Chapter Twenty-Nine.
Damon didn't just see the dark around them and in the sky, he felt it with every step and found himself becoming more and more fearful the further they ventured through the woods.
He didn't tell Henley nor Iva that his heart pumped furiously in his chest, his palms sweated and his knees knocked together. Damon didn't want to be seen as a liability. Someone dragging them down. He wanted to be a strong member of this alliance, he really did, but that didn't change the fact he didn't feel like it.
And the darkness was making it so much worse.
Occasionally, a cloud of gold would drift on by, gentle fireflies flittering through the tall grass and delicately touching the leaves. It was beautiful and offered a second's respite from the cloying sheet of black. He wondered what his father thought of him, quivering in the woods, a few paces behind his two stronger, more determined allies. Surely, he found him a disappointment. It was his father's fault he was both scared and used to the dark. All those years of punishment – who'd have thought the Arena would be like this?
"Guys, wait up!" Damon hurried forwards, ignoring the fear in his chest and smiled as the girls turned their heads. "Sorry. Nerves playing on me." Damon wasn't a liar. He'd learnt to shed the cocky bravado he had always tried to smother himself under in the face of new people. Strangers always saw through it anyway – into the awkward yet cheerful soul that lay just at the surface.
Iva grinned, though sadly, Spelt's death still playing on her mind. "That's okay, Damon. Hopefully we'll find somewhere to rest."
Henley on the other hand hardly reacted to what Damon had to say. She hated the fact that she was starting to see him as a liability but the second that she'd realised he had just stood there, on the plate, shivering like a wet blanket, he'd already sealed his fate as the weakest one here. He'd gone against their plan to gather some supplies and make it out of there.
At least Iva had done her bit. Yeah, she'd been distracted by Spelt's death, but Henley wasn't heartless. She'd hugged her ally. Someone she was even beginning to feel could be a friend. And Damon wasn't a bad person – just someone that hadn't adapted well to this situation.
If we had weeks to adjust, then maybe he'd get there. But we don't. We're now in this. Slap bang in the middle of it.
Henley turned around as Damon clung to the other side of Iva. The two broke into a small conversation that Henley barely picked up nor cared to listen to. Truthfully, she knew they only really liked her because of what she provided the alliance. Back in Five, she'd hated the idea of only being used for her skills or her intelligence; now she didn't mind it. It made her feel somewhat confident in her place in the Games.
That she had a chance.
"Can you smell that?"
Iva's question caused Henley to stop in her tracks. As they looked closely through the next crop of trees, she could see little glimpses of something. And there definitely was the smell of something. Something charring and burnt. Smoke?
Damon rushed forwards gleefully. His legs were hurting. He had a stitch in the side of his abdomen. Basically, he just wanted to have a good night's rest. Iva sped up to join him and Henley now brought up the rear of their group. She had a club in her hand and held it tightly, suspicion always there on the edge, waiting to envelop her, as she stepped through the treeline.
Atop a bed of lush green grass, at the end of a winding cobbled path, sat a quaint looking cottage. Billowing from the chimney, a plume of light-grey smoke rose high into the night-time sky and disappeared amongst the curtain of stars. A water-wheel spun round and round near the back of the humble abode, a small stream veering further into the forest.
"It's perfect," Iva said, looking at Henley.
Just like Damon, her body was stiff and painful. They'd been walking since the bloodbath and their encounter with the other alliance. She wanted to rest her eyes and hope that when she woke up she would feel back in the game. Ready and veering to go. Right now, her legs were wobbly, her heart fluttering in her chest, her body basically screaming for sleep.
The trio walked into the cottage tentatively, even Damon bringing up the small blade he had in his hand as a precaution. Inside it was decorated traditionally – a small dining table, kitchen décor, a plush purple couch and an array of knick-knacks dotted around the walls. A rickety staircase led to the upstairs but Damon landed on the couch, grinning as he got to finally stretch out his legs and almost felt the urge to kick off his shoes.
When Iva landed next to him, she rested her head in the crook of his neck. She had no idea what compelled her to do so, but the brick walls inside her soul were becoming mud and slowly sloshing into a puddle of unimportant nothingness. It didn't matter the way she'd felt going into this. What mattered was their alliance was intact. She had a group she could depend on.
"This'll do," Henley said, surveying the cottage with a smile, eyes resting on the fireplace. "We should probably put that out. Just in case someone sees the smoke."
"We didn't," Iva said.
"We only smelt it when we were close enough to the cottage," Damon said, patting the cushion next to him. "Chill out, Henley. Pull up a cushion. C'mon. You're allowed to rest for an hour or two."
Henley's mouth twisted into something close to a frown but she nodded, unable to ignore her own bodily pain. When she landed next to Damon, he was hesitant to get too close to her and just smiled, nodding his head in a friendly manner.
"I could keep first watch?" he offered. "If you girls want to sleep?"
Sure, his own body was knackered, but he had to bring something to the group. And if his something could be a gesture of loyalty and sacrifice, something as simple as watching over their sleeping bodies, then maybe that was good enough in Henley's book.
He wasn't deluded to the point he believed Henley completely trusted him. She didn't; he saw the way she looked at him and then Iva. Damon just had to prove himself.
He had to be the strong-minded person he'd always wanted to be.
"That'd be really nice," Iva said, bringing her head up from his shoulder. "The rug looks pretty comfy, to be honest."
"I'm not tired enough," Henley lied. "Maybe we should stay up for a bit longer anyway? Wait to see who died this morning."
It was a morbid suggestion but something felt important about it. Iva knew Spelt was dead. Henley hoped Teak had made it out. Damon said a silent wish for Altia's longevity.
"So, what's life like back in Five?" Damon asked curiously, staring intently at Henley.
Henley looked at the way Iva was so close to Damon, the warmth that spread through the pair, and felt a silent twinge of jealousy, the same jealousy she felt in training, tugging at her stern resolve. She attempted a friendly smile, the same smile Damon always wore, and thought of home.
"I'm not one for self-pitying but I suppose because my family is a little bit … well let's just say they could be better," Henley said, not even caring what her parents thought of her from back home, watching her speak from inside the Arena, "well it left room for someone I really, truly care about. Marilyn taught me everything I know."
"She must be really talented," Iva said.
Henley nodded. "I miss her." Her eyes began to mist up and she blinked furiously. Don't. Not in front of the whole of Panem. "Not a day goes by where I don't."
Iva began to tell stories about her mother, a friendly woman that doted on her garden and with the two of them together, just them in lovely solitude, Henley was beginning to understand more about why perhaps Iva, maybe unknowingly, clung to someone like Damon. And when Damon confessed to everything he had been through, Henley's lips curled downwards into a frown and she felt an urge to hug the poor boy.
Maybe they were all broken in some way. Maybe actually finding each other had been the repair Iva and Damon had needed. Maybe I need to allow myself to feel the same.
"So, what's your school like in Nine?" Henley asked Iva. "Do you have any-?"
She stopped. They all did.
The noise that erupted from outside the cottage walls tore right through their sense of comfort – the sense of hopefulness that they'd found somewhere for shelter. It was a guttural roar – fierce, petrifying, starving.
Damon almost leapt out of his skin but Henley shushed him immediately and put her arm out. Iva, though worried that she was beginning to fall apart and unwillingly strip her strength back, felt adrenaline pump through her body as if by instinct and looked at Damon, shaking her head, putting her finger to her lips.
Both girls stood up, weapons out, and Damon did his best to find his courage and stand as well, knife shaking as he held it up.
"No. Sudden. Movements," Henley whispered, staring at the two of them. When her feet creaked against the floorboard, she winced and held her hand up.
Another roar. This time they overlapped, an orchestra of hunger and ferocity. Iva was closest to a window and managed to peer through the pale, moth-eaten curtain. When she looked back, her face had drained of colour and her lip wobbled, eyes blown wide with fear.
"Mutts."
With that one word, the crashing of paws against ground, a set of them, a group of them, caused Henley to ignore her worry of making any noise and she leapt into action. Damon couldn't ignore his absolute terror and felt like he was about to wet himself, but he ran forward with Henley as Iva lifted up her sword.
The door had a bolt and Henley shut it firmly. Damon secured the kitchen window and Iva checked if there was a back door. From the only curtain-less window in the cottage, the alliance saw a trio of bears growling outside, rearing up to pounce and batter their way into their shelter.
A huge, monstrous bear led them. A smaller bear next to the creature. And a tiny one – almost a cub. Its size wasn't deceptive, however. The beady black eyes spoke of a hunger for Damon, Iva and Henley.
When they leapt forwards and came for the window, Henley battered the paw that shattered the glass and heard a pained yelp come from the smallest bear. Iva stabbed at another one as the door came down and Damon slashed and cut his way at the final one.
None were completing overwhelming either Henley, Iva nor Damon, simply swiping their paws and trying to avoid being cut by their weapons.
Henley wasn't sure if it was the Gamemakers only instilling a bit of night-time entertainment without wiping out a whole alliance, or if the muttations themselves were programmed as more defensive than offensive. Maybe this was their place. As silly as it sounded, perhaps they were the intruders.
Henley clubbed the small cub again round the skull and heard a crack. It slunk away outside the cottage and collapsed into a heap, chest rising and falling slowly. Not dead, just injured.
She went to help Iva when a scream pierced the attack. This time it wasn't pain coming from a muttation, but the agonising wail of Damon as the claws of the medium-sized bear gouged into his stomach. When it pulled away, blood splayed out and Damon fell down, colour lost from his face, body curling up.
Iva rushed over and slashed the bear causing it to run away. At the sight of both of its companions dashing away, the biggest one departed leaving the cottage battered and bruised but still standing. The biggest worry however was Damon, eyes open with tears in the corners, looking down at the gouges in his stomach.
Iva was panicking, ripping back the fabric of his top and telling him everything would be okay, a repetitive, untrue loop that made Damon smile at her and twirl a piece of hair that dangled in his face.
Henley switched into a mode that she'd prepared for and took out her med-pack almost immediately. Every instinct Marilyn had drilled into her, every way of observing and perceiving these types of scenarios, flipped through her mind like a book.
"It's not too deep," Henley said as she assessed the cut. Her stomach curdled at the sight of his torn-up flesh – Marilyn holding her back from the serious stuff really wasn't doing her any favours. "I'm going to soak this and you're going to press down hard. We can bandage him up and I have some painkillers that will help. If luck's on our side, one of us has a mentor out there that will try and help us. We can hope someone will support us, but I'll do my best."
She looked up at the sky, hoping that Archie wasn't being so useless and saw the plight in her eyes. Damon would not make it if they did not get some help. She couldn't outright say that, but she couldn't lie either.
She peered out the window and saw the trio of bears race away, disappearing into the forest. They'd done their bit, now Henley had to do hers.
But more importantly, so did the viewers in the Capitol.
If they didn't, Henley knew with a sudden and painful stab of grief what would happen next.
Nikos and Destan weren't saying much to each other.
And by not much, they weren't speaking at all.
Nikos didn't mind that. In fact, he preferred it. He was still trying to get used to the fact that he now had someone he could call an ally – temporary or not – when he'd spent the whole of training going over and over in his head that he thought people with allies were opening themselves up to weakness.
To top it all off, Destan was no ordinary ally. He was a Career. The very nature of who he was meant that he was now walking just a few short paces behind one of the biggest threats this Games had to offer. Destan could have killed him probably quite easily.
He still could. It unnerved Nikos. He'd only agreed to this alliance to preserve his life. Now he was going into a full-on battle against the rest of the Careers. What have I signed myself up for this time?
Despite the lack of conversation, Nikos didn't actually mind the company. Destan wasn't his first choice, but he was something, and for that Nikos allowed himself to enjoy it as best as he could.
As they stepped over the gnarled roots of a large oak tree, Destan raised a hand and stopped, halting Nikos as he nearly bumped into him. "Wait," Destan said, the first word they'd spoken since Nikos had said that he knew the direction of some other tributes. "Is that them?"
Nikos wasn't sure. He'd only sort of seen shapes moving in the woods and distant chit-chat that could have been anyone. For all Nikos knew, they were miles away by now. He couldn't tell Destan that. Nikos was living second by second at this point. Adjusting accordingly.
"Look," Destan said, pointing at something that drifted through a rose bush, blue tendrils delicately brushing the grass. "What the hell is it?"
It looked like a tiny blue gaseous being – ghost-like, with no discernible features. As Destan prepared himself for some sort of fight, Nikos just watched, entranced as another one appeared a few feet behind the first one.
It was a trail of will-o'-the-wisps. Nikos nor Destan knew what they were called, but both were mesmerized by the apparitions.
"I think it wants us to follow," Nikos suggested. When Destan looked at him, Nikos just shrugged his shoulders. "You got a better idea?"
Destan rolled his eyes. "Suppose not. Alrighty then. Let's see where this takes us."
The two boys walked side-by-side this time, both gripping onto their weapons in case of an attack, but nothing happened as they moved towards the first wisp. It disappeared into a puff of blue smoke as they neared it and another one popped into appearance. Nikos and Destan now weren't speaking to each other because there was nothing to say, but because they were nervous and anxious over the path that they were taking.
Destan knew this was the best way to go about things. Offer the Capitol the show he'd promised. Actually think things through properly and not be a showboat. He could not take the girls on by himself and here he was with Nikos from Three. Perhaps the biggest non-Career tribute there was.
And a volunteer. Oh shit – he volunteered?!
"Why are you here?" Destan found his voice suddenly breaking the silence and Nikos looked at him confused. "I mean, why did you choose to come here? You aren't trained, are you?"
Nikos looked at him sourly. "Mind your own."
"If we're going to trust each other-"
"Trust?" Nikos laughed sarcastically. "I don't trust you, Destan. I'm only here because you made something so stupid sound sensible. We need those girls to die. Simple as."
Destan felt himself growing angry again but tried to submerge it under a casual shrug of the shoulders. "Suit yourself. Maybe it's good we don't get to know each other. Makes what comes next easy."
"Whatever."
Destan and Nikos continued to follow the wisps, but this time, Nikos's pace slowed so he was a blue ghost behind where Destan led. He felt the knife in his hand. It suddenly became ten times heavier as he looked down at the blade, and then at Destan's back.
The truth was Nikos did not trust this Career in the absolute slightest. He did not want to go and risk his neck against the biggest threats the Games had to offer. And Nikos didn't think he could win in a fair fight against Destan anyway.
So make it unfair.
As Destan stopped, Nikos thought about it and ground his teeth together. The blade grew heavier as he prepared himself to lunge, do it Nikos, do it, do it, DO IT! Then voices, not too far off, a group of them, stopped Nikos in his tracks.
Shit.
"I think we've got company," Destan said, grinning over his shoulder. Nikos lowered his hand immediately, hoping Destan didn't notice anything. It didn't seem like it because Destan just turned his back round to face the front. "Let's recruit some more to this wonderful team. Then maybe we can see about killing us some Careers."
You are a Career, Nikos thought, watching Destan sleek past the last wisp as the blue apparitions disappeared completely. He was ready to see how this was about to play out. If he had more non-Careers on his side, then Destan wouldn't be such a worry.
He could stab him in the back later.
For now: the voices ahead.
"What's your poison?" Castor asked Maisley, as he stretched his legs out and relaxed as best he could against the tree trunk.
"Come again?" Maisley arched an eyebrow, looking at Castor who just laughed back.
"We've got water," Castor said, lifting a flask, "or… water!"
"Got any juice?"
"'Fraid not," Castor frowned, then laughed again.
They had settled down for the evening. Or they thought it was evening. The fact it had been dark from the very beginning made none of them quite sure about what was going on. Castor was doing his best to keep Carys calm and focused. She seemed to be doing okay but honestly he'd never really understood what was going on in her head from the moment he had met her.
He knew that Maisley would have liked to believe she was the enigma in the group, but it was definitely Carys. Castor would do his best to help her get over what had happened to Spelt – after all, she'd done it for Maisley's sake – but he could only focus his efforts for so long.
Sooner or later, Carys would have to deal with it herself.
Maisley silently begged that maybe her father would find his feet and actually secure a bountiful sponsor for her. Castor knew she had only been blowing hot air when she'd drivelled on about what her father could do for her and her alliance, but she didn't really mind that. Ponche who had always been suspicious was now dead – not that she was happy about that, but it was what it was. And Carys, who had maybe drank too much of their water supply, was doing her business in the bushes.
She had some good muscle on her side. Maisley refused to be seen as weak and protected, but when it came down to it, she knew what she could do and what she couldn't. And the way Castor looked at Maisley made her feel only more secure in her place in these Games.
"Do you reckon we've got long left 'til they show who died?" Castor asked.
Maisley hadn't thought about it. I hope Celestin is alive, she thought. "Not sure. For all we know we've only been in the Games for a few hours. I have no sense of time right now."
"True true," Castor said. "Let's just hope-"
They were cut off by the trampling of leaves and undergrowth as Carys came flouncing from the bushes. Maisley and Castor started to laugh at the sight of Carys stumbling forwards, trousers round her ankles, but when they focused in on the expression on her face, the opening and closing of her mouth, Castor sprang upwards and Maisley felt the fear once again like venomous snakes in her throat.
"Fuck," Castor cursed, grabbing his weapon. "Where?"
Carys finally resettled herself, buttoning up and held onto the knife she had. Stained with blood, she thought. Fuck I need to get over this soon! She pointed into the bushes and lowered the volume of her voice. "Two people. Not sure who."
"Who's in a two-person alliance in these Games?" Castor wondered. He looked at Maisley. "Any idea?"
Maisley just shrugged and stood up shaking onto her legs. If she was going to be perceived as anything more than the youngest tribute here, she was not about to let them do everything. She moved forwards, her own small blade clutched in her hand, and watched the leaves part as Destan and Nikos appeared.
Carys' mind immediately went to fuck a Career… and fuck that asshole Nikos.
Meeting eye to eye with the boy from Three, both of them just stared at each other, unsure of what to do. Carys' lips curled into a snarl as Nikos just stared at her. Not angrily, not anything really. Carys held onto her knife and then passed it to her other hand to wipe the sweat from her palm on her trouser leg.
It was three against two. But the two in front were volunteers. Carys wasn't confident in those odds.
"You can relax," Destan finally spoke, raising his hands, propping the spear against a tree. "Chill, guys, honestly."
"Tell us why you want us to chill and maybe we'll think about it," Castor said.
Carys was surprised at the strength he had in his voice. He was friendly, but clearly not about to bend over for these bastards. Her eyes fell on Maisley and her throat constricted. She wouldn't roll over and die for this girl, but she wouldn't let Nikos get his grubby hands on her. No way in hell.
Not after what she'd done to help save her life.
Poor Spelt.
"I've got myself a little proposition for you," Destan said, smiling.
"He drag you into this?" Carys said, looking at Nikos. "I'm surprised the big bad Nikos Rioux let someone in."
"I didn't let anyone in," Nikos snapped back.
"It's not how it looks from here," Carys replied.
The two continued to stare at each other, the tension palpable as Castor placed a delicate hand on Carys' shoulder. She felt the gentle squeeze and looked at him as he continued to stare, steadfast in his resolve at Destan.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"You might be surprised to know, but Chancellor is dead," Destan said.
Maisley now spoke up, not able to stop herself. "What?! How?!"
Destan now finally realised who else was here and his eyes lowered to look at her. "Unsure. Not you guys?"
"Hell no," Carys said. "Not worth the risk."
"Well he's dead, which leaves us with a problem. There are three other Careers still lounging around the Cornucopia no doubt. Nikos here agreed to a little temporary alliance to focus on taking them out. Even the playing field just a little."
Castor looked at Carys, then at Maisley. All three looked anxious at the idea of taking on the Career girls. Carys refocused back on Nikos. She'd always known how temperamental she could be – she wasn't deluded to believe she was some saint. But then she'd met Nikos and realised what it looked like to be even worse than she was. And Destan – the grin on his face did not sit well with Castor, neither did the spear leaning against the tree and the belt of knives he had procured round his waist. They were weapons he had no doubt perfected over the teenage years that Castor had spent loving his family.
"No," Maisley said, before Carys or Castor could say anything. "Thank you, but no."
In her mind, she had what she needed here, and going with Nikos and Destan towards the Cornucopia again was a pack of variables that she had never considered, and didn't have the time to piece together. Maisley would be the runt of a larger alliance. Nikos and Destan too unstable.
She knew Castor. She knew Carys. She did not need to risk herself for something that may or may not work out for her.
"What?" Destan said. "No?"
Carys and Castor after allowing Maisley's abrupt answer to sink in, turned to face the two in front of them and nodded in unison. "You heard the lady," Castor said. "Thanks, but no thanks."
"I don't think you understand-"
"No," Carys interrupted Destan. "What part of that do you find difficult to hear?"
Nikos lowered his gaze from Carys and placed a hand on Destan's shoulder. "Let's just go," he said. "They're not worth it."
Usually a comment like that would have riled Carys up, but she was actually surprised to see Nikos trying to walk away from this and leave them to it. This was the second alliance they had bumped into since the Cornucopia. She knew eventually walking away just would not be possible.
Castor turned around and smiled at Maisley. "C'mon," he said, as he took another step.
As Carys turned around, she heard Nikos' voice grow louder, much louder and she grew confused.
"Don't you fucking walk away from me!" Destan cursed.
Something flashed by Carys' head in a metallic blur. It happened in slow-motion. Seconds felt like minutes that felt like a nightmare.
A knife embedded itself into the back of Castor's skull and he flopped into the ground, a lifeless heap. Dead in an instant as a cannon boomed. Maisley's eyes widened and she looked at Carys, horrified, shocked, petrified, a million and one things going through her brain as Carys just turned her head slowly to stare at Destan and Nikos.
"I don't think you heard me the first time," Destan said, pulling out another knife. "Let me ask you again."
Carys turned around, grabbed Maisley, and bolted for it. She looked over her shoulder and saw Nikos grab onto Destan's hand, pulling it down harshly and standing in front of him, a domineering presence that glared down at Destan who slowly gave in and stopped, turning to kick the tree angrily.
Before they broke through into the next patch of woodland, Carys then stared down at Castor's body. Over in a second. From a smile to a deathly, hollow stare. A tear rolled down her face and Maisley too couldn't contain herself, sobbing as the two girls continued to run.
It was absurd what had just happened in a matter of moments. And Nikos saving Carys from another knife? None of it made sense. It was so nonsensical that neither Carys nor Maisley could quite believe it.
Yet they had to.
In the space of a day, they'd lost two allies.
Maisley felt crushed, vulnerable and quivering. Carys didn't know what to think or do except run, run, run!
"We should have said yes," Maisley said through strangled sobs. "I should have said yes."
Carys didn't respond.
She had nothing to say.
Neviya couldn't ever say this to the girls, but she was beginning to grow tired.
Maybe it was the reality of the Games coming at the speed of light and sucker-punching her, but the group they had been during training, the group that had hugged on the rooftop, that was the Neviya she enjoyed being. The true Neviya. But it couldn't be this Neviya.
If they kept this up, then there would be trouble. This blissful ignorance to the fact they had killed – they were killers – they were Careers – if anything they were villains. Neviya knew her position here. She wasn't so sure Britta did. Not even Linnea.
And she was stuck because she adored these girls. She didn't know the best way of proceeding forwards from this point.
Britta grinned cheerfully at her and crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against the golden shell of the Cornucopia. She yawned loudly and bit into a piece of jerky. "Tired, Nev'?"
I wish you'd lower your voice. Neviya didn't think Britta had a quiet-mode and maybe earlier Roarke hadn't spotted anyone, but that didn't mean no-one had returned. None of them had any clue who or what was out there watching them.
Neviya yawned herself as if it were contagious and rubbed her eyes. "S'pose I am. You alright, Linnea?"
The girl in question turned her head, blonde hair flicking out over her shoulder and nodded. "If you want girls, I'll take first watch tonight."
"You're a star," Britta said, offering a thumbs-up.
"Are you sure?" Neviya asked. "I don't mind."
"Don't be silly. We'll watch the faces, you two get some shut-eye, and I'll wake one of you in a couple of hours. It's the fairest way."
"I could do with a face mask," Britta joked. "And a mojito."
Neviya looked at Britta and again those annoying thoughts came to mind. Neviya could do with both of those things just as much and would have enjoyed the evenings spent with Britta if they'd met back home. But as Britta continued to lean so nonchalantly against the Cornucopia, Neviya felt annoyance bristling in her gut and reprimanded herself for feeling it.
Britta is who she is. That was always why I liked her so much – so what's changed? Neviya knew the answer. The six cannons at the start of the day had solidified it.
As trumpets blared out from invisible speakers and Neviya relaxed ever so slightly, Britta's head perked up and she rubbed her eyes. My god I'm exhausted. Since Roarke had left, the girls hadn't spoken much and Britta was finding herself getting more and more restless just sitting here. None of them had spoken much about a plan except for the one where they waited for Destan.
Maybe the other two were hoping that the promise of a future slaughter would be enough for the Gamemakers and the Capitol to allow the girls to just sit at the Cornucopia. It usually went unheard of that a Career alliance would just settle down in one spot for a long while, but Neviya nor Linnea seemed to mind.
Britta did. It wasn't that she wanted to go out there, into the unknown of the woods, but it was better than just lounging on her ass and waiting for Roarke to return. It was fantastic news that Chancellor was dead but Britta wanted to take action into her own hands. She hated the idea of idly sitting back and letting the Games pass her by.
"It's starting," Linnea said quietly, as the first face appeared in the sky.
Chancellor. All the girls looked at each other.
Britta grinned. Neviya even smiled. But Linnea – Linnea just looked at her hands. He was a prick, a psychotic prick, but he was from home. And he had a family. He hoped they were alright.
Teak. Linnea looked at the kind face, a small smile lighting up his lovely eyes, and her stomach flipped. The spear she'd used was just by her side. Tainted with his blood.
Castor. That had to be the cannon from after the bloodbath, barely an hour or so ago. They all wondered what had happened.
Armina. Roarke had killed her. Neviya thought about her District partner and hoped he was able to cope with that. She still couldn't totally forgive him for what he'd done, but that would never change the natural bond that had formed between them. She hoped if cracks were beginning to develop in the façade of a Career, Roarke was able to pretend they didn't exist. For all their sakes.
Spelt. No one knew who had killed him. Either way, he looked down at them with a genuine fondness in his eyes. Now they were closed forever.
Ponche. Neviya's face didn't so much as flinch. Even when the girls looked over at her, she continued to stare at Ponche's face as it began to fade. I did what I had to do. Nothing more, nothing less. I'll grieve when I win. Neviya had to think that way for her own sense of strength.
Altia. The girls looked at Britta and her lip twisted into something akin to a frown and she shook her head. "I feel – I don't know –" She was aware cameras were around and stopped herself. Britta shrugged her shoulders. "I feel bad her allies left her. Not a nice way to go."
When the Capitol seal flashed across the night-time sky, horns sounded once more, and the girls were suddenly blinded.
It was instant. As if someone were wiping a screen clear of dirt and grime in one sudden movement. The stars vanished. The moon along with them. And the night-time became day-time. A hot, blazing sun bore down on them all as birds chirped in the sky, fluffy white clouds drifted into view and the Career girls stared at each other in disbelief.
"For fuck's sake," Britta said, slapping her hands down against the grass. "How in the hell are we supposed to sleep now?" Fucking Gamemakers, she thought. As she yawned, her eyes took in the daylight and her body just felt confused.
"Sleep in the horn," Linnea suggested. "The shade might cut some of this out." Britta and Neviya moved towards the Cornucopia as Linnea stood up, stretched her arms and legs and smiled at her allies. "I'll wake one of you up in a few. Have a good sleep."
"Night," Neviya said.
Britta wrapped a sleepy arm around Neviya's shoulders. "Gonna be one hell of a sleep. Thanks guys!" she yelled to the sky, scowling at a bird that flew overhead.
Linnea just smiled at the two of them and settled back into the grass, bringing her knees up to her chin and swishing side to side. Five minutes passed and she heard snoring coming from within the horn. The idea of Neviya or Britta being such an ungraceful sleeper made Linnea giggle to herself. She hoped it was Britta. That would be even better.
When she thought of her allies, the fondness she felt made Linnea's heart swim with warmth. She could almost forget about the spear by her side. Being with them, apart from the jealousy over Neviya's training score, she'd forgotten about all her own insecurities. She didn't seek out to criticize them because they never seemed to feel the need to do the same with her.
That was not how the girls in One worked, or at least the girls Linnea knew.
It had always been about stepping on a bitch to get to the top. This whole situation was new. And Linnea didn't just mean the Games.
As she continued to sway, her eyes growing used to the lightness around her, a gentle ding caught her attention as a small canister landed next to her feet. When she popped the sponsor gift open and saw a knife, Linnea's eyebrows knitted in confusion. Next to her was a spear. Around the Cornucopia, they had the most weapons of any tribute in the entire Games.
Why a knife? She almost threw it in frustration when the piece of paper tied to the canister caught her attention. The writing was small but it stood out enough for Linnea to catch every word.
You have made enemies. D4M is not the only one out to get you. Stop with all the wishy-washy nonsense and refocus yourselves. These girls are not your friends – A.
Linnea knew that in the eyes of every other tribute, she was the villain of this story. So was Neviya, so was Britta. But that didn't change how she felt over the note. Ailsa's words of warning.
Her eyes fell on the trees and she wondered if anyone was watching her back, a plan in their mind, a desire to kill Linnea there and then.
Let them try, Linnea thought. Whether or not she had made enemies, Linnea was confident in her skills. She just had to be.
If she had many enemies, then so be it. She hadn't come here to make friends, after all.
So, what about Neviya and Britta?
That was the complicated part. At the moment, Linnea didn't have an answer.
18th: Castor Velboa, District Eight Male.
Gamemakers fucking with the tributes, why not?! A cute lil cottage with some bear mutts. I'm not a HUGE fan of mutts as some may have gathered over my stories. I'll use them to further plot and development of alliances but other than that, they don't serve much imo.
Apologies to the creator of the tribute that died this chapter. I'm not going to keep apologising is every A/N so here's a general one – I appreciate each and every submission I received for this story, they have made it my favourite SYOT I've ever written, and each decision is tough but is done for the sake of furthering the plot, development and characterisation. Hope you understand.
Update on Games format for anyone wondering. It is going to stay this third-person omniscient throughout the entire Games portion. I'm glad to see people are enjoying it. Also, there were 12 pre-reaping chapters, 12 Capitol chapters, so there are 12 Games chapters (bloodbath included.) That leaves us with 9 left!
I also have the guidelines and form ready for my next SYOT lmao but that won't happen for a few weeks yet.
Love y'all!