Chapter Thirty-Two.

BOOM!

Neviya bolted upright.

The cannon had shocked her from her sleep. Around her, the scene was now quiet save for her heavy breathing. Pitch-black grass rustled in the moonlit breeze, the forest ominous in the distance and the stars a shimmering blanket in the sky above.

She looked at Britta, sat just by her side, both girls looking tired and agitated. Neviya wasn't meaning to become so frustrated at Britta, so annoyed, because Neviya could see she was really trying. It was all she could really ask of her. They'd all killed in the bloodbath. All done their bit yesterday to help fend off the rats.

They were a team. United. All three of them.

All three of them?

She realised who was missing and heard the cannon in her mind. Neviya stood up, panicked and then glanced back down at Britta. "Where's Linnea?"

"She was by the trees last I saw her," Britta said. She suddenly latched onto Neviya's panic and pushed her way upwards, staring into the darkness of the forest. "Surely not?" Britta wanted to laugh at the silly notion that the cannon could be—

Could it?!

Both Neviya and Britta knew how unlikely and preposterous such an idea was, but both ran side-by-side towards the forest, hearts beating rapidly, sweat building on their foreheads. Britta looked to where Linnea had last been standing and wished she'd paid more attention. It hadn't crossed her mind anything could go wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Linnea!" Britta yelled.

Neviya looked at her and almost shushed Britta. She didn't, though. In her mind, their ally would stumble from the trees, spear in hand and laugh confused at their quaking at the sound of a cannon. They were in the Games. Cannons were becoming the music playing in the background.

"She must have gone looking further in," Britta said, pointing out towards where Linnea had last been. "Maybe she found someone?"

"Maybe," Neviya said, gritting her teeth together in both fear and frustration. If Linnea had ventured off by herself, then she was stupid. They were a team for as long as it could last. Yesterday had proved that. There was no need for personal victories just yet. "C'mon."

The two walked side by side into the forest, almost tip-toeing nervously, edging closer and closer until they spotted the horribly twisted muttation from yesterday. Its lamp was shattered and Britta felt the crunch of glass beneath her feet.

The fireflies that had become common companions in these Games drifted between the two girls and hovered over something just by the old woman's corpse. Neviya squinted her eyes to get a better look.

Oh no.

No.

NO!

Tousled blonde hair draped over the muddy ground. Grass swaying peacefully between the open fingers of two hands. Britta gasped as Neviya stumbled backwards and both their eyes moved down to look at the face-down body of Linnea Halvard.

"No, no, no, no, no—" Britta stammered, almost tripping over her feet as she turned around, the forest becoming a blurry mist that she couldn't focus on.

Before she realised what she was doing, Britta was running through the trees, her sword clamped between clammy fingers. Tree branches sliced at her cheeks as she blindly and stupidly worked her way through the woodland trying to spot someone or something that could have killed their friend.

She would kill them. Britta's mind couldn't contemplate what had happened. Altia's death had been something but this-? What?!

Standing by Linnea's body, Neviya hadn't moved, letting the axe in her hand start to slacken as she bent down to look at the bloody mess that had become Linnea's back. Multiple stab wounds had torn apart the jacket and sliced into her skin. It had to be another tribute. Whereas Britta had foolishly ran forwards, Neviya's senses heightened and she raised her axe immediately, saying a silent farewell to Linnea and heading back to where they were based.

Knowing that her friend and ally was dead, somehow struck down, Neviya knew she couldn't risk her life to go after Britta. It took everything she had in her, all sense of loyalty willing her forwards, to smother that down and return to the Cornucopia. Come on Britta, don't be stupid… come back… come back…

She thought of Linnea, stoically sitting away from them all, trying to smile and be the kind friend that Neviya and Britta were probably externally much better at acting. It didn't mean Neviya hadn't liked Linnea just as much. Perhaps, even more-so than Britta. Because she was real. She saw these Games for what they were and could still smile despite the fact.

I'm sorry, Linnea. She shouldn't have been asleep. She should have been watching. Guarding. Always on alert. In case the unthinkable happened – which it now had.

Neviya saw rustling in the trees and again, fear spiked as she grasped onto the axe, but it was just Britta, looking downcast, barely able to walk forwards.

Seeing Britta and knowing Linnea's body wasn't too far from where they were, Neviya felt something else that she was deeply ashamed of.

Relief.

No longer would she have to wait in trepidation for the moment where she'd have to make the decision to fight Linnea, someone she cared about. She didn't have to see it or do it. And that was why she felt relief. And why she felt guilty.

Britta finally reached Neviya, tears in her eyes, streaks down her face as she tried to wipe them away. Britta knew this was the way it had to be but could not bring herself to accept what had just happened. Violent rage swirled in her stomach as she thought of whoever had done this to Linnea, but overwhelming grief threatened to overspill also.

"Neviya…" Part of Britta wanted a hug, and again was reminded of the cameras, and realised how utterly stupid she was being. But when she caught sight of Neviya, no tears, not even a wobble in her lip, something else hit Britta in the face, stark and cold.

If she had been trying to prove to her allies that she was taking this seriously, did understand how this worked, but could still be a good friend, then Linnea's death had shredded that notion to pieces. Her death was the final nail in the coffin.

When she looked at Neviya, the apparent disconnect to the way Britta was feeling and the fact that Linnea was now dead, Britta did not see the girl she'd come to become so close with.

Their friendship was over. This was now just another alliance.

An alliance that had begun to fall apart.

Celestin woke from the worst sleep he'd ever had.

For a boy that had always loved sleep, it made him unutterably grumpy.

The ropes that held him up in the lower tree branches slackened slightly as he untied a knot. His head was pounding with a headache caused from tiredness and it did nothing for his mood. The fact his ankle continued to throb with the pain. The fact that it was now back to night-time and he could barely see three feet in front of him unless some irritating flies decided to grace him with their presence.

And the fact that he was now alone. Alone.

It was all adding not just to the annoyance he felt, but the fear, the anxiety, the worry. He had spent his entire life living to the beat of his own boring ass drum. He'd never needed nor wanted anyone else's opinion because he'd never cared to listen. Here he was, though, feeling completely ripped apart at the loss of his alliance, at the death of Teak and Altia that still hung heavy over him, at every single cause and effect that had sent ripples through the short time he'd spent taken away from his cosy life and forced into this box of horrors.

He just wanted out. He wanted to win. Live. Become a better person. Make something of the life he'd always taken for granted. It felt like compassionate, positive nonsense and perhaps that was just Bryce and Sinta rubbing off on him, but he liked the idea of going home and making something of himself. And to get there, every one of them had to die.

The smiles of Bryce and Sinta no more. Sheridan's sarcastic glower yet realistic and pragmatic perspective gone entirely. He didn't want them to die. But he didn't want them to win either.

Ugh.

From where Celestin sat, he took out a flask of water he was lucky to still have and the small blade by his hip. He took a swig of drink, feeling the coolness on his tongue and relishing in the relief something so bland as water could give him, and began to carve absent-mindedly into the tree branch.

He knew he couldn't win if he just sat up here, the Gamemakers would probably send Chancellor's ghost after him or something. But he didn't want to get down just yet. Truthfully, he was scared of what might happen to someone without another pair of eyes to look out for him, or the shadows lurking in the big bad woods that might lick their lips at the sight of Celestin blundering around with his irritating ankle.

Nothing made Celestin want to leave the safety of the tree until the light ding filled his ears with music and he looked up. He hated the sheer delight that played on his face in the form of a shit-eating grin and he couldn't help but reach his arms up to the sky as the canister fell into his hands.

Before removing the lid, he read the note that had been scrawled onto a small scroll of paper.

You don't need to be alone. There's someone out there who would happily see your face again. You know who I mean – B.
P.S. Use this on your ankle.

Oh Breanna, Celestin thought. He knew exactly who she meant. When he rubbed the slimy ointment on his ankle, something cool became absorbed into his skin and he couldn't help but gasp at the pain-relief that flooded his veins. It wasn't exactly healed, but it almost felt numb, and numb was better than sparks of pain flaring through his leg with every step he took.

A Victor couldn't exactly win by not using their legs. If there was a way, he'd gladly try, but sadly it'd never been done before. Thank fuck for you, Breanna. He hated the way he'd been acting towards his mentor and knew that if – no, when – he made it out of this place alive, he would give her the biggest hug he'd ever given anyone.

He looked back at the note and thought of the person Breanna was alluding to and the decision was made in an instant. He could go and find Sheridan, Bryce and Sinta, but perhaps their companionship was no longer what Celestin needed. Perhaps there was someone else out there, someone he could work with until the end, that he would rather spend the rest of his time in the Arena with.

He felt bad for his old allies, but things had changed with the fire and he was adapting alongside it.

And truthfully, if I had to choose between me versus Sheridan in the finale, or me versus Maisley… he grimaced at the thought, but knew it to be true.

He would find the little shrimp himself and hopefully kick-start the fight that he needed for his life. He'd already begun to care so much more for his existence than he ever had done before.

Now was the time to put those thoughts into action.

He eased himself from the tree, smiled as he put pressure on his ankle resulting in no pain, and set forwards.

Time to find Maisley.

Iva was trying her best to forgive and forget.

But she couldn't get past Damon's dead body, just lying there peaceful, arm flopped out to the side. She couldn't get past his screams of pain, the shuddering of agony as he'd had a nightmarish sleep, and the way that she had lied to him about Altia. It all made sense what they'd done – what Henley had done. The logical part of Iva, the part that told her she needed to get over it for her own survival, wanted to slap Iva round the face.

But the part that was winning was the irrational. The unforgiving part. The cynical view that Henley could have done more but had chosen not to. She'd always known Henley was the outsider looking in and they'd chosen Henley together for a selfish, self-serving reason, and she had failed in her duty as their healer.

Iva hated the fact she was letting those thoughts win out over the fact that she knew, deep down, there was nothing that could be done. Damon's death still hung like a heavy shroud over her head. She couldn't get over it.

Henley, meanwhile, led the pair of them through the woods. She was putting the cottage in the back of her mind. Even she couldn't deal with being in there anymore after what she'd done. It was a tranquil, beautiful home now tainted with Damon's blood. The girl that had entered had still thought she could find a place in their alliance, continue to cling to the fact that she had been put on this world to help others, but the girl that had left was a murderer.

The funny part was, as she heard Iva's heavy breathing and footsteps through the forest, Henley had completely accepted this part of her. Any healing that needed doing, any deep introspection over who she had become, could happen when she actually had time to think in the safety of the outside world.

She was a killer, no longer a healer. She was an outsider because it was a position she felt more comfortable in being. Where she'd tried to fit in, there was no longer any need nor desire to do so.

Tonight, Henley thought. She couldn't kill Iva. But she couldn't be around her anymore. When the night-time fell back into blissful day, she would leave Iva as she slept and that would be it. No more alliance because she didn't need nor want it. No more responsibilities over anyone but herself.

It was nearly the halfway point of the Games. It was time she had a refocus of priorities. And Henley was number one. She was sorry, but that was just the way it was.

Maybe Iva had approached her because she needed something from Henley, but Iva would have to work it out for herself. They were no longer in this together – that just wasn't how it could work anymore.

Iva was none the wiser to Henley's plans and the two continued to slink through the forest. They'd gone in what felt like circles since leaving the cottage, in a spiral motion round the central Cornucopia. They'd found a pond earlier that evening, and after sharing night-time watch over the Arena and potential attacks, they had passed an ominous looking cave and were now set for wherever this new path led them.

Overhead, a murder of crows flew in a formation that sent a chill down Henley's spine. At the snap of a twig, Henley instinctively looked back over her shoulder at Iva and offered what smile she could force onto her face.

Iva, though feeling resentment towards her ally, unfounded resentment, mirrored the gesture and jogged to catch up with Henley.

"It's quiet, isn't it?" Iva asked.

"Very."

"He'd be filling the silence with some silly thing that'd happened back home," Iva said, reminiscing about Damon and again feeling that bitter sadness curdle inside her stomach. "Getting him to shut up was tricky. I hadn't worked out how."

Henley could feel the bloodied knife by her hip and wanted to throw it away because of what it reminded her of. Instead, she clung onto it as a lifeline, a persevered piece of the Henley that she knew could actually do this. It may have been a mercy kill, but it was still a kill.

She had that to her name. The potential to do the unthinkable if it meant she could survive this horror-show.

At the mention of Damon, Iva fell silent again and the next however many minutes seemed to fly by peacefully and without incident. The trees were tall sentinels standing guard in the night-time sky. The fireflies golden in their company. Henley and Iva walked side-by-side until in the distance, the trees seemed to come apart and both girls looked at each other, panicked but resolved to continue.

They were no longer in this to run away from what had to happen. Even Iva, always thinking about Damon, wanted to win this for him. Maybe she could even use her status as a Victor to bring on some punishment against his awful Father for all he'd done to such a sweet soul. It was what gave her drive – to see her Mother again, and to win in Damon's memory.

Henley, thinking about her impending abandonment of her ally, moved silently through the trees as they split apart to reveal a blockade of sorts. Both girls were confused as they looked up at the twisted thorns leering over them. Black and gnarled up, curving and overlapping one another, the thick-rooted wall of spikes took up the entire side of this part of the Arena. As far as Henley and Iva could see, the left and right to them was blocked with the thorns.

Perhaps they'd reached this edge of the Arena and could move on no further. Iva thought back to the pond they'd found, the cave with its foreboding entranceway, and wondered about heading back. Just as she opened her mouth to make the suggestion, she noticed out the corner of her eye movement as two figures came into view.

They were only a few paces away, already settled by the thorns, on the grass with their supplies arranged around them. One girl was asleep, resting her head on the ground as the other noticed Henley and Iva and bolted upright.

Once again, they felt like the intruders, and once again, Henley and Iva's instinctive reaction was to grab hold of their weapons. Henley with her club, the bloody knife at her hip, and Iva with a sword that she had.

She still felt clumsy holding this weapon, not knowing anything about proper technique, but at the sight of two more tributes, she thought about Damon and the fight that she still had inside of her. Iva was not a runner. Whether flight gave in to fight or the other way around – this was where she was right now.

Henley too.

"Sinta."

The girl standing up was Sheridan, who nudged the sleeping girl with the tip of her boot. The girl from Seven stirred and when her eyes fell on Henley and Iva, she jumped upright and grabbed onto the knife, her hands shaking.

"Iva?" Henley asked, looking at her ally, only slightly turning her head.

She too was resolved in what had to be done. Maybe Henley was planning on leaving Iva, and maybe Iva could not forgive Henley for what had happened, but in this moment they were a unit together. One mind, one weapon, one drive.

"I don't want this to happen," Sheridan called out. "But I don't think we can just leave it this time."

"We've bumped into one alliance already," Henley replied. "A second one? Yeah – yeah we can't just walk away."

Neither pair of girls wanted to fight, but neither pair was ready to just walk away. The wall of thorns seemed to almost ripple in the night air, and as one unwrapped itself, swirling outwards and slicing the air between the two – a sort of no man's land – the decision had been made for them.

Henley was surprised that it was Sinta who came barrelling towards them, ducking underneath the thorn and slicing upwards, trying to cut into Henley's stomach. She jumped back and kicked out, her boot connecting with Sinta's knee. She yelped with pain which kick-started Sheridan into motion.

The girl from Eleven was quick as another thorn branch sliced where her feet had been, jumping over it and barrelling into Henley.

Fuck, Henley was quick to bring up her club to block the blow but was tackled into the grass, wincing as pain flared up her elbow. The two met eyes and she reared her head back and slammed it forwards, connecting with Sheridan's nose. Wetness burst out and she grimaced as Sheridan hollered in pain.

Meanwhile, Iva sliced and cut at Sinta who was surprisingly agile. What she could remember of the girl from Seven was a smile and a bright laugh. This was not that same Sinta. Iva leapt backwards as Sinta attempted her own blow and again, flashes of Damon came to mind that only spurred her on.

They'd all lost people. All lost parts of themselves. These were four normal girls, forced into this scenario through actions that had never been their fault. Sheridan versus Henley. Sinta versus Iva.

Neither wanted to be here, but neither had any choice as the thorns continued to play a part in keeping them together, forced to lock arms.

Henley knew she lacked any sort of technique and Sheridan had a viciousness to her that Henley was trying to bring forth. Their weapons connected and Henley moved closer towards Iva, not purposely, but to try and avoid what Sheridan was doing.

"I'm sorry—" Sheridan called out, flourishing her arm outwards and cutting into Henley's shoulder. Her nose was broken and Henley knew the pain that flared down her own arm was karma's way of biting her in the ass. She didn't need Sheridan's apology. She didn't want it.

This was what it had to be. As a thick black branch of thorns came towards her, she ducked, Sheridan ducked, and watched as it collided with Iva and Sinta.

Both girls yelled. The branch flailed upwards and came striking down, cutting into Sinta's forearm, and wrapping its way round Iva's feet.

Iva was picked up, left to dangle in the air, as both Sheridan and Henley just watched her get thrown and tossed around like a ragdoll. She screamed, pain in her legs, as she connected with another thorn and felt it bury into her thigh.

Henley wanted to fight her way towards Iva as Sinta gasped in pain, limping back over to Sheridan. Iva was by no means dead or incapacitated, but the moans of pain were blocked by the alliance in front that were now stood side by side.

She mirrored Sheridan's apology as she looked over at Iva. "I'm sorry." And off she ran, away from her ally, leaving her to the two girls.

Iva watched Henley bolt off and tried to pull herself from the thorns. As they bore deeper into her skin, she yelled, biting her tongue and tasting blood as chunks of her leg were ripped apart. Finally, she fell free, landing awkwardly on the grass, and crawled forwards to where her sword lay.

Sheridan's foot kicked the weapon aside and Iva collapsed down, bitter tears in her eye, staring up at the two girls that looked down at her.

Damon. Henley. Spelt.

Mum.

Iva had become a better person through this experience – or at least a version of herself that had probably always been there, clawing at the surface. She'd tried to open up and allowed a friend in that she'd never have thought possible. Through blurry eyes, and the pounding of her heart blocking out any other sound, whatever Sheridan had to say was like a fog hanging over her that she couldn't make out.

Then came the pain, short yet fiery.

Sheridan drew the knife across her throat and watched the girl fall still, dead on the grass, the thorns weaving their way back into place and freezing.

Henley heard the cannon and stopped running, landing on her knees.

She knew who it was and knew that now she was completely, one-hundred percent alone.

And that thought was alright with her.

It just had to be.

She stood up, said farewell to Iva, and proceeded into the forest, disappearing into the night.

13th: Iva Giorgi, District Nine Female.

A slightly shorter and quieter chapter this time round.

Halfway through the Games! Congrats to the final twelve. It's been lovely tormenting you :)

Thanks to all you cool cats and kittens for the support. Love you all.