.

A woman said: "I know my son is dead.
I'll never rest my hands on his sacred head".

Polo Elviers, 17, District Seven Male

"Hey Cedric, do you want to go and find some dinner with me?"

My younger district partner turns his head slowly from his conversation with Aston, eyes flickering over me, and gives a brisk nod. I turn to the forest, hearing his footsteps descend lightly behind my own as we delve deeper into the woods.

Truth be told, I'd love to go and hunt alone – I wouldn't mind going out to pick some berries on my lonesome, without the hawkish eye of someone behind me. But that's not an option anymore – not when there's just five of us left.

I'm not dumb. I see the way Cedric and Aston look me over when I go off on my own, trying to drown my misery in something productive. Yesterday it worked. But as the sun descends below the horizon, coating the arena in an unsettling shade of misty grey, it only exemplifies the way I'm feeling inside.

I feel broken. I feel lost. I miss Triesse. I just want to be home.

It's like I can almost see my family back in Seven, eyes glued to the screen as they watch my every move. My mother, my father, my older sisters, my boyfriend. There are so many people counting on me. The only way to look now is not to the past and the ways I've screwed up, but to the future.

Cedric and I advance onto a plateau of land, just high enough to survey the spire island from a distance. He heaves a sigh as he comes up next to me, face weary and eyes puffy from lack of rest.

"I have a proposition for you."

I turn to him, surprised. "Yeah?"

His eyes flicker to meet mine, darting away after just a moment. "Let's be real here, Polo. We're both from Seven. We both have so much going for us. We're the only pair of district partners left in the arena. Don't you think that means something?"

"…That we're both super good at hiding and deflecting?" I manage a joke, trying to force a smile upon my lips.

He exhales softly, never once breaking that serious expression I've come to grow so fond of. "This was destiny," he mutters. "Adeline knew it back even on the train and we've got to embody it now. We were always meant to come this far, you and me. This means something."

"Enlighten me."

Finally he turns to me fully, our eye contact revived. "It means we're destined for the final two, Polo. If we can nab Aston, Tamira, Voitsekh… think about it. And even if I'm the one to fall at the end of the day, I'd still rather you win than anyone else."

I nod. "And I with you. Because even if I do die, your winning will mean that my family gets just a little more food for the rest of the year…" I gnaw on my lower lip, ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach as I envision my own death. "…and surely you'll bring more honor to our district, another victor home, yadda yadda yadda. Yeah, it makes sense. I'd rather us be in the final two, as well."

His eyes flash. "So you'll follow the plan I have in store for us."

Who am I to say no? I shrug. "Go on."

Cedric jerks a thumb back to where Aston remains, counting our supplies or sharpening a knife or something mediocrely useful. "He's deadweight. Haven't seen much fire in his eyes since Annie passed. The sooner we get him out of here, the sooner our final two becomes, and the sooner this can all be over with."

His words startle me, though at this point I should know to expect the unexpected from Cedric. I hesitate with caution, tripping over the words that threaten to spill from my mouth. "What are you saying?"

Cedric lifts an eyebrow. "I'm saying he could turn on us at any moment, and that we need to eliminate him as soon as possible."

"But it's Aston," I say. His kind face dances around in my memory. Aston handing me the water bottle as I was on the verge of dehydration. Aston flashing me a smile in training whenever we crossed paths. Aston's face, contorted in pain and remorse as Triesse's cannon lit up the arena. I barely know the kid and I like him too much for my own good. Is Cedric really that stonehearted that he's suggesting we walk back all friendly and slit this kid's throat?

"Exactly…" Cedric's eyebrows dip low into a scowl. "It's Aston. And he's not from Seven. So what do you say?"

I swallow thickly. "I don't know, Cedric. It might be better to take on the remaining two tributes as a trio."

"And I think he's a stone in our shoe."

Obviously, he's not giving in – and though there's a voice in the back of my head telling me not to feed into whatever dark fantasy he's scheming up, the innate need to survive and last beyond another cannon sound plagues me far more than innocent blood being spilt. With my head pounding out the sound of my blood pulsing deep within, I nod.

Cedric's expression relaxes, the scowl slowly dissipating. "Alright. So it's been decided. Now what shall we do?"

"I can't kill him myself," I say instantly. My voice dips into a needy, almost desperate tone and I inwardly berate myself. "I mean, not without some help. I just don't think I'm built to kill those that I've grown close with."

I can almost hear Cedric groaning to himself. He slumps to the ground, pulling at a clump of wet grass. "Yes, that much has become evident," he replies dryly, and falls silent – no doubt the cogs of his mind whirring with a new plan.

Why can't we all just get along? I mope to myself, hunching down by his side and exhaling.

At the end of the day, the fact remains: I'll do whatever it takes to get back to Seven. That much is clear. After witnessing thirteen faces alight the nighttime sky, shedding tears over those I've met just a week and a half ago, facing things I never thought I'd have to endure (hello, trench foot!) at the end of it all, I've become a stronger person.

But another hard fact is consistent throughout everything as well, and perhaps speaks more volumes than just the shit I've gone through.

I haven't made a kill.

Why then, am I still here? I gaze up into the hazy grey sky that's become so familiar to me. Aston killed Triesse. Cedric, no doubt, has killed. And if I remember correctly, the remaining two tributes hail from Career districts. It's next to impossible that neither of them have cut someone's life short yet.

So that leaves me, hanging within the balance, useless in the eyes of the Capitol and impure in the eyes of my district.

I'll have to kill if I truly want to make it out of this arena.

I can't escape it anymore.

And I desperately want to live.

I've never been one to run from the truth. My entire life I've taken trials and tribulations as they come, accepting them with open arms and doing all within my power to overcome. In fact, that's an understatement. I've always been on the hunt for different solutions and vices to overpower any tricky thing I've come into contact with.

Relationship issues, climbing the social ladder of a new district, family troubles, obsessions with my own power and gaining more, struggling with my own sexuality. I've always been able to find a way out.

I suppose this is where my way out begins.

I come to my feet, wincing as the still raw skin of my soles come into contact with the earth. Trench foot's a bitch. Cedric glances up at me, eyebrow lifted in question.

"I'm ready."

The words are foreign as they come out of my mouth, but if Cedric suspects anything out of the norm, he doesn't show it. He gives a nod, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Okay," he says. "Alright." His eyes drift to a thicket of weeds near us, running wild with luscious green leaves and spiraling up to about knee-length. "We can't return to Aston without something to show for our foraging. We'll bring these and make a salad."

"You're sure they're not poisonous?"

He gives me a hairy eyeball. "I think out of everyone remaining in this arena, Polo, I'd be the one to know that they're not poisonous. Now let's fetch some of these, maybe a few plums, and we'll see what happens when we get back to Aston."

My hand descends and uproots a clump of the greenery; Cedric follows suit, bringing the entire bunch of plants up with an easy tug. With that, he gives me a courteous nod, and we begin our trek back to Aston. If he's ignoring an uneasy bubbling sensation within him, he doesn't show it, but I certainly feel it.

Everyone's had a time of reckoning.

So this is mine.

Tamira Calise, 17, District Twelve Female

Run. Run. Run. Run.

I don't know where I'm going, where I came from, where I am. All I can register besides the pounding within my ears is that I need to get out.

The ground beneath me is slippery, but I'd be damned if I let that get in my way. I slip and slide everywhere, never quite losing balance, never quite increasing my pace. Yet I continue on, legs charging against the ground, arms swinging wildly at my sides as I surge forward – away from the massacre behind me.

Final Five.

My ears still echo with the cannons of the kids that I knew once upon a time. Bronte. Sienna. Remo. Valyn.

Remo…

The mere thought of my partner in crime, my henchman, my meathead makes me choke back a sob. I watched as Valyn shoved the spear through his chest without a second thought or regard for his life. It shouldn't feel any different than watching Cerico get speared through the gut, or any other tribute, really, but it kills me all the same.

He's gone. He's gone, and I'm alone, and I don't know what to do.

It's easy to assume that Remo built me up this entire time. I knew it when I approached him that very first night, ignoring the blatant sneer on his face and pushing past the ugly glower that he wore like a crown. Remo was the only one who saw beyond my dramatic tendencies, my love for breaking others down in the name of fun and entertainment. He might not have appreciated it as I did, but he accepted me for it and helped me along my way as I'd inwardly sworn to do to him.

And yet I watched as a bystander as his final breath escaped his lips, leaving the world with nothing but a corpse and a dead legacy.

No. Thinking about it too much will only kill me. No matter how much the sound of his cannon hurt, no matter how sickened and shaky I feel on the inside, no matter how dearly I wish we had never crossed paths and that I wouldn't be able to feel this type of pain. But when it comes down to it, Remo gave me something I had never quite had before.

A true confidante. Someone to watch my back no matter what, never betraying, never plotting.

My bitches at home were great, sure – we had intense times of great fun and every other girl was jealous of us. I know that much. But there were nights I'd come home with tears pricking my eyes because I never knew if they truly cared about me. We'd go out and get blacked off our asses off District Eleven wine and flirt with the hottest boys and in the morning we'd shake each other awake, giggle about how ugly so-and-so looked, bitch about whatever type of hangover we had, snag some breakfast and march off to training together. It was almost routine. I loved them fiercely, and they loved me back.

Yet there had always been the underlying darkness within my head – if I did something to piss them off too heavily, or do something to disrupt the chaotic sort of peace that our friend group had, how easy would it have been for them to drop me like I was nothing but some useless bitch with no redeeming qualities?

Far too easy.

They had accepted me, and in turn I accepted them for the safe space that they provided me. A refuge from this shitty world and shitty district. It might've even been genuine. But there was never a time where they truly could prove themselves to me.

Here, Remo had proved himself over, and over, and over.

And I let an outlier scum end his life right in front of my eyes, as if he was worth absolutely nothing.

You might hate yourself for it, but it's making you a stronger bitch, I remind myself as I continue sprinting forward. This is the culmination of everything that you'd wanted. Everything. Remo proved his use and now you're alive and he is not – you can mourn for him during your Victory Tour.

Yet it hurts the same as if it were my chest that Valyn impaled, more than I'd bargained for when I approached some random outlier kid, and I have the throbbing heart and unsettling fear of tears spilling to remind me of this weakness.

It truly does fucking suck here.

Something catches the corner of my eye and I get distracted from my run, barreling unceremoniously into a tree. Gasping with the sudden spurts of pain that ignite within my head, I topple backwards into a bush. But there is no time for pain, for a rest – I pop my head out of the bush, squinting to see whatever the fuck made me run into the tree in the first place.

Fucking Voitsekh.

In my haze of hating myself for not stopping Valyn early enough, despising Bronte for putting me in such a position, and wishing for Remo to magically appear from the dead, I'd forgotten about the bastard that only proved he couldn't be trusted.

I knew that when he mouthed off about Bronte, when he played a fool at the bloodbath, when I approached him as he was torturing Remo just an hour ago. It feels like a lifetime. Yes, in a sense he'd slipped under my radar.

But considering we've chopped ourselves down to just five tributes left, it appears that somehow I've underestimated just how well a complete dumbass can do in the Hunger Games.

I don't know what he's doing. He has a sword, the same effing thing that he's been lugging around like a security blanket this entire time. The blood on it is fresh, glimmering in what faint light the cloud cover provides. Voitsekh twirls like a top in the empty clearing, eyes focused on the sky beyond.

"He's fucking lost it," I grumble to myself, hand clutched around what few throwing knives I managed to salvage.

So where do I go from here?

Forward, obviously.

I take one last shaky breath, casting my backpack into the bush and throwing myself ahead.

Voitsekh stops spinning as soon as he sees me coming from the tree line but his smile doesn't fade from his face. "You've made it," he says, with too much contrived cheer than I've ever seen from him.

"Funny to be seeing you here," I say courteously.

"It's been twenty minutes, Tamira." His eyes roll into the back of his head. "This arena's gotten smaller, I can feel it. Miss me?"

My eyes focus on the sword he carries so haphazardly in his hands. "Not one bit," I counter.

His hands seem to be shaking as they sling the sword around, not quite in a danger zone for me but still closer than I'd like. "Shame…" His bottom lip quivers with falsified emotion. "I thought we'd gotten quite close over the course of… hm… the past hour? Tragic. Perhaps we would've been best of friends back in Eleven."

"Funny. I'd chew you up and spit you out."

"Spoken like a true prima donna." Voitsekh cocks his head. "Well? Are you just gonna stand there, spitting insults at me, or are you gonna charge me like I know you want to?"

"I don't trust you."

"Join the club." A snigger bubbles up from somewhere deep within him, and he crosses his arms, those blackened eyes piercing directly into my soul. "So we sit here and stare at each other for ages. I'm sure that District Twelve is very happy with this development."

District Twelve wants me to put one in your gut right now. I shift from one foot to the other in discomfort. I've played with my food my entire life, but for whatever reason, this feels different. This feels like a reckoning.

If that's how it's meant to be, so be it. Let me figure things out. Let Voitsekh talk his shit. Let him freak me the fuck out. He reminds me of a certain someone, maybe a million years ago. Maybe her name was Tamira. Maybe I'd like to do it too, if I hadn't the heightened sense of thisisgonnahappenrightthefucknowandthisismybiggestthreatleft. Maybe I'd be less concerned.

But I know a reckoning when I see one. And this just so happens to be Voitsekh.

So be it.

Voitsekh Nazeryan, 18, District Eleven Male

So it's Tamira.

Another chortle finds its way from my throat to the chilled air, hardening the invisible barrier between us and solidifying the glare on her ugly face. Of course it's Tamira. She's always been the one to beat, then, hasn't she?

"For what it's worth, I fully expect this to be bloody and gory," I call out, twisting the blade of my sword into the soft dirt and standing behind it. "And I'm sure you'll be willing to provide the world with such a memorable death. Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse and live your life on the run, yeah?"

"I thought that was the slogan for the entirety of Eleven," she says tiredly, taking a few cautious steps forward. She stops. "Oh, or were you too drunk in class to remember?"

In a way, she reminds me of Jules – never knowing when to stop, never fully allowing herself to have the upper hand because she's just too damn cocky for her own good. She's never known what it's like to be weak, and to allow yourself to feel that vulnerability. If I were a better person, I'd pity her.

But at the end of the day, I'm the survivor here. I've endured worse. I've pulled myself out of death five times over and become stronger because of it. It sucks that the worst Tamira has had to go through was a probable condom snap or getting kicked out of a party.

She has never had to go through a portion of the shit I've had to. Her entire life has been dished up to her with a silver spoon and a heaping helping of love from her district.

I was the one born with a thorn in my side; overlooked, kicked to the side, beaten down by every single wretched love I've ever held. I've faced my biggest fears more than any human being ever should have to: failure and rejection, presented to me every single time I tried to become a bigger, better person. I was born into a world that hated me just for existing. I'm determined it won't always be that way.

Imagine being mocked at your first and only birthday party. Imagine the prettiest little ten-year-old girl you could have imagined, asking you to get lunch with her, and as soon as you say yes she laughs in your face and runs back to her friends, giddy with the premise of an enthralling new piece of gossip. Imagine your parents disregarding you in every single aspect, just because your siblings were straight-laced and too obedient for their own good.

I've never been given the easy path in life. On a daily base it seemed like the world was against me, praying for my downfall. I've always, always, always had to fight for the same spot that everyone else was given at birth.

I've survived the most. I've overcome the impossible. I've looked death in the eyes and laughed it away.

And that is why I deserve to get out of this arena with stars in my eyes. This is why Tamira Calise has to die.

She doesn't deserve it, she never has.

The clouds above us grumble out a haunting melody of thunder and inevitable terror, but I don't move my eyes from the girl in front of me. Nor does she. With a hand tucked inside her jumpsuit, no doubt clutching one of those stupid knives she's grown so accustomed to, she stares back at me with the darkened ferocity of a feral kitten.

I can see her vocal chords twitching to say something new, something stupid. If I could hear, I'm sure her jaw could click as it begins to open. Her eyes squint ever-so-slightly, prepared to hurl another useless insult at me.

But I'm done with it. I've taken enough of her bullshit.

So I lunge.

Tamira is caught by surprise as I tear past the tree line, sword lashing out at her as I dart forward. Clumsily she grabs for a knife, hurtling it in my general direction. A tree. It hits a tree. I allow myself a nasty laugh at her incompetence as she frantically grabs for another, a blade that will never cut skin.

I'm on her within seconds. I'm bigger than her, it's all too easy to tackle her to the ground and bring the blade of my sword down onto… her shoulder. I've missed. How did I miss? I snarl, fingers closing around the hilt and ripping it out of her shoulder, a sluice of blood and tendon and muscle squelching wetly.

She screams, a hand flying to her shoulder. There it is – her mistake. She's taken her hand off of her knives. It's just like Remo, now. I swoop my free hand down to her chin, wrapping my long fingers upwards of her jaw, feeling the soft skin and frantic drumming of a heartbeat as I press into her neck.

"Fuck!"

Her head dips backwards in a mad attempt to worm out of my grip - but in doing so, she's just backed herself against a tree. Her incompetence is telling, and only proves my point – Tamira has never had to fight for a single thing in her entire life. She just lived to create fights.

I hook my fingers into her ears, digging the crook of my thumb and index finger even deeper into the soft spot at the back of her chin. Her face flashes – from pale, to tomato red, to a vivid, horrid shade of purple. A choking noise escapes her, almost gagging, almost retching, eyes suddenly streaming with tears. They beseech me. I stare into those blackened pools of brown, full of remorse, full of wishfulness, without a trace of hope in sight.

What a horrible end for such a horrible girl, I muse to myself, watching a fun little vein pop out of her forehead. And yet how fitting – no longer can she choke anyone else out for going against her grain now. Really, I'm doing the world a favor.

"If only Remo was here," I snigger to myself, tightening my grip and feeling a pop somewhere within her neck. Maybe it's bone. "I'm sure he'd be right behind me to clock me in the head and put an end to this, huh? Such a shame you weren't looking out for him earlier…"

Her eyes flash.

Tamira's arms lunge out for me, straining, reaching for my neck. It'd be laughable if it weren't her final attempt at life. Try to strangle me all you want, bitch, I'm letting nature take its slow-ass time with you. I'm so focused on her face, on watching the perspiration leech out of every pore, every new pained contortion of her face, every quiver of her lips as they gasp for air –

- that I don't notice her hand and its knife until she's plunged it into my thigh.

The effect is almost immediate. I roll off of her, gasping and yanking the hilt out to reveal a fresh stream of deep crimson blossoming over the leg of my jumpsuit. Close to me but not too far, I can sense Tamira clawing at her neck, taking a sharp, shaky breath of oxygen.

"You bitch," she chokes out, hands pawing at her throat.

I hiss as I bring my head closer to the deep wound in my leg, prodding the exterior skin with a shaky finger. Oh fuck it's deep, like really deep, like I don't think I can stand without sending stars into my head and pain all over my body, and holy fucking shit I should not have yanked that fucking knife out, and of course I let the bitch slip away when she had two seconds left at life, and fuck this is not good.

A metallic clang makes my head whip back to Tamira. With a note of satisfaction I realize her face hasn't drained away the unsettling purple tone, though judging by the way her nostrils flare in and out, she's certainly found her breath again.

"You stabbed me," I say, more certainly and placidly than I'd expected.

Chest heaving, breath rattling, she presents her final knife. "And you strangled me," she rasps out.

I should be expecting the knife in my chest the moment I see her arm descend, but something makes my foot kick out too late, my arm swing to catch her off balance too clumsy, my vision too blurry. The blade comes down deep into my torso, slipping through my ribcage and introducing me to an entirely new world of pain that I've never ever had to experience.

Now it's my turn to wheeze out, screaming and gasping with agony as my hands scramble to find the hilt, clawing for absolutely anything to keep me alive. Tamira sits back on her heels, lips opening and closing to find air, massaging her chin with such calmness that if I wasn't me, I'd be unnerved.

It can't end like this. No. It cannot fucking end with you dying by the hand of the villain.

"You have killed me," I find myself saying, fingers slipping around the blood on my chest as they fruitlessly scrabble for the knife. I can feel something extremely hot, fluid, and unpleasant inside my stomach, somewhere. I pray it's not a lung airing out.

Tamira throws her head back, gasping for air still. "You…" She struggles for another breath, head spinning as she tries to remain stable. Maybe that pop in her throat did something. "You aren't dead yet."

I'm not dead.

As Tamira groans and moans next to me, trying to suck any air through her broken passageways, I keep record of my two hands.

One of them remains on my chest, finding the hilt of the knife and slipping through the blood, attempting to catch a grasp.

The other reaches for my sword.

She doesn't register when I bring it up into the air, brandishing it like it's a lifeline, nor does she lash out as I bring it clumsily down onto her leg. The fabric of her jumpsuit splits open, the sword stuck within the skin somewhere, and all Tamira does is throw her head back once more and scream. It's blood-curdling, rattling, and ultimately haunting.

That's it, then. That's all I need.

Her hand descends upon my face, battering over and over and over, and at some point it stops. There is nothing left within me to fight back with not only a broken body but a contorted face; I barely hear it as Tamira spits out the names of the remaining tributes and departs from my side, lugging herself unceremoniously into the forest, still that luscious shade of deathly violet.

Somehow, a smile pulls its way onto my lips.

Blackness tugs at the edges of my vision, blocking out any image I have of the bitch from Twelve or the physical world. Stars and colors I've never before seen dance before my vision, introducing me to a world of fantasy and things yet to be explored. My pain gradually begins to melt away; my hand stops clawing at the hilt of the knife, moreso finding it to be comfortable inside my chest. My skin feels as if it's melting away, smooth as butter and free of any pain I've ever experienced.

This is it, I think to myself as everything fades into unconscious matter. This is better than anything - better than absolutely any drug I've ever searched for. Why didn't I see it before? I wasn't looking for a drug to take my pain away. I should have realized that the only way to really take it away was through death.

But now I finally have what I've been looking for.

Sorry, Mom and Dad.

Cedric Passios, 13, District Seven Male

"You guys are back!" Aston scrambles to his feet, his silhouette illuminated faintly in the dark as a bolt of lightning in the distance sends the arena into a flash of white. "I heard the cannon and I got worried."

Polo flashes a smile, a glint of white teeth in the dark. "We've made it to the final four, baby."

… but we're about to be the final three.

I make my way to a nearby rock, cautious not to step on any stinging nettle on my way. The greens in my hand sting slightly, red bumps raising up on my skin like little prickling nettles, but I ignore them. It's a salad, I remind myself. It's our dinner and we'll be fine with it.

So the final three.

And it's my decision which one of us makes it there.

I've never been one to play with my food before I eat it, but last night when the idea came to me, I knew immediately I had to put it into action. Getting both of my 'allies' on my side when I intend to keep only one into the finale… it's genius, really. I am the common link between Polo and Aston. I've kept us together through worse, through Arden and Annie and Triesse and everything in between. Neither of them would be here if it weren't for me.

Though small, I am mighty, I am fierce.

So which one to keep?

The pill in my pocket sits heavy; the greens in my hand seem to weigh a ton.

"What did you get for dinner, Cedric? Some plants?"

Aston wrinkles his nose, sticking his tongue out playfully as he sizes them up. "I've never been one for greens, really," he says. "I'm much more a meat on the bone type of guy. But I guess beggars can't be choosers…"

"They're tasty, I promise."

I just won't be eating them.

My heart pounds as I lay them silently on a nearby rock, brandishing a small knife to chop them up into smaller pieces. When did this dark voice, this guidance of blackened morals come into my mind? I was never like this back home. I always kept the morals intact of everyone deserves to live – everyone has a chance to live – you save everyone you can. It's what a healer does. It's in our blood to keep as many of our neighbors alive and kicking as possible.

If only the same morals applied here. I guess after Annie, it's not like I'd be any good at them anymore.

But that's why I'm here, right? The final four.

"Mind if I have your water bottle, Cedric? I'm quite thirsty." Aston reaches for my water bottle, nodding a happy little thank-you as he takes a swig.

We should be fighting right now, I say to myself gently as I mince the greens into tiny pieces, the bitter smell of vegetation wafting up to my nostrils. We shouldn't be acting so casual, as if this is any regular dinner. Not when two of us will be facing the other in the coming hours. Why even bother with dinner at this point, honestly? Might as well be easier to crack the poison pill into the greens, dish it up with a smile and call it a day.

But the fact still remains: the fourth tribute out there is a Career, be it Voitsekh or Tamira. I can't take someone like that on by myself. There's no doubt that I'll get crushed like a bug.

I need some sort of backup – someone that I can turn around and defeat right after.

So the ever-pestering question remains.

Aston or Polo?

"He picked them himself," Polo says, gently setting down the assortment of plums that we collected nearby. "Here, have one, Aston. Didn't you say that these were one of your favorites?"

Aston cradles a plump plum in his hand, admiring the shiny skin as it glimmers under the moonlight. I watch with a wary eye. "They are," he says gratefully. "My family loved buying these at the market. I come from a really well-off family, so we had these around the house all the time. They taste like home, I guess. It's nice to have something so familiar."

I swallow hard as he sinks his teeth into the plum, my heartbeat drumming up a storm in my ears. I force myself to turn away, hoping my Judas face won't betray what I'm really thinking.

Enjoy that plum, Aston. It might be your last one ever.

"I always had more of an affinity for these." Polo brandishes a handful of raspberries from his pocket, stained red from the juices. He plops one into his mouth. "Super rich people food too. My family always was pretty well-off too, and they bought me these whenever I wanted."

"Mmm," Aston murmurs around a mouthful of plum.

Polo chuckles lightly. "I always thought they were so fun. The little ridges, the way the seeds would get stuck in my mouth, the brambles that sometimes came with them… but I'm sure you know all about these, don't you, Aston? They're pretty common-place in rich families."

I watch with a sullen side-eye as he moves to bring a red berry to his mouth. He looks so innocent, enjoying the simpler pleasures in life. It hurts, the things I have to do to survive. As he rolls a berry around between two fingers, deciding which one to eat first, I picture him on the ground, eyes rolled back, a cannon resonating in the distance. My heart almost sinks as I watch him lick his lips with anticipation, grinning as it comes up to his lips, and –

"No, stop!"

Aston swats the raspberry out of Polo's hand, eyes wide and frightened.

"What the hell?"

"That's a red berry!" Aston says in a hushed tone. He gulps down a swallow, suddenly spooked. "I learned about red berries in training. Those are poisonous, Polo – aren't they, Cedric?"

It's a raspberry, you dumbass.

"That berry isn't poisonous," I counter incredulously, finally speaking up. Polo looks bewildered. Aston looks stricken. "It's just a raspberry. They put them in pies and everything. They're often paired with medicines to… you know, it doesn't even matter. Aston, how the hell do you not know what a raspberry is? You said your family was well-off."

His eyes dart between Polo and I, filled with a fear I've never seen within him before. Something stirs in my stomach. This feels more telling than it should be.

Maybe you're not the only one in this alliance who's been lying your ass off this entire time.

At the same time… the fact that Aston prevented Polo from eating what he thought to be a poisonous berry, while you're taking time to decide which one of them you can off first and have it be the easiest, speaks volumes.

Yeah… Aston might be lying but I'm still the biggest fucking asshole here.

"My mistake," he bleats out, allowing himself to giggle a little. Naturally, it's forced. The pit in my stomach deepens. "I must've just been seeing it wrong in the dark."

"Let's just eat our dinner," Polo sighs, shoving the raspberries deep within his pocket again. My hand comes to my own pocket, feeling for the nightlock pill. "I'm starved. We need to get our energy up for the next day."

Fuck fuck fuck I haven't made my decision yet.

"I'm not so hungry," Aston says, offering up a tense smile. "I think I'll just finish my plum and that'll be that."

Fuck fuck fuck no I need to make this decision.

"I think we need more toppings for our salad!" I declare, hurriedly brushing the greens into a hand and trying to slide them into my pocket, but Polo grabs my wrist. Our eyes lock. His brow furrows.

"Cedric, I literally ate waterbugs for breakfast when I was back at the ravine," he says. "At this point, I'll eat rocks if they're seasoned with a little salt. Give me some salad, dude!"

His tone is playful; it would just be bizarre if I were to make such a fuss.

It's his funeral.

Silently I place the greens back on the rock, nightlock pill still hanging heavy in my pocket. Polo snickers at me lightly, shaking his head at such silliness and brings a handful of greens to his mouth. He even garnishes them with a raspberry.

He chews. Swallows. Wipes his mouth and goes back for more.

And then he stops.

Aston's eyes flicker from Polo's frozen form to me. "Polo?" He speaks up, trying to ease the mood with a gentle laugh. "You good, man?"

Polo's chest convulses, and he claps a hand over his mouth. He lurches, his body straining to vomit, but nothing comes from his mouth but foam. Once more does the bitter scent of the greens drift up to my nose, and I realize that in the midst of my confusion, I hadn't even given myself a chance to properly identify them.

Bittersweet nightshade. With accelerated toxins after watered profusely by rain.

"Fuck," I say, more to myself than anyone else. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"What are you doing to him?" Aston shrieks, jumping back as Polo gags again, producing this time a wad of red spittle. "What the fuck is happening, Cedric?"

"It wasn't me!" I gasp, scrambling backwards as Polo topples onto the rock before me. His eyes interlock with mine. This is worse than Annie. At least Annie trusted me in her final moments; but as I lie paralyzed on the forest floor, with Polo's eyes piercing mine, they spell out one thing only: you've betrayed me.

The pit in my stomach explodes.

Polo comes to his side, body convulsing, a stream of red foam and mucus streaming out the side of his mouth. Behind him, Aston coaxes out niceties, his voice shaky but gentle and true. I say nothing. My mouth hangs open, flabbergasted at my own stupidity and absolute obliviousness.

Finally he falls to his side. His body wracks with a final hacking noise, and it is over.

His cannon shoots.

Aston finally comes to my side, eyes waterlogged with tears and confusion. "You meant to poison us both with whatever that was," he says, his voice shaky. "You meant to kill me for your own benefit. Whatever happened to you and me in the final two, Cedric? Have you been lying to me this entire fucking time?"

"No," I whisper out, but he's not done.

"I knew it," he accuses, finger trembling as it points at me. It feels as if it's pointing right into my soul. "From the moment Arden said he was suspicious of you in training. I should've taken his word right then. And then when Annie died overnight – you didn't kill her out of mercy, did you? It was for your own damned benefit to get another one of us out of the way, to eliminate someone that actually trusted you!"

"No!" I shout up. As the word escapes my lips, I know it's not true, but I can't let him think I'm a bad person. I'm not a bad person. It's the fucking Hunger Games.

"You poisoned Triesse. You pushed Arden," I retort, my voice threatening to break. "That wasn't me, Aston. You have a darkness inside of you. Arden trusted you and you left him for dust – how dare you come at me and accuse me of being a horrible person when you've done the same thing!"

He takes a step back, wiping his forehead of sweat and turning his head to the clouds. The storm in the distance grumbles, not so far from us anymore. It threatens to spill over onto us, flashes of white lightning and crackles of electricity warning us to stay back.

"So it's the pot calling the kettle black," Aston murmurs finally. "I get it. God, I fucking get it, I guess. But it comes down to us and one other person, Cedric. One that neither of us can take on by ourselves. I just hope you can set that fucking silver tongue aside and listen to reason, at least."

"I know," I whisper, "I know."

A rustle in the bushes behind us makes us both jump out of our skins – our heads whip to find Tamira Calise, the girl from District Twelve, looking as if she's seen better days.

"You two," she croaks out, a laugh bubbling up from within her. She wipes her hand on her jumpsuit, which at this point is far more crimson than the tawny color we'd been given. "God, the fucking finale and I have to kill two children?"

My hands find Aston's water bottle and the knife next to it. The greens and the plums lie on the rock, abandoned, a dinner that will never get to be finished. Hands trembling, I pull myself to my feet, whirling around to face our new competitor as she laughs again, teeth white against the blackness of the night. A bolt of lightning erupts in the distance, signaling the beginning of a new torrent of rain.

"Cedric," Aston murmurs quietly next to me as Tamira reaches inside her jumpsuit, "Remember everything I said."

"You and me," I echo quietly, "in the final two."

A/N: Suffer Little Children by the Smiths.

5th: Polo Elviers, District Seven Male.

4th: Voitsekh Nazeryan, District Eleven Male.

My apologies to the submitters that lost their tributes this chapter. Truly. These two were some of my favorites to write, and congratulations to them for getting this far! I'm sad to see them go.

We're down to the finale. I'm so excited to wrap this story up and to begin writing for Ready for War! This story has been such a fun ride, something to keep me going and motivated during quarantine, truly. It's been a nice little escape from all the absolute bullshit going on in the world. Lowkey fuck 2020!

I'd like to thank everyone for reading this far and for sticking with me if you're still here – clearly, next chapter is our finale and quite frankly I'm real excited.

Questions!

Who is the victor you predict?

Who is the victor you want?

Who would your ideal final 3 have been?

Stay safe – wear a mask – sign petitions – and on this belated 4th of July, remember America is not free until all our citizens have their freedoms!