Chapter Twenty.

Words of rejection rain down like bullets.

Every time they hit me in the face, they melt through my skin and I feel bitter tears racing down my cheeks. I scream and cry and batter my hands against the table.

I shouldn't be throwing a tantrum but I can't help myself. Drey with her beauty. Lyra with her God-given talents. I am just the other Novack and my one shot at redemption, of seeking the spotlight, fell on deaf ears.

"You are not good enough."

"A failure."

"What a laughing stock."

"Weak."

Briel's entire world was upside down as the grogginess of sleep subsided and her head collided sharply with the corner of a damp wall. White stars circled a misty haze and she blinked furiously to rid her mind of its fog.

"W-What-"

Her hand screamed in agonizing pain, pokers digging into skin, as drops of scarlet fell down her outstretched fingers, marking the mossy concrete. Jagged pipes lined the ceiling, sticking out like murderous stalactites, ripping chunks out of her captor without it caring.

My captor-!

Fragments of last night came barrelling into Briel and her throat cracked with the pressure of a thunderous cry. She flailed around and the muttation that had leapt from the underground tunnels, wrapping its claws round Briel's ankles, a knife-like ridge to its left shoulder blade slicing into her hand, dropped Briel into a murky puddle.

In an instant, despite the protest of her injury, Briel pulled out her last remaining weapon, safely clipped to a belt that was half hanging from her waist. It looked grotesque – a thing of nightmares. With its pale skin, lumpy like off-milk, its entire body had been twisted beyond recognition. Between the flaky skin of its torn mouth, sharp teeth protruded, a fang bursting from its left cheek, two piercing lifeless eyes focusing on Briel.

She could see the truth, though. She could see it like a sharp slap to the face and it left her winded, a rush of emotion hitting her chest harder than she would have expected.

This is a human. A person. What the hell happened to this poor soul?

Briel had fought through a tidal wave of rejection all her life. Being left to feel like nothing. Left to feel insignificant in a District like Two that prided itself on toppling over the people seen as lesser than. Briel had refused to be but another domino to fall in the wake of someone else's triumph.

She was not a page in another's story.

From that desire to be more, her emotions had become so much easier to feel. Anger resulting in a tempest swirling above her. Happiness creating a field of poppies in her mind's-eye, a bubble of love and cherishment of her life lifting to her heart.

In one furious and agonizing scream, she launched herself at the muttation and sent it careening into the wall of the tunnel. It took all her will-power not to stand her ground and fight, but Briel lived by her code of surviving to scorn the world, to prove that she had a reason to be here, and dying in some godforsaken tunnel was not the way she wished to leave this world.

She would not be leaving it anytime soon.

Where above-ground there was luxury torn asunder, the tunnel itself she sprinted down, leaping over a pitch-black pit like a gaping maw in the middle of the concrete, was the opposite of that luxury. And oh my god that smell.

She gagged and bit her tongue at the pain that shot up her arm, coursing like fire in her veins. Her hand was useless but she did her best to ignore the blood that dripped from the wound. She dared to look over her shoulder as she took a sharp right and witnessed the nightmarish being sprinting after her, shimmying up the wall and crawling along the ceiling, dragging its heaving body with two-foot claws protruding from its oafish arms.

what is happening what is happening what is happening

There was a light. Strips of yellow that Briel felt a pull towards. Illuminated in the angelic halo was a ladder protruding from a metal door built into the ceiling. Briel thought of Juliet and wondered what he was doing. It was the first time since waking she'd even considered the people she'd been taken from.

Ozias. Sivan.

Where are they? What are they up to?

How long have I been down here?

They were questions for another time. She took an almighty run and jumped for the ladder, shimmying up it and hammering on the metal door, pushing with all her weight as she heard the sound of the muttation, the human-like abomination, getting closer and closer and closer.

Fear hit her hard in the chest. It won't move. It WON'T MOVE!

She screamed and felt the tears running down her cheeks. "Please – Please – Please!" She realised how silly she sounded, how weak and feeble and how like the little girl she had once been, trying to be more than she actually was, but in that moment she didn't care.

Heart on her sleeve. Fear in her throat. She screamed until her throat felt as if it were about to rip open.

I can't…

I mustn't…

Briel's arm fell forwards as the weight was moved and the door was lifted. She cried out and pulled her entire body upwards just as she felt a claw dig into her foot. With a yelp, she planted the sole of her trainer right into its head and heard a crack as the door fell behind her, blocking the tunnel from view.

Relief flooded the fear, washing it away, and the tears soon turned into those of happiness at her survival, salty to the taste as she didn't care about what she looked like. Grimy, bloody, a complete and utter wreck. But she was alive. The breath in her lungs felt like a miracle.

I'm alive.

I'm still here!

"Hello."

At the sound of the foreign voice, Briel's relief turned straight back into alertness. She vaulted onto her feet and was met face to face with the fretful eyes of Damali Zahrat. Behind the girl, clinging onto her weapon, a bag of supplies upturned around her, was a wall-to-wall array of television screens, displaying in perfect view the expanse of the entire Arena.

"Holy fuck," Briel found herself whispering in awe. "What is this?"

"I saw you get taken," Damali said, biting her lip fearfully. "Are you okay?"

Briel stared at her and finally took her in. She was alone because her only allies in these Games were dead. The only true loner left in the Arena.

Briel's mind willed her to launch herself at Damali and take the kill, cement her way forwards, but something held her back. Whether it was the fact this girl was a loner, or the fearful quiver to her stance, or the tunnel that lay just below their feet, Briel did not move a muscle.

Damali prodded a screen as she cautiously turned around, revealing the sleeping form of three tributes and a girl not too far from them, watching them intently.

"Svanna, Syrella, Palatine and Callisto," Damali said. "They're in some kind of medical bay and if I'm judging this correctly, they aren't far from our position at all. I can see each and every one of you and it looks like they can either head back towards where we started, or head towards me. Us."

Briel continued to stare at Damali. Names flickered into mind and she couldn't help but ask, clearing her throat, the dryness of it, the pain, the experience from below flattening her against the wall.

"Are my–" Briel cleared her throat again. "—are my allies okay?"

Damali shrugged. "I can't see them anymore. There are no cameras in the tunnels below."

The tunnels?

"You mean they're -?"

"—looking for you, yes," Damali said, a genuine smile on her face. "That was last night, though. I don't know what it's like down there. I found this room at the end of yesterday and since then I've done nothing but watch."

Briel thought about Juliet in all his determination, his desire to bring Briel to the end with him, searching through those dark tunnels for her. And Ozias, no doubt leading the pack, Sivan by his side. She felt a pain in her chest and realised it was born of the idea of Juliet succumbing to the very muttation that had captured her.

She wanted to be brave. She wanted to feel the courage in her system take her back down there and protect him. But she didn't move an inch, her eyes not taking themselves off of Damali, fixed in her fear and fatigue.

"If the only direction I can go from here is either back down there, or forwards towards that alliance, then I guess I'm staying here with you."

Briel found herself suggesting the idea of a temporary alliance before she'd even given it some thought. But, with her allies trying to find her, the idea of it being temporary was a cold, hard fact that Damali had to understand.

This room was a sanctuary. Eyes in the proverbial sky.

She needed to be here.

"Fine by me," Damali said. "I don't want to be alone."

Briel nodded.

There was a whoosh -ing noise as something clicked in the wall, a panel pulled itself away, and a canister dropped to the carpet. Damali picked it up and smiled, twisting the cap off and handing Briel a plastic-wrapped stack of crackers and cheese.

"I think someone likes the idea of us being together," Damali said, ripping into her own portion of the sponsor gift. "You can stay here. Rest up. We'll see what happens later."

Briel's stomach growled in hunger and before she knew it, her food was gone.

Maybe it wasn't smart. Maybe none of this was smart. Maybe she should have killed Damali the second she'd seen her.

But the girl had saved her life by opening the door and some part of Briel couldn't ignore that.

For now, this was where she had to be.

For now.

Almost time to wake them.

But not yet.

Callisto sat across from her allies, staring at them as they slept. Svanna's hair fell in a blonde sheet down from the gurney she had been treated from. Syrella with a creased expression on her face, trapped in a nightmare. And then Palatine – the kid she'd given hell to back in the Capitol and yet felt something towards she'd never in a million years expected, a gratitude borne from an understanding – with his hand placed atop Syrella's knee.

I don't do jealous, Callisto thought, and despite him only being sixteen, to me he's still just that shy nerdy reaped kid. But he was close with Syrella, and from that, Callisto knew that eventually something was bound to happen.

A string ready to be cut.

But not yet.

In her pocket, she absent-mindedly toyed with the vial, twisting it around, feeling the deadly contents permeate through the air. A shroud over their alliance that only she could see.

I am not strong. I am not smart. I am a stupid, delusional brat from District Two who tried to soar high and have fallen on my ass too many times to count.

From those thoughts and acceptance, Callisto felt freer than she had ever felt. From the understanding that she was the weakest here – that she was the one people pointed at and laughed, scum under Bex's boot, unable to read alliances and pick out strategies and map out minds like Syrella and Palatine could do without missing a beat – Callisto was learning.

Palatine had pointed out the vial that she now had in her pocket. Callisto had walked past it without so much as a thought in its direction. Callisto had done so little since being here except be saved by the very kid that the Games were designed to overlook – especially a Games imbued with such strength and cocky bravado.

Syrella was smart yet physically weak, similar to Callisto.

It was Svanna that was the enigma. The outsider. The strength behind their alliance that crept like a shadow. If Callisto didn't do strategy because she didn't understand how to, then she would do what she thought those sorts of tricks of the game were supposed to be played.

No one would expect it from the girl who they'd dismissed so quickly as someone with their head firmly planted up their ass. Swept up by delusion. Clouded by a confidence ill-founded.

For once, Callisto's self-awareness would give birth to something she'd never expected. A strategy of her own. A step in the right direction. She was learning; something she'd never done before. Opening her mind to new ideas from the very people she'd once scorned.

But not yet.

She twirled the vial around once more, staring straight at Svanna, wondering what she was dreaming about.

For herself and for Palatine, and even for Syrella, Svanna had to go.

I am not strong. I am not smart.

Her knowledge of that, a knowledge that a week ago she would have swatted away, gave her a strength she'd never experienced before.

From her weaknesses, she was a better person.

A stronger person.

With a deep yawn, Valdis stretched his arms out, eyelashes fluttering as the lightbulb from above his bed swung into view.

"You sleep like you've been drugged."

At the sound of his friend's voice, Valdis smiled and swung his legs over the bed, teetering on the edge. Viorica was gazing at him with a small smile on her face. Heavy bags contaminated the otherwise blissful glow of her eyes.

"You look like shit," Valdis said honestly. "No offence, of course."

Viorica's twisted smile was obviously for his benefit. She wasn't fooling anybody here. Valdis could see things were already getting to her and if he was honest with himself, they were getting to him as well. Watching Kaia brutally murder Vinicius. Knowing that he was way in over his head despite the fact he'd felt so emotionally bruised after the rumours had cost him his spot as the chosen volunteer. He would always just be that reaped kid, and for some reason, that hurt his confidence.

Being unapologetically himself didn't mean he was completely impervious to the harsh dog-eat world of District Two. Viorica was the living epitome of how it could strip someone down to bare bones. He felt for her. Especially with how fond of her he had become. They were like two peas in a murderous pod.

As his eyes swam around the little dome they'd settled into for the night, he noticed the immediate elephant in the room. "Where's Kaia?" he asked, standing up onto shaky legs, attributing that almost instantly to a lack of sleep. He knew he'd be getting none of his normal eight hours and that was fine by him. He had to acclimatise to the bullshit, that was all.

"She's gone out searching through the other rooms."

"And you let her go?" Valdis asked, with a hint of scepticism. "Who knows who else, or what else, is out there."

And there we go with the heightened sense of fear – brings out a lovely look in me. Inwardly rolling his eyes at himself, he watched as Viorica just shook her head with a gentle laugh, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care.

Valdis knew that wasn't true. They both cared about Kaia. It was just…

Only two Victors. And she didn't seem to bat an eyelid at murdering Vinicius. So, what does that mean for us?

He realised without even thinking that a thought was beginning to formulate in his mind. A seed of something dark that he didn't like. A metaphorical weed forming its roots and spreading like an infestation. It was funny because people had often compared him to a weed – never knowing when to quit, eager to bring out the best in other people, form his own path in the world without taking no for an answer.

Just like that, Kaia is a threat, she might kill us, we should go, struck deep and ground its way through Valdis. A different sort of weed. He couldn't shake it.

There was a rumble of something above Valdis' head but he ignored it. He couldn't focus on anything other than his own mind going a hundred miles an hour as his mouth opened and out poured something he didn't realise he was ready to confess to just that.

It was just part of Valdis. It came with the entire package.

"We should go."

"Go?" Viorica arched an eyebrow. "Go where?"

"Away. From Kaia. Before – before –" Ugh. How do I say it without sounding like a total dick? "She killed Vinicius."

"Because it's the Hunger Games and we're all trained. She volunteered like I did – if it had been me, do you think I wouldn't have?"

Valdis hadn't actually thought of that. He wasn't trying to be an ass but throughout his life, the idea of marching to the beat of his own drum had also given him a self-serving aspect to his life, a way of retaining independence, knowing how to forge a path forwards and fight to survive in such a harsh world.

Yes, maybe he was a weed, but he hadn't been gotten rid of just yet. He would never give up.

"It's only inevitable until she realises that the whole two victors thing means she's on the outside looking in."

Viorica shook her head again, this time more forcefully, a crease in her brow. He knew that she had similar thoughts – they'd jokingly discussed it back in the Capitol, not realising that the Games put so much pressure onto such subtle thoughts, that sooner or later they would blow up.

"I don't think we should go just yet, she might—"

There it was again. The same rumbling from above. And this time, neither Valdis or Viorica could ignore it as the ceiling gave way, a vent dropped open, and out fell… out fell something literally so fucked up Valdis couldn't even put it into words.

"VALDIS!" Viorica was on him in an instant, sword pointed outwards at the creature, shielding Valdis almost as if by instinct as he scrambled to his feet and grabbed her hand.

It took a moment for whatever it was to adjust itself before it launched forwards, but by that point, Valdis had yanked Viorica out of the room and the two of them bolted down the tunnel, panting heavily with fear dotting his forehead in a building sweat.

"Guys—" Kaia ran out from another room and before Valdis could even think about what he'd just been putting out into the world, the idea of leaving her behind, he nudged her forwards, beckoning her to hurry.

There was a horrendous scratching from behind as the world seemed to slow down and the three of them watched the nightmarish creature stand on two twisted, gnarled legs, roaring at them with spit dripping from bloodied lips. Viorica screamed – an unnatural sound from such a focused, competitive girl. She didn't seem to hear herself, shaking on her knees, and Valdis and Kaia exchanged a look between them as time rushed back to them, and choices were made.

Valdis pulled Viorica with her.

Kaia ran into a room to the side, not even looking at her two allies, as she slammed her hand down onto a button, shutting the pair of them away.

"Kaia-!"

Valdis wanted to punch the door but the creature was on their tail before he could even fathom what had just happened. Viorica was paling but swung her weapon out, slicing open a gash in its cheek as it swept at them, narrowly missing Valdis' head.

They had no choice but to run down the open tunnel towards whatever awaited them. Kaia had left them, just like seconds ago Valdis had considered, putting the idea out there into the universe creating some kind of karmic wave that had brought this monstrosity down on them.

As they ran, Kaia was left safe in the room she had hidden in, and Valdis let go of Viorica's hand, the two of them sprinting side-by-side.

Neither had a word to say to the other over the deafening roar of the twisted human-like creature.

Its intent was clear: to kill them.

Valdis had his own path forwards.

Get the fuck out.

Nausea swam through her stomach. Dull blades poked feeble holes in her skull.

Ryland's eyes clicked open and her cheeks puffed out, a noise escaping her dry lips, a bubble of something rising to her throat that she quickly swallowed back down.

"Ryland… you need to stop. You said one."

"For Kasiani. Maybe her bitch ass sister might realise what a star that girl was!"

"Ryland. No – Ry – c'mon—"

"And for Bro – Brodus. You didn't talk much but you said enough. I'm gonna miss you dude."

"Ryland."

Her eyes swam as she rose to her knees. One had turned into two that had turned into three. Maybe four. Neat vodkas mixed with more vodka. Because Ryland was grieving in her own special way for two people that, yes, had chosen to be here, but were still kids at the end of the day. One of them a whimsical waitress who had a knack for getting Ryland to speak; the other a sullen yet special guy who didn't need to speak to get Ryland to say something back.

And they're fucking dead. Because I didn't buck up and do what needed doing. I hesitated. Like fuck am I going to make that mistake again.

"You okay?"

She groggily looked up at the sound of another voice and pieces of Tayte's swirling face slotted back together. He had a disapproving yet warm expression on his face. Like he couldn't help but care even though he wanted to be mad. It made him look like her parents, always wanting Ryland to be herself, but wishing she could be slightly… less of herself when the situation demanded it.

If only Ryland knew how to switch that off. Not that she really ever wanted to. It had gotten her this far.

Although, as much the sentiment behind those vodkas was in memory of our fallen friends… my fucking head is killing me…

Her cheeks puffed again and she made a noise as if she was about to vomit. Tayte ran over to her and helped her up onto her feet, arms around her shoulders and she couldn't help but warm to his touch. He was a bit wet behind the ears but there was a decency to him, a genuineness, that felt weird to say about a volunteer but that didn't mean anything to Ryland. She was just like him – trying to find their way in a system that they'd been caught up in.

She heard a fizzing sound, something akin to the buzz of electricity, and when she looked she saw the robotic waiter from yesterday broken in two, his head popped open against the bar. Not a movement to be seen. Not a flicker of life.

"Did I –"

Tayte looked to where Ryland was staring and frowned, nodding his head. "After you laughed about Kasiani and Brodus, you got mad. You blamed the robot. He didn't even put up a fight."

"Poor guy."

"It's a robot."

"Poor robot."

Tayte laughed and Ryland couldn't help herself. She bumped into his shoulder kindly and the two of them just stood there, silence between them, with no words needing to be said as they let the atmosphere do all the talking. They knew they were in the Arena – they knew they were in a dark place coming from something terrible having just happened. But they still had each other.

Tayte would continue to do his best to reign her in, Ryland was sure of it, and though she might put up a fight, maybe that was just what she needed to keep herself grounded. Maybe, together, they really did have it in them to go all the way.

"Maybe we should—"

Footsteps. Loud footsteps. Running footsteps. And something else… something else behind the footsteps…

Though hungover, Ryland's instincts were still tuned into the world around them, and her hand flew to her weapon in unison with Tayte. Her mind was hazy, her eyes were practically drums beating against her skull, but she did her best to stand firmly on her feet as they gazed over at the tunnel leading back towards the inner dome.

It was a gaping sheet of darkness that for a second was as still as it had been since they'd arrived at the bar. And in a moment of dreadful foreboding, it was shattered, and recognisable faces mixed with a horrendous creature from some deep, dark recess of the human mind, broke the quaint silence that hung between the two of them.

"Ryland!"

She was quick.

Almost too quick.

Viorica pulled Valdis to the left, avoiding the swing of Ryland's blade as she launched herself at the muttation. She wanted to gag at the smell of putrid flesh, clinging to sharp bone, its features mashed together, but Ryland didn't have it in her to lose the focus she needed to survive.

Moments ago, the dedication had been cementing itself to make it to the finish line. Like hell was she going to lose it to some fucking Gamemaker creation.

It hissed at her as her blade chopped its left arm off. When she turned on the spot, ducking as it lashed out at her, she felt the sword slip into its rotten chest and for a moment elation flooded her heart. That was quick… and then it dropped like an anchor as nothing happened, the muttation catching her in the side and sending her hurtling through the air.

Huh. The ceiling looks pretty from this angle.

Ryland watched Tayte vault over her body, turning around to check she was okay. Something dull was thumping in her head, something different to the hangover, but Ryland gave him a nod and the two were on their feet in a flash.

Out the corner of her eye, she could see Viorica and Valdis just watching, waiting, doing nothing. Memories flashed inside her mind. Tainted memories of blood and anguish. Shots of vodka as acting obituaries for the loss of two genuine characters. Kasiani with a red flower blooming in her chest, blood spurting outwards as she crumpled in a heap. Brodus, anger like fire pouring forth, snuffed out in an instant.

Because I hesitated. Because I was useless. Because I let my friends down.

She had never even wanted friends coming into this. She was too stubborn. Too set in her ways. And yet here she was, leaping forwards and slicing off the bottom half of a muttation's leg to defend Tayte who launched his own frenzied attack. Because she cared. She cared too much.

"Ryland – I –" Through harrowing breath and gritted teeth, Tayte cried out as a pointed claw went into his shoulder, blood forming immediately. He didn't scream but Ryland saw it in his eyes. It only fuelled the fire as she went for its other arm, cutting it clean off, and shimmying onto its back with as much agility as she could muster from the training that had gotten her here in the first place.

Tayte acted as a necessary distraction and Ryland's sword cleanly decapitated its head from its disgusting shoulders. Not a sound could be heard other than the dull thump as it hit the carpet. And as quickly as it died, Tayte then cried out, dabbing his cut and Ryland wasted no time in jumping to his side.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice was panicked and high-pitched and she hated it and she hated the fucking dress she was in that was now doused in blood and she hated this Arena and she hated that she'd been stupid enough to be here in the first place and she hated the fact she'd drank fucking vodka and—

"I'm fine."

Before Ryland could say anything else, she saw it out the corner of her eye, and once more Juliet Romero and Briel Novack appeared as deadly apparitions to torture her. Only this time she would not fail. Words meant nothing when it was a game of kill or be killed.

Ryland's sword met Viorica's before the two even knew what was happening. Vaguely, Ryland could hear Tayte calling out something, but she couldn't hear it, all she could see was Kasiani and Brodus and knowing that she'd failed them when really she knew that all along, they couldn't have made it as a whole alliance to the end. But that didn't matter. That did not matter.

Valdis tried to push Ryland away but in their haze from running from the muttation, the fear as they watched Ryland and Tayte fight it off, and whatever else the fuck was going through their heads, Viorica barely had time to pull herself together before Ryland hacked away at her.

"Please – we don't –"

It was a blur. She felt a hand try to pull her away – Tayte's or Valdis', she had no idea – but her sword cut downwards and ended up stuck, clinging to bone and gristle as Viorica yelled in pain and went silent, a cannon ringing through the Arena. For a moment, as Viorica swayed, it was like her head was submerged under water and everything had a dull sort of edge to the way it sounded. And then her head broke the surface and volume hit a crescendo as Ryland slumped backwards.

Viorica was dead, Ryland's sword stuck in her shoulder, all the way to her chest. Valdis was standing, wide-eyed, gawping between his fallen ally and her murderer. And Tayte had tried to grab her, finally succeeding in pulling her away.

"Valdis," Tayte said. "I'm so – I don't –"

He ran back the way he'd came, vaulting over the dead muttation and through the sheet of darkness. Wherever he had come from previously, bringing the creature with him, it had led to every emotion Ryland did not want to feel burrowing deep and then erupting forwards.

"I had to," she said, staring at the blood pooling around Viorica's still body. "I couldn't risk it. They might – I didn't –"

Tayte said nothing. He turned his head and walked away, leaving Ryland standing there, empty-handed, her pink dress dyed red.

Viorica…

It had been so quick.

Kasiani and Brodus. The muttation. Viorica and Valdis.

And now…

The blood ran deep through her hands, seeping into her skin, and she knew she'd never wash it out. But that was for another time, a worry for another day, because she had to survive. For herself, and for Tayte. It was a necessary sacrifice.

A loss that paved the way for something to be had.

Our lives.

He could feel Bex's blood beneath his fingernails.

An empty water bottle lay sprawled over a bundle of supplies, its contents from yesterday wiping clean the blood from his hands. And yet he could still feel it. If he looked closely enough to his fingers, Reyan could just about see tiny flecks of scarlet embedded into the grooves of his skin. It made his stomach somersault with unease.

Why do I feel this way? I should be able to move on from this easily. Bex was… well Bex. And I'm Reyan. Nalara. Reyan fucking Nalara. My parents have done worse to move up the ladder and I am following in their footsteps.

I am—

Reyan had no idea what or who he was trying to be right now. He had never had to get his actual hands dirty. He'd never had to use anything other than his brain and natural charisma to will the minds of others into doing his bidding. It had served him well. It had gotten him to where he'd needed to be.

It had gotten him into the goddamn Hunger Games and it was supposed to be easy taking the next step towards using more than just his mind. Did I think it through properly? The more he thought about it, the more he realised he'd never actually taken the time to think about what taking the next step actually meant.

Here it was, caked into his skin, a scorch on his soul. Bex was a grade-A bitch but she was still a living, breathing human being. And because of Reyan, she was no longer any of that. An empty husk.

Reyan, as always, as easy as breathing, tucked those thoughts into a chest and clicked the key until he was content enough that nothing was showing on his face or betraying what he was currently going through.

He had too much to control right in front of him anyway, let alone deal with some inner bullshit going on inside his head. Phobos is a murderous psychopath who doesn't listen to anything I say. Manny had his dick so far up Aurelian that he's now lost his favourite butt-buddy and blames me for it. He was between a rock and another rock in the shape of a boy who had smashed Tavius' skull to a bloody pulp.

There was too much to juggle.

"What's our next move, then?" Reyan asked the group, both of his allies sat either side of him, distracted by something or other. "We can't just sit here, but we also can't just leave all of us this for the others. I know Svanna. She won't pass the opportunity of coming back."

"Good," Phobos said. "I don't care if they come back. It'll be a fun fight."

"Whilst I'm sure it will be a fun fight," Reyan said, doing his best to take the bite out of his words, even though he was becoming tired of Phobos and his blood-lust. There was a time and a place for it. "We have to be smart about it."

"You be smart about it. If they come, we fight, more tributes die. It's easier that way."

Reyan wanted to say something but Manny beat him to the punch. Reyan knew that sooner or later, Manfred Vargas was going to blow up in his face and try to make a move on taking his life. Reyan wasn't an idiot – that was written on the cards. What Reyan had to make sure didn't happen was that he actually succeeded.

Phobos was an enigma – a mystery card that Reyan couldn't predict. It left him uneasy. He had no idea which way Phobos would go, if any way at all. Or maybe he'll just off us both. I'm sure that'd satisfy his urge for violence. Reyan wanted to laugh at the thought but it wasn't actually an impossibility – instead it ran a chill down his spine and he bit his bottom lip nervously.

Manny looked at both his allies. "Reyan is right. But so are you, Phobos. We can't just sit here and do absolutely nothing but we also can't just waltz off and leave the rest of these supplies unguarded. It'll give someone the upper hand."

Reyan didn't like that Manny was being tactical; acting as the metaphorical bridge between both parties. It would almost be easier for Reyan if Manny was obvious in his emotions and how he felt. The fact that Manny was as deceiving on the outside as Reyan believed he was himself unnerved him. Perhaps both could see through each other, but that still created unpredictability. No one knew who would make the first move.

Phobos was on his feet before Manny or Reyan could say anything else. With there being no way of telling what time it was and Reyan having the worst sleep of his entire life, away from the gilded doors of his home, the untampered luxury of a life he'd willingly given up for this hell-hole, Reyan was struggling to adjust. Phobos was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he clapped his hands together and pulled out a knife.

Bex. I killed Bex. Why does Phobos like it so much? It was horrible. Horrible. Horrible.

"I'm off then."

Reyan was pulled harshly from his thoughts. He blinked up at Phobos, not quite registering his words, until they landed with a sucker-punch to his jaw. "W-What?"

"Manny said I was right. We need to do something. And we can't all leave, so I'm going to take the first sweep of the nearby area. See if there's anyone around."

"But—"

Manny nodded his head, a small smile on his face, and Reyan wanted to scratch it from his skin with the way it made him feel. "Perfect. But not too far and don't do anything stupid. We need you back here, we don't need you dead."

"I'm not going to die."

"You aren't invincible, Phobos."

"I didn't say I was," Phobos deadpanned. "And I'm not stupid. Don't call me that."

Reyan had so many objections on the tip of his tongue but he felt that if he said anything, it would only continue to sow dissent and he needed Phobos on his side against Manny, rather than the other way around. And if Phobos does die… maybe that'll be easier anyway… The thought was dark but something about it felt right. Reyan allowed it to wash away some of his misgivings. It was enough for the smile on his face in response to feel somewhat genuine.

"Two hours," Reyan said, standing up. "Two hours to go and see if you can find anyone and report back what's out here."

When Reyan looked down at Manny, the frown was there, embedded into the dark glint in his eye, the frown on his face, and the way he so clearly didn't seem to try to wash it away. Just the two of us, Reyan wanted to say with a wink, but instead he just smiled at Manny, bidding Phobos a quick farewell as he silently stalked away.

"Oh and Phobos," Reyan called out. Phobos turned and stared at Reyan. "Svanna went that way." He pointed to the tunnel he remembered them fleeing down. "There's four of them, but I'm sure you know what you're doing."

Phobos nodded and if Reyan caught it properly, he saw the faint, gleeful look of a smile on Phobos' face as he vanished.

"Two hours!" Manny shouted after him.

Reyan looked down at Manny. Manny looked up at Reyan.

"So…" Reyan said, relishing the awkwardness that seeped off of Manny in waves. "What's up?"

He felt his sword itch at his side.

And then a twitch in his hand, a fleck of something red catching his eye, and the impulsive sensation vanished instantly. Not now… not yet… He continued to smile at Manny as he sat down, bringing his knees to his chin, wondering if Manny would respond.

"Not much," Manny said. "You?"

So many things, Reyan thought. And none of them good. For you, Manny.

He would find his inner strength again, Reyan swore to himself. He would not succumb to whatever nonsense was going through his mind. It was not who he was. It was not what the Nalaras did. It was alien to the person he was supposed to be.

He refused to let it win.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know, Juliet. That's why we're looking."

"We've been looking for hours. Fucking hours. Where is she?"

Ozias wanted to scream. So help me god if he asks that question one more time I will… Ozias' anger ebbed and he was suddenly well aware, as he and his alliance trudged through dirty water, on the look out for Briel in some horrific underground tunnel, that his anger wasn't at Juliet, but at everything that had happened so far.

Anger at himself because he was not fulfilling what he'd wanted to all along. Anger at the idea of the impression he was giving not living up to the mantle he'd bestowed upon himself before volunteering. Vinicius had been the flame to light the fire. And within minutes, he'd been murdered and left to swim in a pool of his own blood.

What sort of person am I, preaching to the ears of so many lost souls, if I cannot protect those who are even less than the people atop the mountain?

He looked at Sivan who offered him a placid smile and Ozias knew, in his heart, that it wasn't over yet. He refused to allow those thoughts to manifest. He was not wrong – he was not on some ill-guided mission – he was the Ozias that had stood on that mountain and helped the less fortunate. The scorned. The discarded.

He refused to be the sort of person who doubted himself. He was not born to doubt.

"Where is she?"

Juliet asked again, and for the first time since meeting him, Ozias noticed the tiny edge of fear to his voice. They were all scared, it'd be stupid not to be, but Juliet had seen what had taken Briel. Ozias had only caught a glimpse but whatever it was had been enough to force even Juliet – strong, street-smart Juliet Romero – to quake in his boots.

If Ozias thought they'd be fine without the two from Sector Nine, he might have found it funny. But they needed Juliet which meant they needed Briel. The two were practically attached at the hip and right now Ozias could use that.

Right now, he needed a bit of muscle behind him, a push in the right direction.

Sivan kicked up a glob of something red and gristly and Ozias cringed, stepping backwards as Sivan lobbed it away, skimming Juliet's side. She almost giggled at Juliet's horrified expression but she held her tongue. Good, Ozias thought. She's smarter than I gave her credit for.

"I thought you'd be used to treading through sewers," Ozias called out to Juliet's back.

By the expression on his face, it wasn't a welcome comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Harmless, Juliet," Ozias said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I just mean you said you lived in, well, not so nice conditions. And even I've heard of the Romero brothers. We've dealt with each other before, you know?"

That seemed to shock Juliet. "Have we?"

"Inadvertently. Not me and you per se, but one of my friends got into a spot of trouble and your brother helped him. I owe you for that, I suppose."

"My brothers help a lot of people."

Fuck up a lot of people more like, Ozias almost blurted out. I don't like drug dealers, or addicts, or anything of the sort. Pumping toxins into one's body was a sure-fire way of leading them down a darker path of misery. The whole point of Ozias' existence was to be the one that people looked to. To draw them to a purpose. A light. A beacon above the shadows of Two. The shadows that Juliet thrived in.

"Guys, look."

Sivan's voice was soft but loud enough for the two to break from conversation and follow her train of sight. The tunnel veered off into a small, cavernous room, its four walls cracked and rotten away, moss clinging for dear life to the flow of water and fungi mingling amongst the ruin.

Ozias almost said something to lighten the mood. Anything to shift the tension away from the hunt for Briel and bring his alliance back together. But then he saw it, Juliet stepped on it, and all three of them heard it.

"What the—"

"How many of them are there?" Sivan asked, mouth agape.

Ozias could barely count the bones that were huddled atop each other, a macabre embrace between skeletons of all shapes and sizes, rotten to the grisly bone. "You don't think—"

"Don't," Juliet snapped. "There was a cannon but it'd be too soon. Her body wouldn't have…"

Juliet couldn't finish his sentence. Ozias almost wanted to slap him but he himself was too grossed out by the scene. The ground was slick with blood and grime, water falling from jagged and rusted pipes. Ozias didn't like the idea that Juliet was so loyal to Briel and vice versa – it provided problems for the future. If they did not look to him the same way Vinicius had, and now Sivan did, then they were not crucial to help him towards the end.

Not that he ever really was endgame, Ozias thought. Just a means to help myself and… Sivan.

He had to remind himself it was now Sivan. Not Vinicius. His second-best option.

As the three of them turned to leave the room, Ozias practically gagging on the stench, all three halted in their tracks at the sound of something rumbling from not too far away. At first, Ozias couldn't pin-point the sound, his eyes flashing nervously between his allies. The gentle pitter-patter of water drops falling from the tunnel ceiling, against his shoulder, drip, drip, drip… and then the sound reached a new crescendo, a thunderous crash, and the pitter patter of water became nothing to the wave that came furiously towards them.

Dark, murky waters no longer below their shoes but at a height to reach the ceiling, hurled around the corner. Ozias wasted no time. He grabbed onto Sivan's hand, spun her in the direction they'd been running in, and off the two of them went.

He could hear panting behind him and knew Juliet was just inches by his shoulder. Good, he's not stupid enough to fight a fucking flood. Ozias thought of all-consuming darkness, the tightness of his lungs, clawing at his throat as water filled him up, up and up. He felt his skin curdle and stomach constrict. Fear had its hold on him and he wanted to cry in anger.

Get it together… get it together…

The water was fast. They careened round corner after corner, retracing their steps, the only other way through the tunnels leading them back towards where they started. The terror inside Ozias' heart at the idea of drowning became snuffed out by the sudden and hot fury that appeared from the sudden realisation that yet again… yet again things were not going to plan.

He had always had such control over every part and piece of his life. Any obstacle he got rid of. Any hurdle he jumped over. Since coming here, nothing had gone right. Not a single thing.

Ozias almost lashed out at Juliet just to have something to take his anger out on. His hand fell to his side, Sivan rushing ahead, her feet slapping the ground fearfully, and he did his best to hold those emotions at bay.

They'd spent a long time wandering through the tunnels on the way towards Briel, but now they were heading back, time seemed to go a lot faster. Everything went by like a flash as the water continued to chase them and Sivan led them up the ladder they'd previously descended.

When the three of them stood, sopping wet, covered in dirt from head-to-toe, Ozias kicked the maintenance hatch down and slammed his foot once more against the metal.

"Ozias."

He looked at Sivan, eyes ablaze, and at the sight of her paling face, he sighed and felt his hands go limp at his side.

"We're back to where we started."

Though Ozias could hear Juliet's statement, he found it difficult to acknowledge it.

He caught sight of the fish tanks, some full, some empty, some shattered into tiny pieces. Juliet barged past him, as angry as Ozias was though visibly expressing it, heading towards the gaping entranceway to the tunnel that led them to the rest of the Arena.

Ozias looked back at Sivan and she sighed. "She's just one girl. We did what we could."

"Are you guys coming?" Juliet shouted.

Ozias gazed between his allies. He hated this – he hated it more than anything.

The control had practically shattered completely and he wanted to hurt them both. He wanted to hurt Briel. He wanted to hurt whoever the fuck had caused that flood. He wanted to hurt the Capitol, and those back in Two that had made him out to be a freak, and anyone that had come between him and his friends from achieving their goals.

My friends. Our goals.

He couldn't lose it. Because it wasn't just himself he was fighting for, but a whole group of people that clung to Ozias for dear life. He was not the only reason why this was so important.

"We have to find Briel," Ozias said, placing a hand on Sivan's shoulder. "She's our ally and she needs help."

Sivan just lowered her eyes, nodding her head, and moved alongside Ozias as they headed towards Juliet. Though Ozias knew why Juliet was trying to find Briel, though he knew that it was important for them at this very moment to do their best by their strong yet emotional ally, Ozias knew it could not last.

Soon enough, he'd have to think about his own survival, his own path forwards, his own determination to bring Sivan with him to the very end.

"Give us an hour," Ozias said to Juliet, standing by his side, holding his head high and pulling the backpack from his shoulders. "We rest, we eat something, and then we'll go and find her."

They were back to square one, but right now, Ozias needed Juliet.

He hated to admit that. Weakness. The idea of needing someone other than himself. But sometimes, even when he knew he was special, Ozias knew he did not have it all.

Give and take.

Sacrifices.

They were all necessary for his ultimate goal.

I'll find my control again, he swore to himself. And I won't let myself fall apart.

Not today.

Not ever.

Two hours.

Two fucking hours.

TWO HOURS.

Time was up and Phobos knew he had to return. He kicked the wall, aware it was stupid and child-like, but not caring. It hurt his toe and he cursed whichever idiot had forced him into trainers.

I'm here to kill tributes. Spill blood. And I'm wearing a v-neck sweater, chinos and fucking trainers. What lunacy is this?!

Phobos almost kicked the wall again but stopped himself. All he wanted to do was find another tribute, even another alliance, and do what he had come here to do. He wasn't pussy-footing around his allies. He wasn't lapping up the mindless strategies and trying to cement his way to the top through tricks and traps. He would win the old-fashioned way and prove it through his strength and know-how of what to do if he caught someone.

It was what the Capitol wanted to see. A tribute with the knowledge on how to get the job done.

So why can't I find anyone?

It wasn't a complicated Arena. He'd gone down one tunnel and come across closed doors that wouldn't open no matter how hard he had tried. If there had been anyone behind them, they hadn't given it away and that had only infuriated Phobos further.

He could feel the anger burrowing through his skin. He didn't like it. Giving into emotions whether that was happiness, sadness or this fury was not the sort of person Phobos wanted to be. It would get in the way. It would be a hindrance, not a saving grace.

I just want to do what I am supposed to be doing.

I just want some fun.

A thought came to mind in that instant. A thought that he felt stupid to have not considered in the two hours of mindlessly roaming around the Arena. In his hunt for tributes, growing ever impatient about not coming across a soul, the entire time he knew exactly where some of the tributes were.

Two of them, in fact.

Strategies, masks, inner-fucking-turmoil. Guilt, repression, whatever idiots go through. I'm tired of it. Sick of it, even.

He headed back the way he'd came.

Phobos wasn't in this for the loyalty of a two victors situation. He didn't need nor want anyone with him as he carved his way to the top. Whoever happened to survive with him would be whichever tribute was lucky enough not to fall in his way.

There were two tributes who had always been obstacles. Fake, moaning bastards who should just deal with what they were feeling and rip at each other's throats.

My two hours are up, boys.

Here I come.

17th: Viorica Dain, Sector Seven Female.

I'm too tired and too busy to go back and add in the deaths. I'll just keep them at the end of each chapter. If you skip to the A/N to check, that's your decision and I don't mind!

Anywaaayyy. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter but things are kicking up a gear, shit is happening, and we've lost another tribute.

I'm now back at work so I will do my best to stick to a weekly update schedule. I'm committed to getting this story done. We've come too far for this not to finishhhh!

Thanks guys!