's implacable logic leaves him both disheartened and upset, and he quietly wishes that he would act a little more like his past self — careless, optimistic, childishly enthusiastic about everything that surrounds him. He is an entirely different person now, and that is precisely why Milo knows that there is no talking him out his newfound pessimism. He just gives the boy's shoulder a very gentle squeeze before grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, expecting Jonas to do the same thing with his.

"All right then," he declares finally, sighing quietly. "I'm gonna head south and try to find some supplies by the river, all right? You can either stay here or head up north and try to do the same. Either way, let's meet by the old church that we found on our way here by, say, four or five in the afternoon?"

"Sure," Jonas nods quietly, then offers Milo the faintest of smiles — probably knowing that his ally needs it more than he does right now. He wraps his arms around Milo and hugs him tightly, whispering, "Thank you for everything, Mi."

Milo's heart breaks when he realizes that Jonas has just used the very nickname that Margot had coined for him when they were little, and he has to fight back the tears when the boy trots off, waving him goodbye.

He will see him later, he reminds himself as he makes his way down the marble staircase, and everything will be fine.

It has to be, because Milo may never recover from it otherwise.

Mercia Hollis — 11:30 AM

"I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FUCKING LET HIM GO."

"I didn't let him go, for fuck's sake — I'm just as surprised as you are. Just keep your tone down, will you?"

Mercia is fuming, red with anger and reeling around the Cornucopia. She hadn't given Evander's absence much thought at first when she woke up earlier that day — until she realized that Marius was supposed to be tied up somewhere close, and that the boy was nowhere to be seen. Seething with anger, she had confronted Celeste right away, only to find out that the girl had come back shortly after the daily Capitol announcement, with Evander and Marius and chunk of their supplies already gone.

"What if they killed each other or something?" Celeste offers vaguely, shrugging her shoulders. Mercia can't believe the way she seems to care so little about what has happened; she can even sense that she feels a little pleased by their third ally's sudden absence. When Mercia scowls at her, Celeste just rolls her eyes, her fingers gripping the handle of one of her knives discreetly. "What do you want me to say, Mercia? I don't give a shit whether Evander's gone or not. The less mouths to feed the better, honestly."

"But he took our fucking supplies with him!" Mercia spits back, pointing her index finger right at Celeste's face. "I was asleep, and you were in charge of them."

"Look, I'm not your fucking babysitter," Celeste counters, taking her knife out and swiftly placing it underneath Mercia's chin. "Understood? You told Evander to take care of our supplies, and I guess the kid just got pissed, killed Marius because he didn't want the kid to suffer, and then scurried off before I came back."

"Fuck off," Mercia replies, gripping the handle of her sword threateningly. "You know as well as I do that the cannon would have woken me up if he had actually been killed. That or the aircraft that comes and collects the corpses once they're dead."

"And what exactly do you want me to do, Mercia? They're gone either way, and this is getting pretty fucking exhausting, if you ask me."

"Shut the fuck up," Mercia breathes. Finnick has told her time and again that the Capitol sponsors heavily dislike tributes who cuss, but she couldn't care less about them — she is furious, and Celeste is the only person that she can take it out with right now.

She pushes the girl away a bit too violently, Celeste's knife scraping the tip of her chin. Celeste just stares at her, not quite believing what her only ally has just done, then suddenly jabs her knife into Mercia's shoulder.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Mercia screams, letting out a loud howl of pain and forgetting about Marius and Evander and even the Hunger Games for a second. She gulps hard before unsheathing her sword and throwing several jabs at Celeste. The girl manages to dodge them swiftly, and Mercia even lets out a little frustrated scream when she playfully toys around with another knives in an almost threatening way. Mercia doesn't recognize the feeling at the bottom of her gut at first, but she grimaces in horror when she realizes that she's feeling scared — scared of dying, scared of not winning, scared of the possibility of having tricked herself into thinking that she was good enough to do this when, in reality, she was nothing but a mediocre, pampered little girl from District Four.

She just aims her sword at Celeste's abdomen and pierces it hard and fast, smiling a little when the girl lets out an unexpected yet surprisingly pleasing scream of pain as she falls to her knees. Mercia laughs a bit too loudly as her ally contorts in front of her and tries to stop the bleeding, her vision blurring with every second that goes by, and she even takes a seat in front of her before extracting the knife from her own shoulder, grimacing at the sight of her own shoulder blade underneath all the flesh that has been ripped open by Celeste's knife.

"God, that looks pretty awful," she mumbles to herself distractedly, mentally going through their remaining supplies — she gathers that there's enough iodine and bandages for her to take care of it after Celeste dies, and clenches her teeth and offers her former ally an exaggeratedly big smile as the girl's face contorts in pain.

"Fuck you — " Celeste mutters, her eyelids looking all heavy all of a sudden. The girl clutches her abdomen before adding, "I hope Evander gives you hell."

Mercia just laughs distractedly and even hoots a little when the cannon signals Celeste's death, and gives her dead corpse a little kick in the stomach before heading back to their supplies in order to find their first aid kit. When she realizes that she is finally on her own, the girl can't help but grin in sheer satisfaction. Perhaps it was for the best, she tells herself, since Celeste had essentially become useless at that point.

"Fucking finally," she mumbles to herself, before unscrewing a bottle of iodine that Evander had decided to leave behind.

Fred Blake — 4:00 PM

Fred hasn't been feeling great as of lately. Eddie's death was a harsh blow for the two of them, and Marius's disappearance has kept them on edge for the past couple of days — they ultimately resolved that it was best to let go and try to survive on their own, as egotistic as it may have sounded in Fred's otherwise relentlessly just ears; he had quickly realized that their supplies were running short and that he had to protect Florence above anything else, and that was ultimately why they left what had been their campsite until then. He has been giving their relationship a lot of thought as of lately — not because he questions the nature of it, since he came to terms with the idea of not growing old with her a long time ago, but rather how things would work if they were to become the last remaining tributes. He knows that the Capitol isn't taking the star-crossed lovers bullshit anymore, but the possibility of them being able to survive together comes back every now and then, nagging him from time to time. He imagines living a peaceful life with Florence by his side, in the Victors Village, taking care of their loved ones and getting to grow old together. It saddens him to think that he will never really get to know Florence, not in the way he would know her after a life or at least a decent, long-term relationship with her, and he wishes they had a lifetime ahead of them instead of a mere handful of days. It is painful to even think about it, but Fred has come to the conclusion that he would very much rather make sure she got to live a fulfilling life on her own, even though he knows fully well that her survival would immediately rule out his odds at winning and getting to go home.

He has acted extremely self-consciously ever since they got to the Arena, but he can't help but squeeze Florence's hand tightly as the two of them walk together. When she turns around and offers him a questioning smile, he just places his hands on her cheeks and gives her a long, quiet kiss on the lips, like the ones they shared before the Games as they sat together and stargazed from the rooftop of the Training Center.

Florence smiles against his lips, her eyes still closed after Fred pulls away. "What was that for?"

He shrugs, a meek smile playing on his lips. It hasn't been a sad kiss, not really, but the possibility of it being their last almost make him grimace.

"I just felt like it," he replies finally, before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He lets out a little cough, which makes Florence frown — he has been doing that a lot as of lately, probably due to the water shortage or the way they have been rationing their food to a worrying extreme for the past couple of days. Florence frowns worriedly and touches the back of her hand to his forehead, and Fred just laughs and pulls her closer. "God, you're acting like my mom right now."

"I'm just worried," she replies, biting her lower lip. "Are you feeling all right? We can go back if you don't feel up to this, you know. There's only nine of us left, they probably wouldn't even know where to find us even if they tried."

"No, it's better if we keep moving around, at least for now." Eddie's death has scarred them both deeply, and the idea of staying put and being ambushed by the Careers makes Fred's insides churn in dismay. He shakes his head quietly, then nods his head towards the end of the cobbled street that they have been navigating for the past half hour or so. "Is that a — a river?"

"Oh!" Florence brightens up instantly. "Is it? Oh, I hope it is!"

The two of them hurry to the riverbank, marveling at the sight of the body of water in front of them. It probably isn't safe to drink from it, but Fred still grins at the sight of little fishes swimming underneath the crystal-clear water — he isn't a great fisher, but he is almost sure that they will be able to catch a couple of them if they try hard enough.

"I can't believe there's fishes and everything!" Florence exclaims, a delighted smile plastered on her face as she kneels down to stare at the little fishes, prodding one of them gently with a stray stick. "This is great, Fred!"

"It is," he agrees, a half-smile on his face. He looks down at Florence and the little fishes swimming around her stick with a fond smile, wishing that he could stay right there and then forever, instead of returning to the Games's brutality.

That is, until a sharp cry pierces through the air, making them both jump with a start and scurry underneath the bridge. They have learned to run and hide over the past few days, and they will be taking no risks at this point of the Hunger Games.

"What was that?" Florence whispers, huddling closer to him. She squints around in the darkness, trying to figure out what is going on. Fred just motions for her to remain silent, and the girl ducks her head and presses her eyes closed.

He recognizes a young male voice, pleading for someone else's mercy. Jonas, he quickly thinks. The other remaining boys — Marius, Milo, and Evander, if the cannon shot that they had heard earlier that day hadn't signalled one of them off as dead — are older and have much deeper voices. It horrifies him to think that someone may be about to kill little Jonas in the same taunting way that the Careers had killed Eddie a few days ago; he closes his eyes and hugs Florence close, letting out a quiet whimper when a loud thud ensues after couple of minutes of panting and fighting. A cannon is heard shortly afterwards, and Fred only realizes that he is crying when Florence points it out in a faint whisper.

"Oh," he replies, rubbing his eyes quietly. "They're — I sometimes feel like they genuinely want us to go insane."

Florence just hugs him closer and presses a silent kiss to his forehead. "I know. But we've got to stay strong, all right?"

Fred lets out a sigh, but eventually nods his head silently. The two of them stay huddled together underneath the bridge for the next ten minutes or so, and Fred only decides to slide back to the street when he is almost certain that whoever attacked Jonas is long gone. He offers Florence his hand, and the two of them crawl back to the surface together, their expressions as somber as they had been the night that they found Eddie's mutilated body near the fire that he and Marius had started while they went looking for food.

Fred has to close his eyes when he spots Jonas's dead body floating down the river, his light brown curls grazed only by stray leaves and sticks like the one Florence had wielded only seconds before they heard his first scream.

Tee Reynolds — 8:00 PM

Tee manages to scurry out of Mercia's sight by a mere few seconds, and she just pants and even cries a little as she hugs her knees and hides her face, refusing to give the Capitol the pleasure of seeing her cry.

She doesn't know who has died today, but she has counted two cannon shots, which means that they're down to the Final Eight. She had never thought she would make it this far, and she still can't quite believe she may even stand a solid chance at going home — she knows there's nothing she can do against Mercia or Celeste or even the huge but apparently good-hearted boy from One, but she begins to consider the possibility of letting them kill each other off while she simply watches and hopes for the best. She knows it's a bit lowly of her, and that the Capitol simply doesn't want a plain twelve-year-old with a somewhat clean conscience to become the Victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell, but they will inevitably have to suck it up and accept her if it happens. She allows herself to imagine how her Victor interview would go — Octavius would ask her all about Arya and the brief time that the two girls had spent together in the Arena; Tee, in spite of having loathed her only ally with all her heart for most of their alliance, would tell tales of sudden kinship and even a loose friendship. She would visit Arya's friends during her Victor tour, and she would give them some money for them to get by. And, above anything else, she dreams of going home and showing her little brother into their flamboyant new home at the Victors' Village — she even allows herself to imagine the expression of genuine delight in Lex's big green eyes, and she smiles at the idea of being able to send him back to school and watch him become the studious, gentle boy that he undoubtedly would have been if it hadn't been for their parents' untimely passing. She may even consider the possibility of going back to school herself, she realizes, and she smiles at the idea of a life of luxury and relaxation, her only job being mentoring a couple of kids for a few weeks a year. She could read, she could paint, she could idly watch the days roll by with no worries other than looking decent enough for the Reaping and telling the poor kids from Eight who were reaped in the future Hunger Games that their chances were slim, but that they could make it just like she had. It is all laid out and well within her grasp by now, she realizes as she fiddles with the zip of her jacket.

She can't believe she's enjoying the possibility of becoming another piece in the Games's wicked machinery, but the idea of surviving is the only thing that can keep her going right now.

She looks up at the sky when the Panem anthem echoes through the Arena. She doesn't know who died today, and it saddens her to see little Jonas's face up in the sky; at least until she realizes that he wasn't that little and that the two of them were, in fact, the same age up until he died. Tee can't quite wrap her head around the fact that she's only twelve years old — she feels as though she has lived through an entire lifetime already, and she promptly realizes that there's a certain tiredness to living that only an extremely ancient person would feel under normal circumstances, and that she has been feeling for a while now. She hugs her legs closer and gapes at the sky when Celeste's face appears above her; the image of the District One tribute hovers tauntingly over the Arena for a few seconds, then disappears when Tee least expects it. She had always thought that Celeste would be their year's victor — she was a decent killer, but not an overly vicious one; a natural-born leader, but also an empathetic girl who knew that there was no reason why she should keep her fellow tributes from dying as quickly and as decently as possible. And yet she is dead now, and Tee isn't. Not yet, at least. And there's only seven tributes standing between her and the possibility of growing old, of seeing her little brother again, of living a fulfilling life in which she will be free to do whatever she pleases. Or at least that was what she thinks will happen once the Games are over; the victor goes home and lives a life of self-discovery and relaxation, trying not to think about the Games and everything that had happened in them. In spite of being an extremely mature twelve-year-old, Tee's imagination can only go so far in that sense — there is an entire layer to darkness, ruthlessness and disappointment that she hasn't discovered just yet, and the idea of a life outside the Arena is more than enough for her as of right now.

Tee licks her lips, her eyes darting around for a potential source of water. Her lips are cracked and she has been feeling a little weak as of lately, but she decides that she will take care of it tomorrow — she is too exhausted to try and figure out what her next moves will be, and she huddles into a dark corner of the alley that she has decided to sleep in tonight. She clutches her crystal knife against her chest and closes her eyes shut, thinking of home and little Lex and the way he will grin and hug her and even cry a little when — if — she makes it home, and she almost feels as though she can touch his rosy cheeks with the tips of her fingers already, if only for the briefest seconds. It's every man for himself now, after all.

Girl, she corrects herself before falling asleep. It's every girl for herself now, and she is about to prove the remaining tributes what she is worth.

DUN DUN DUN. Who killed Jonas? And why? Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. I really can't believe we've made it this far already — we're down to the Final Eight and I honestly have no idea who's gonna win? I've been toying around with three or four different scenarios, but I really don't know what's going to happen next — I'd planned everything up to the Final Ten, then thought I'd rather follow my instincts and improvise who died from there onwards. I hope you liked this chapter, though!

Fallen tributes so far:

24. Sansa Winter (District 3)

23. Dorian Galter (District 8)

22. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6)

21. Casireida Lye (District 11)

20. Cain Lewis (District 11)

19. Elizabeth Starr (District 12)

18. Agnes Colman (District 9)

17. Dorcas Findlay (District 2)

16. Kai Anderson (District 4)

15. Arya Wolf (District 5)

14. Ted Berninger (District 9)

13. Eddie Thame (District 7)

12. Seamus Hay (District 12)

11. Drew Coleson (District 6)

10. Celeste Duval (District 1)

9. Jonas Slaine (District 5)

Remaining alliances & tributes:

• Evander Luxx (D1M)

• Marius Harlowe (D2M)

• Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M)

• Milo Tesla (D3M)

• Mercia Hollis (D4F)

• Emmaline MacArthur (D10F)

• Tee Reynolds (D8F)