.

Everybody lately wanna hunt shit down, but all I want do is just shut shit down.

Arden Chimalis, 15, District Six Male

"Foggy day today."

Aston and Cedric hum in response, neither of them looking up at me despite my numerous attempts to engage in small talk. Something's changed here; a shift in dynamic, an uncomfortable tension where just yesterday everything was convivial and fine. Maybe Annie's death contributed. Maybe Aston's finally come to the realization that Cedric's too shifty for our own good.

I have my own thoughts about him, and suspicions that I'm unsure whether or not I should bring up to Aston. At this point in the arena, with an ally down and our former interactions marred by this jolt of reality, is it even worth it to try and isolate our third member? In a certain way, it feels wrong. Almost like I'm betraying this alliance before we truly got a chance to shine. But on the other hand, speaking up once more about my suspicions could save us from another imminent issue.

I stand, watching as neither boy pays much attention to me. "Aston, do you want to pick fruit with me?"

He gets to his feet and nods, offering a tentative smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Cedric on the forest floor, messing around with his medical kit, doesn't pay much notice. He knows that we were never close. My extended offer to only Aston isn't anything surprising to him.

Aston follows me a good distance away to the plum tree we discovered earlier this morning. The claw marks on his face are beginning to pucker and scab over; with a strange feeling, I'm glad that at least Cedric could heal that. Especially since he failed Annie. "These look good," Aston murmurs, reaching up to snag a particularly plump plum.

Immediately I drop the nice-guy façade. "Are you okay?" I ask.

He looks up, confused. "What?"

"Are you okay?" I repeat. "You've seemed so very off ever since this morning. Like something changed. What changed?"

"Excuse the sudden candor, but our ally died, Arden," he says gruffly. "I'm still processing the fact that things are suddenly not going to go at all where we expect them to." Our eyes lock ever so briefly, and his gaze drops. "Annie's dead. It's quite hard to put your mind to."

I shrink a bit, watching as he reaches up to pluck a plum. "I know," I murmur back. "I'm sorry for prying."

I watch his eyes as he cradles the small plum in his hand, wishing I could pick his mind apart. Does he have suspicions against Cedric too? I wonder. No matter how many tears he can shed over Annie's sudden death, I'm not fully convinced he was innocent in her downfall. The fact that he woke neither of us up when the cannon sounded was telling; the matter of him allowing a corpse to find eternal rest on his shoulder speaks volumes. I can't lay a finger on it, but I sense immense trouble from our ally from Seven.

Aston shakes his head. "Don't be, you've no reason to be. Sorry I'm dealing with it a bit differently than expected. I guess I'm just reconsidering my place in this alliance and where I want to take myself as we delve further into the Games."

"I beg your pardon?"

His mouth turns downward in a grim line. "Loyalties, alliances, relationships with expiration dates, how useful we are and what we provide to one another," he sighs. "I've confided in you before how we all have some sort of use. I thought it was in our best interest to keep everyone alive for as long as possible, but such things aren't possible in the arena. I guess at this point, now that I'm forced into the realization that all usefulness here comes to abrupt ends, whose lives are worth saving more than others."

Some lives are worth saving more than others. So Aston is engaged in a moral dilemma of whose lives are worth more, which innocent kids here have more of a right to survive. I'm about to ask him to delve deeper, to elaborate, when Cedric suddenly rushes up to us with a tenacity and urgency that I've never seen from him before. "Trouble," he spits out.

Aston's ears perk up like a rabbit sensing a predator. "Trouble?"

Cedric can do nothing but turn, shaking, flinging a finger to the trampled plants in his wake.

There stands the lanky boy from Eleven, looming.

Voitsekh Nazeryan. My mind flashes. I've never interacted with him before, barely crossed his path back in the Capitol. A loudmouth, cracked one too many jokes for his own good from what I can remember. But he was a standout - a threat in that he had close ties to the threats from Twelve. I'm unsure of what happened after their fiasco on the last day of training, after Cerico's outburst. Judging by the way Voitsekh trembles, and the way he stands completely alone, sword dragging on the ground beside him, I can only assume that it wasn't in his favor.

Fuck.

"What do we do now?" I hiss out to no one in particular.

Aston ignores me. "Foggy day today," he calls out, mirroring my former words. In my peripheral, I watch his hand dip into his pocket, clutching the hilt of his knife.

Voitsekh watches us all carefully. "A bit too gloomy for my tastes," he answers curtly. "I would much prefer more sunshine. Surely it'd prevent me from stumbling into random tributes when I'm just trying to hunt down an afternoon snack."

"Lucky you stumbled upon us, then." I nod my head toward our plum tree. "We've got more food than we could ever need. And lucky for you, we were just leaving."

I couldn't predict any of what happens next, from Voitsekh lunging forward with a snarl to the sudden hand on my back that shoves me forward, propelling me to collide with the newcomer. A shriek emerges from my lips as we crash into each other, and intensifies as I feel the crook of his arm hook my neck to draw me closer. My mind whirls as my hands desperately claw to get free, one thought on my mind: who pushed me?

Voitsekh twirls to face my allies, both looking shell-shocked and terrified as he bares his teeth. "Things can't stay the same," is all he utters, drawing the sword dangerously close to my abdomen. I whimper, flailing like a fish out of water in a mad attempt to break free.

"A-Arden," Aston gasps out, knife wavering in hand.

Cedric grabs his hand, pulling him in the opposite direction. "No," Aston shrills, making a move to run closer to me, but the blade that Voitsekh brandishes in front of him makes him shrink back in fear.

"Come any closer with that knife and I'll end him right in front of you," Voitsekh warns. "I doubt you want to watch your ally become a gutted fish."

"Please," I choke out, tears pricking at my eyes, blurring my vision. "Please, guys."

It's with bleary eyes that I watch the conflict in Aston's eyes as he mulls over his newfound moral dilemma; it's with tears streaming down my face that I watch Cedric grab his hand and bolt in the opposite direction.

A creaky gasp leaves my throat. My body goes limp as Aston's eyes well up in sorrowful tears, mouths something I can't make out, and his feet move to follow Cedric the snake. Their shrinking figures become swallowed by the mist and greenery. My one ally that I thought to be true, my friend since the start, the kid who climbed trains with me, the boy from home, the only one who could fully understand the struggles we endured back in Six… has betrayed me.

Voitsekh's grip on me tightens as we stare out at my two allies, bounding away over fallen logs and greenery. In an instant, he pushes me forward, to the ground. My skull smacks against a rock, and I groan.

Within seconds he's managed to pin me down, straddling my chest with a sword to my neck. "Guess that your allies turned on you, too," he breathes.

I blink hard, trying to abandon the tears that insist on falling. "I… I…"

He snorts at my stammers, pushing the blade closer to my neck. I feel its sharpness dig into my skin and gnash my teeth to avoid a pathetic sounding whimper. "I'm sorry to do this," he mutters out. "In another world we could have never known each other. But when allies turn on allies and nothing is real anymore… things can't stay the same."

All it takes is a single push of the blade, his unsteady eyes piercing mine as he drives the sword forward. I feel the skin of my neck ripping open, my windpipe slowly being crushed, a sickening sluice of veins and tissue squelching as the sword digs deeper.

My vision flickers black, eyes slipping shut as my mind grows foggier. One thing remains clear as my life begins to muddy in a flurry of sound, betrayal, and darkness: This was never meant to happen. I was but a child.

Things can't stay the same.

Sienna Munro, 14, District Eleven Random

Time is ticking.

Any semblance of daylight melts into the looming clouds overhead, blackening with the promise of an oncoming tempest. The thin strands of lightning weaving in and out of the horizon alert me that there's a storm coming in more ways than one. As Scout slowly packs a knapsack with the bare essentials – water, bags of dried fruit, spare throwing knives, a compass to make it back home – I tap my foot impatiently.

"Moving any faster would be nice," I say.

She glances back at me, squinting at my discourteousness, slinging the backpack over a shoulder. I note that it's a great deal lighter than the one I carry. "And patience is a virtue."

I sigh.

Slowly she rises to her feet, catching my gaze on the horizon beyond. "I don't see us coming home in such nice weather," she says. "Maybe you wouldn't mind hunting tomorrow instead? It's the wiser option."

The knot of irritation and restlessness in my stomach grows heavier. I can't put this off any longer. "You've kept me waiting this long while you all got to go out and frolic in the forest," I say bitterly. "I don't care about a measly little bit of rain and lightning. I would love to not put off my hunting debut any longer, thanks."

Huffing, she follows me to the bonfire where Tamira and Remo sit placidly. "Well, we're off on Sienna's hunting expedition," she deadpans unceremoniously.

Remo doesn't bother to reply. Tamira raises an eyebrow, offering up a smirk. "Don't be long," she replies. "If we hear a cannon, we won't bother running in your wake."

"Don't be expecting one," I say smoothly.

Scout follows me to the southern bridge, the first time I've ever dared to venture beyond the safety of our spire island, swaying not so gently in the winds that curl up from the ravines deep below. "Are we sure that this is the time to prove a point?" Scout calls to me as I tread before her.

I don't bother to reply.

As a smooth-moving unit we cut through the forest, ignorant of any potential tributes that might lie before us. I feel the crackle of branches beneath my feet, the squelch of wet leaves, the birdsong that echoes throughout the treetops. It's serene out here, actually, seemingly out of place for the current scenario we're in.

Back in Eleven as a byproduct of my family's alcohol business in more ways than one, I never had to be a fruit-picker like so many of my classmates. Nature is a notion quite foreign to me. Rather than gain muscle from scuttling through branches and hauling grapes in the vineyards, I was able to indulge in loads of extracurricular activities such as fencing, etiquette classes, kombucha judging, Avox upkeep, and some light combat defense training. The orchards and vineyards of Eleven always seemed so out of my reach. It's funny how here, the beckoning forest has become a home.

I don't quite enjoy it, I decide. I'm far too out of place in both circumstance and location.

"Alright, Sienna," Scout says after a while of silent skulking. "Care to reveal what your top-secret sponsor gift is?"

Furtively do I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around the parachute-given compass that I received this morning. Its ever-steady red hand points out the exact path that we're on – not north, as the rest of them exhibit. Do I tell her? I wonder, running my thumb over the smooth, cool metal. Or will letting her onto my secret only stamp the seal of officialness on my obituary?

Her beseeching eyes bore into me.

I haul it out of my pocket, allowing her to lay eyes on the glassy borders. "A compass," she says rather flatly.

Not content with her dull response, I wave it in front of her. "Not just any compass," I say. "This points the opposite direction of north."

Scout's eyes narrow. "So your sponsors sent you a south-facing compass?" she says incredulously. "This isn't quite the exciting sponsor gift that I was expecting when you told us that you received a parachute. Frankly, it's underwhelming. You wanted to go hunting for this?"

I throw my hands in the air. "Sorry you don't find it intriguing!" I spit back. "At least I got a sponsor gift so early on. At least my district cares about me in some way. Where are yours, huh, still up Tamira's ass?"

I expect to hit some sort of nerve, but she only throws her head back in a sudden fit of laughter. "That's rich," she snorts. "Our sponsors love us equally. More importantly, I'm glad that they're saving up their funds to help us down the road. Not all of us have an alcohol legacy back home that can afford to send weird, falsified compasses on a whim. I think that yours should've followed suit."

"What else could they have sent, then, huh? More bread? More weapons? We have everything we want," I retort.

Scout's eyes flash as if she wants to stay something else, but she stays silent. Her eyes flicker between me and the compass in my hand, thinking, analyzing, deciding.

"All right, then," she says coolly, ending the argument. "So you wanted to hunt to discover why you received a compass that leads you southwards. Fine. Let's hurry up and follow it so we can take shelter back on the island before the storm hits."

Haughtily, I turn on my heel and trek forward once more. I'm undeterred by her dunderheadedness. I don't need her approval after all, I've never been the type to feed off of the praise and encouragement of others. So what if she thinks the compass that my own district gave me is stupid? I'd rather have any sort of token, however small and confusing, from back home than nothing at all. Especially after being forced into an alliance where I'm constantly uncomfortable and made ever aware that I am the defined misfit of the group.

Maybe my district saw that. Maybe this is their way of leading me out of their crossfires.

More time passes as we trek through the forest without any sign of human life. I can tell she's getting impatient behind me by her huffing and puffing that she didn't realize my hunting expedition was to take this long. Another bolt of lightning crackles across the sky, illuminating the scenery before us in a flash of white.

"Sienna," Scout says finally, "I think it's time for us to head back."

A sense of pique once again ripples across me. I'm not ready to go back yet – I've not found whatever the compass was leading me to. "You can go," I call back to her. "I'm going to keep walking."

The clouds grumble again above us and break out into a light rain shower. She jogs to catch up with me, grabs my shoulder. I watch the panes of raindrops coat her body within instants. "Sienna, I'm not leaving you alone," she says. "You're my ally."

"Yeah, and as my ally you should be damn happy to continue this adventure with me," I say, shaking her off of me. "I'm not ready to go home. I want to keep walking."

Another large bolt threads its way across the blackened cloud cover, this time accompanied with a deep moaning of thunder. "The storm's about to get bad," Scout counters, voice raised. Her hand clenches around my wrist. "If we leave now, we might be able to get under cover of the coliseum before it gets torrential."

I catch her eyes. She stares back at me with a sense of urgency, slight panic, but most importantly, something that can only be described as pity. Anger flares within me. She thinks I'm useless if not accompanied by herself or one of her older compeers. She doesn't think I'm competent enough to take this journey on alone.

"I'm not ready yet!" I shriek, wrenching my hand free once more and running in the opposite direction. I've not yet found what I wanted to…

"Sienna!"

A voice cuts through the trees, through the rumbling of thunder, and makes my spine stiff with rapid confusion. That wasn't Scout – her intensity is jacked up, any mess of pottage that she might've been trying to gab on about forgotten with the arrival of this new character. A sinking expression arrives on her face as she comes to terms with exactly who called out, but I couldn't be more thrilled.

My voice is wavery as it calls back. "I'm here! I'm here!"

Bronte's head emerges from a run-down treehouse nearby, grin splitting her face with absolute joy and familiarity.

"I knew you'd make it!"

Valyn Teferi, 17, District Three Random

Bronte turns back to me, gesturing wildly with a foreign beam on her face. "She's here!" she sings out. "Run the ladder down, let's help her up before the storm hits!"

I force my body to move from the corner I'd taken up residence in, shoving the rope ladder out of the exposed doorway and allowing Sienna to place her foot on the first rung and peek her tiny head up with a grin. Though she and I never interacted in the Capitol once, as soon as we lock eyes she winks at me, giving a content little nod.

It's with great hesitation that I follow Bronte down the ladder, she too delighted for her own good and me too wary for mine. Bronte and Sienna collide into an embrace; I watch from the background, looming.

That's when I see her.

Scout Caverly.

I tense up immediately as I notice the weapon in her hand, knuckles white as she clutches it tighter. Our eyes lock. In that very instant, I know that she recognizes me to be the girl she got into an argument with back on that first day of training, a more vicious scuffle than either of us would have liked, but one that solidified our intolerance and distaste for each other.

She considers me outlier district scum. I think she's an absolute bitch, a true byproduct of the culture that District Twelve breeds, who needs to be knocked down a few rungs.

Maybe back in training the worst we could do was hurl insults at each other and glare each other down in the mess hall. Maybe she never thought that her arrogance and rude disposition would actually come to a head.

And maybe that sort of dynamic would have worked back in Twelve, where I assume their children to grow up on cuss words, belittlement, and the egos of false royalty. But this is the Hunger Games, and this is the arena. I'd be stupid to allow her mistreatment to go unpunished. The knife in her hand, mere feet from the two girls from Eleven still engaged in a friendly discussion, spells nothing but trouble. Scout's personality would never fit in anywhere with mine, not back in the districts, nor the Capitol, and certainly not here.

Yet now here we stand, gazes unwavering from the other, and only one thought runs over in my mind, over and over.

Things can't stay the same.

We're at an uncomfortable standpoint here. Bronte and Sienna are still blissfully unaware of the staring contest going down between Scout and I. Scout's unsure of how to react to this situation. And as I slip back up into the treehouse to fetch my spear, I'm vaguely conscious of the sudden thrashing and evasion in the forest below.

I slide back down the ladder, landing hard on my feet, ignoring the sudden confused cries of Bronte and Sienna as I take off into the direction of where Scout had just stood. I can see the blonde girl in the distance, leaping over fell trees and hurtling herself around large bushes in a mad attempt to leave me in the dust. The big bad Career from Twelve that volunteered for the slaughter of children, now running from a fight. A laugh curls up in my mouth as I continue the pursuit; who would have thought?

"Valyn! Valyn, please!"

Bronte's shrill voice in the distance doesn't slow my chase, though now I truly do feel a tinge of regret. She and Scout might've been allies at some point, even friends, but I pray she recognizes the shift in dynamic now that we're in the slaughterhouse. A blip of an apology pops into my mind, but I shove it back down.

I'll give it to her, Scout is fast. I find my lungs aching the further we delve into the forest, the deeper into the greenery and impending storm she begins to disappear. Yet I continue on, for the sake of my own humanity, for Bronte, and for justice.

Scout lets loose a shriek.

My feet carry me across the forest floor closer, and I'm able to catch a glimpse of Scout, teetering on the edge of a ravine, arms swinging wildly to catch her balance. Now is the time – my arm winds back, prepared to send my spear through air to find its mark, but in an instant she manages to fall backward away from the edge. One glance over her shoulder to find me closing in, and she darts off to the left.

But her misstep only allowed me an advantage. I'm closer than ever.

"Running from a fight, Twelve?" I bellow out. "Thought they advised against that in the murder capital of the districts!"

That gets her – almost turning on a dime, Scout whips herself around to face me. I slow my sprint to a jog as I approach, making sure she can see the spear I hold out in front of myself.

"Thought I'd merely get some distance from the other two," she says hollowly. "I hear four's a crowd."

I take another step forward. "Four might be a crowd if you're not confident that anyone will be on your side," I counter. "Tragic for you, really. I don't believe that you were expecting Sienna to link up with Bronte so eagerly. Especially not when you forced the poor girl into your alliance."

Scout shakes her head. "She was more than happy to run with us," she says. "Rolling with those at the top only upped her chances. I suppose it's true, though. I didn't see how strong the bond of district loyalty ran throughout Eleven." Her eyes flash. "My mistake."

"Valyn!" Bronte shrieks somewhere throughout the trees, her voice desperate and riddled with confusion.

Scout takes a step toward me. "If you're wise you won't call back to her," she warns. "I've never took you to be someone who thrived off dependence."

I cock my head. "And yet here I stand in front of you, the queen of needing others to make herself feel better," I snarl out. "Your alliance is weak – we've been watching. Can't go for a piss without someone else watching your back. Can't go to any stations in the training center without one of your partners standing by telling you that your knife skills don't suck. I suppose that out of all the dastardly life lessons they taught you back in Twelve, independence wasn't one of them, huh?"

She exhales, lifting the corner of her mouth up into a sidelong smirk. "And I suppose they didn't teach you to keep your mouth shut back in Three."

"I've always been one to notice when someone's shit stinks, Scout. I'm not afraid to call you out on your deficiencies where others don't have the guts. At your core, you're not a good person." My eyes narrow as she cackles. "And you know, there's a place for people like you."

It's she who lashes out first, hurtling her knife my way. Luckily, her aim is skewed, and it finds its home in a tree behind me.

"I see nothing has changed since our first encounter," I say.

"And I see you don't know when to stop testing your luck," Scout snarls back.

With a pit in my stomach, I watch as she undoes the front of her harness, revealing a belt on the inside loaded with more throwing knives than I would've thought possible. They line the entire inside of the harness with precision, making them all too accessible for her to snag one and flick her wrist, sending it into my heart.

I swallow thickly.

Scout keeps an eye on me, sliding her hand around a knife and dragging it out. The darkened clouds in the distance rumble angrily at us. "It's people from other districts like you that I never had much of a taste for," she drawls. "Far too angry and rebellious for their own good. You hate District Twelve but you've never been exposed to us."

"You celebrate the Hunger Games," I whisper back. "You parade around, proud to be tributes, all too excited for the hour you get to end another life."

"Maybe it's the culture of how I was raised," Scout says, "You're right. But I was born for this. You've never known the lifestyle of working toward something ever since you were young, rising to the top, going against all odds to prove yourself worthy of honor and legacy. Addicted to the improvement of yourself and your capabilities. I suppose I should say that I feel bad you've never been so devoted to something in your life."

"Not when it comes at the cost of other children's lives," I hiss.

"Death is inevitable." Scout shakes her head. "It doesn't need to be vicious."

She winds her arm back, another knife whizzing dangerously close to my head, and finally do I recognize the severity of what I've entangled myself into. As she dips her hand into her harness for another weapon, I take advantage of her distraction, eyes on the open space of her harness – propelling my arm forward, the spear along with it, and hurtling it into her stomach with a sickening squelch.

She falls backwards, a gasp evading her lips.

I pounce to the ground alongside her, her hand frozen on the hilt of the knife she was reaching for. Scout writhes on the ground, small bleats coming from her like a lamb on the chopping block. Her eyes find mine, begging, pleading, imploring. I watch her lips move without sound – the final silent cries of a girl I could call a monster.

"You're right on one thing," I murmur. "Death doesn't need to be vicious."

I push her hand to the side, grabbing the knife myself and drawing it across her neck. Her icy blue eyes, glued to the sky, immediately slip shut. Blood seeps from the open wound in her throat. Scout's cannon booms in the distance, shaking the ground and solidifying the fate of the girl I kneel before.

Finally do Bronte and Sienna catch up with me, their voices frantic and mingling with each other, but I can't hear them. The blood in my head pounds out a tragic lullaby as I grow dizzy, unable to move my eyes from the gaping hole in her neck.

The heavens open up, and at last the torrents begin to collapse onto us with rolling thunder to mask my cries. I feel hands pulling at me. I see Sienna's face, mouth wide open in shock. Bronte falls to Scout's side, a quivering hand touching her face. Those eyes don't leave me, wide and frightened of my power.

I throw my head back, let the rain pour down upon my face, and allow the storm to wash away any sign of weakness.

Remo Vanson, 18, District One Male

The cannon shakes Tamira and I from our silence.

"A bit late for a death," she comments sourly, "but maybe Sienna and Scout have finally put their heads together for something productive."

"You reckon they'll make it home in the storm?" I ask, watching stoically as the torrents overtake the spire island. We were lucky enough to retreat under the overhang of the coliseum, but I'm wary of how the metal spires will fare in the inevitable lightning. "They've been out for hours. It's almost time for the deaths to be shown in the sky."

"They'll be fine." Tamira flips a lock of hair over her shoulder. "Scout's a big girl and Sienna will quickly realize how much she hates being in the forest. Neither of them are built for being out in the wilderness too long. I'm just quite excited to hear about the events of their evening, especially considering how bitchy Sienna was to initiate it."

Another hour passes in silence, with me gnawing on the last leg of monkey meat and Tamira casually sharpening her knives. There's not a sound but the rain and thunder, creating quite the soothing environment for us to relax underneath.

It's also a comfortable sort of silence. Tamira and I have only grown closer in our alliance, faithful enough in each other's capabilities to take care of the other to the point where nothing more needs to be said. Ever since Cerico's downfall and the uneasy day that passed, our roles have become a bit clearer. Scout and Sienna are outsiders. It was fruitless to grow close to either of them, and they are too grating to remain in an agreeable balance with them.

When it boils down to it, Tamira and I are the only real threats that remain. Everyone else is weak or a loose cannon, and inevitably expendable.

The trumpets begin far in the distance, signaling the beginning of the faces. Tamira and I scooch closer to the edge of the coliseum, out of the way of the rain still but able to get a better glimpse at the deaths from the day.

"Wonder if we'll even be able to see them through this storm," I remark.

Jules Leopold is the first face, staring grimly down out on the arena.

"Good riddance," Tamira sniggers, shaking her head.

I don't answer. She's got to realize that he was one of my district partners. With Jules gone, our district will be in mourning; one less chance of victory for us. I grit my teeth as I watch his face fade into the clouds. Perhaps the sponsors are taking note of this. Perhaps my father's nodding in approval of me outlasting one of my own.

Yet I can't shake the feeling in my gut. I didn't want Jules to die. He was too familiar.

Juliana Dalton is next, the young girl from Three that never stood much of a chance.

"So the littles have their first casualty," Tamira snarks. "One down, three to go."

As Arden Chimalis' face pops up in the sky, offering a pensive smile, she snorts. "I misspoke. Two to go. Bad day for the kids. I guess Scout and Sienna did some sort of damage after all."

But where the first three faces provoked some jolly sort of reaction from her, it's the final face that stops us both in our tracks.

It's Scout.

Tamira's on her feet in an instant. I'm unable to move, my blood running cold.

"You know what this means," she says hollowly.

"Enlighten me."

Her face is grim as she stares out at the arena. I'm unable to make out what feelings stir beneath the surface. Sadness? Mirth? Perhaps a sense of superiority that she's the only Twelve tribute to remain alive? Her jaw clenches, an inhale of breath, and then she finally mutters, "Sienna isn't coming back."

Something clicks in my brain. The pieces come together. Tamira goes on, attempts to explain her view, but my mind is too clogged with sudden realizations to listen. If I had to guess, we'd be thinking the same thing.

"We've got Sienna and Scout out together on a hunt. Scout's the muscle and Sienna is easy pickings. And now the threat of their duo has fallen."

The fact that Scout is gone, and not Sienna, who would be the easiest kill and best option if someone were looking for a fight, spells out that Sienna has either escaped or linked up with someone else. The other options just don't make sense. Sienna's too bratty to be much of a hostage. She'd be offed right away due to her outright cattiness and inability to be leverage. And come to think of it, she's definitely not fast enough to escape a fight. She has new allies. We are in the dust.

Sienna's abandoned us. Left us for the wolves. Hell, maybe she even joined the wolves…

"And who do you think she'd be linking together with? Who else would take her?"

There's only a few potential tributes that would make sense. Not the littles, Aston and Cedric – she'd never spoken a word to them as far as I saw during training. No, not Voitsekh, either. They were never the most compatible of district partners and Sienna made that distinctly clear whenever she so affectionately called him a giraffe or an ugly brute.

But Bronte.

"She's got to be with Bronte and Valyn." Tamira glares out at the storm, a newfound sense of anger ignited deep within her. "And if I had to bet on it, with Scout down and our ally on their side, they're fucking coming for us next."

"We've got to leave," I say. "We must not be sitting ducks in the very place they'll be expecting us."

"And where do you suggest we go, oh wise one?" Tamira throws her hands in the air. "The time to settle down was ages ago. Wherever we go we'll be bound to find a tribute already inhabiting it. And then we've the issue of this storm. How are we going to find shelter so easily?"

"I've the perfect place," I say grimly, "but we have to leave soon. I have a feeling we're being observed just like sitting ducks, Tamira. Call it what you want, but this storm is both a blessing and a curse. It'll conceal our escape from whoever might be watching us."

"So we leave tonight," she mumbles. "What are we going to do with all these supplies that we can't bring with? We can't just leave them here. They'll only make our opponents stronger."

We lock eyes, and in that moment our unity, our newfound ability to think with one mind, is solidified by one glance.

We've got to throw the supplies over the edge of the island.

Stepping out into the storm is almost painful – the rain is comparable to needles, coming fast and furiously. We waste no time in shoving items into crates – weapons, backpacks, food, random items such as extra socks and matches – and pitching them over the edge. Anything deemed useful and easy to carry is thrown back under the overhang: a few spare knives, some bags of dried fruit, lighters. Anything extra must be destroyed. Every crate that descends into the abyss below is difficult to watch, but the impending sense of desperation and distress is motivation enough to propel us.

The final backpack disappears into the swirling mist below. Drenched, Tamira and I retreat back to the coliseum's overhang, panting with exertion.

"We each have our backpacks," I say, "and weapons. Correct?"

She opens her harness in response, allowing me to see her rows of throwing knives tucked haphazardly inside. I nod, clenching my spear in hand.

"All right. So it's settled. We have everything we need – no more, no less. We go to our new hideout, test the waters of the upcoming day, and when the time is right, we strike back at Bronte and Valyn."

"Don't forget the traitor," Tamira growls.

I nod again. "They'll come to the island to find us. Try to piece apart what's going on."

"They'll know we've run. We just got rid of quite literally all the supplies in the arena."

"But we'll be striking back, and striking harder than they hit us." I raise my head to the storm, feeling a dash of wetness stream down my face. Whether it's perspiration or rain, I can't tell. "We're now better prepared for this than we could have been. A change of living is just what we needed."

Tamira nods to the bridges beyond us. "So take us to wherever our new home is, then by all means. I need a fucking break."

I sigh. "Think you remember the way to the temple, then?"

A/N: Baby Bull by BROCKHAMPTON.

12th: Arden Chimalis, District Six Male.

11th: Scout Caverly, District Twelve Random.

A bit more active of a chapter, and a bit of a longer wait. My apologies.

I also apologize to the submitters who lost their tributes this chapter – they were truly great characters that I loved bringing to life, probably some of my favs to write, but at the end of the day we gotta get these Games moving!

Not much else to say. I've moved into my college apartment halfway but now I'm home and suffering once more. Quarantine is so damn boring. I wanna put on makeup and eat overpriced avocado toast at a café again. Shit SUCKS!

Anyway – congrats to the top ten and here's a few questions!

Who do you think will be the next to fall?

Who could you see becoming victor?

Stay safe. BLACK LIVES MATTER! Remember to sign BLM petitions, donate if you can, show up at protests if you can, research different resources to see how you can get involved. This is truly a wild time to live in America…