Day 4: Reunion

Tommy "Chaos" Chassis, 16, District Three Male

The voice on my walkie-talkie is frantic. "Gizmo to Chaos, over!"

"What's the situation, over."

"Peacekeepers with guns, headed your way. They'll trap you on the roof, over."

"Don't worry," I say, looking towards the horizon in the distance. "I'll be fine. You stay safe, over."

I leap off the building, with swarms of Peacekeepers hot on my trail. They don't know what I can do. I spread my arms wide and take off into the wind, that lifts me up high, high, above the ground, until I'm soaring above far above District Three. I do a loop. Whoo!

A hot wind suddenly blows in—I'm coughing; I'm losing altitude. I spiral towards the ground, spinning in circles as the pavement below rapidly approaches. I use all my strength to push upwards right before I slam into the ground, softening my fall just enough to not die, even though all of me is sore from head to toe. A soft hand grabs my wrist and then touches my forehead. Is it…

I open my eyes to find a dark-skinned girl kneeling over me, with wavy black hair tied back in a ponytail. District… Five? "What… happened?"

She smiles. "I found you on the ground and brought you back here."

There's a hazy memory, a burning forest, a rolling ground. "What?"

"The wolves would've eaten you alive if you stayed there all night," she says matter-of-factly.

Wolves? Right… wolves. "So… you brought me… here?"

She beams. "Of course."

"Why?"

She furrows her brow. "So that you wouldn't be eaten by wolves," she repeats, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But… oh, whatever." That makes two of us confused. Leaving someone to the wolves is the easiest way to get rid of a competitor; it literally takes no effort. But now I'm staring up at her and she's staring back down at me as she kneels over me. "Um… can I get up?"

Her eyes widen and she jerks back, apologizing profusely. "Oh! Yes, of course! I'm sorry."

I'm in the middle of what appears to be her camp, built into the side of the mountain. Behind us is a wall of rock. In front of us is dense shrubbery and the forest, an odd hodge-podge of burnt wood, unaffected trees, and new flora, shooting up from the ground. Though half of the woods here were on fire just yesterday, there are already young trees taller than me that weren't here last night—Gamemaker magic! Around the edge of her little camp, there are three of the blue-flowered plants from the Cornucopia. She's still watching me, not intently or suspiciously but… innocently, as if she doesn't even realize how awkward she's making this.

I grin. "Nice flowers."

She turns to look at the large blue bells, nodding down at the ground, and a smile spreads across her face. "They're so pretty."

"Did you find them here?"

She shakes her head. "I moved them here to keep the wolves away."

The flowers keep the wolves away? I'm gonna pretend I knew that. "Smart."

She shrugs. "Anyone would do that."

Now what? I find my bag leaning against the rock wall, and I check inside—everything's still there, from my fire starter to my water to my food to my knife. It doesn't look like it's been touched at all—what is up with this girl? She's clearly clever enough to figure out the flowers; why didn't she check my stuff?

I'm not complaining. I'm just confused. And she's watching me again.

"Um…" What do I even say? This is awkward. "Hi?"

"Hi."

I'm never this awkward around most people, but most people have some idea of how to keep things not awkward. I get the feeling that she's not the risky adrenaline junkie type, so…

"I think I'm gonna head out," I say.

"Okay."

Just… "okay"? I sling my backpack over my shoulder, trying not to make awkward eye contact. As I step away, I look back at her neat setup—the rocks on one side, bushes on another, with only a small way out. It's cozy and hidden, but if anyone does find it, the only way out is through the dense shrubbery.

If I attacked her, I'd almost certainly win. I bite my lip; that's a wacky thought. Perhaps the death match is getting to me. Stabbing people is also so not-fun; I'd rather do something that gets my blood pumping without having to directly see the blood of the other tributes.

But still. Cameras are watching right now. I must be popular enough; they fulfilled my request for a pressure washer. What would happen if I walked away from an easy fight?

I feel her eyes on me—why do you do this to me? With a sigh, I dig through my bag, whip out the knife, and point it at her.

"I'm sorry."

Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five Female

The knife is pointed at me. Why is Chaos pointing his knife at me? Is there something behind me? Is it—

Oh… It's actually pointed at me. Meaning me. Meaning that he wants to… kill me? Would he kill me? These are the Hunger Games, but…

Maybe I'm playing these Games wrong.

Without anything to say, I find myself staring blankly at him. This is… interesting, I suppose. If he's going to attack me, what should I do now? I don't think I'll have time to dig up my flowers. What a pity; I spent all that time getting them too.

He raises an eyebrow. "So… you don't have anything to say?"

What to say, what to say, what to say… Just say something! "Can I dig up my flowers first?"

"What?"

What did I just say?! "What?"

"I'm asking you."

"Me too."

"What?"

I was being honest; I was asking myself the same question. Somehow, I don't think that was communicated well. But he's still pointing the knife…

"F— — it," he mutters.

He lunges; I dodge left. But left is towards the wall, and now I'm blocked in. Chaos' usually sunny face is now a sheet of grim rock, his expression so cold it chills me to the bone.

"Could we… please not fight?"

He bites his lip, and then he shakes his head. "We don't have a choice here."

But we… do? All we have to do is split up. Is it that hard? That knife doesn't look safe… and I'm cornered, stuck against the wall. I hope Jagen isn't watching. All I have are the clothes on my back and my metal water bottle that just happens to be lying by my foot.

And he comes in for the kill. I sling the water bottle blindly in his general direction—please distract him long enough for me to escape!—and bolt for the exit. There's a thunk, an "ouch"—

"Are you okay?" I whip my head back; he's rubbing his right cheek. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I—"

But he's glaring at me with that sharp knife in his hand—no, Marleigh, he doesn't care if you care if he's okay—so I turn heel and run, climbing further up the mountain. Why did he attack me? Did I do something wrong? Was it wrong for me to save him?

Why is all this happening?

Jasmine Softwing, 18, District One Female

I rub the wet handkerchief across the blade of my golden rapier once again, scrubbing at the non-existent stains of the blood of the boy from Seven. Deep breath. Deep breath. Thank goodness I didn't see his face when he died. I don't know if I'd be able to ever erase that from my memory. The bloodstains are hard enough.

So… cold. Calloused. What kind of person am I to be thinking like this? If a person dies, you mourn—that's the human thing to do. But here I am, trying to minimize his death as much as I can, selfishly thinking about myself… You monster.

But I didn't kill him for myself! I saw the Sevens standing over Lannister, a club-like flashlight in his hand! What else could I have done? Watched as they beat him to death? That would've been worse than killing the boy from Seven.

Why do I care so much about Lannister, anyway? He's just another tribute. We might've come from the same district, but we barely knew each other at home. He's no different from any of the others; if he lives, then I die. Yet I'd almost be willing to let him live instead.

No matter how much I polish the sword, the mental overlay of blood remains. I sigh and look up. Zeus leans at the edge of the golden horn, tapping it absentmindedly with a knife, waiting for Cleo to go hunt as she sorts and organizes the seemingly random assortment of items we have. Lannister jokes around with Devrell. Though I can't hear what they're saying, both of them collapse laughing. In the beautiful sunlight, Lannister's golden hair shines, radiating the sunbeams from above. As he recovers, he takes a stick and makes it disappear, much to Devrell's annoyance, who still can't figure out the trick.

The trick.

Maybe something changed that first day on the train, when he pulled out that deck of cards to cheer me up. I refused to tell him anything then, but he didn't stop asking if I was okay. And now… he knows everything. That's what's special about him. He's the only one in the world that knows how I really feel, but he hasn't teased me for it. Honestly, he's the only person in the world that can ever know how I feel; my family would be so disappointed in me and hate me if they found out.

So that's who Lannister is to me. My best friend. It sounds stupid since I've only really known him for a little more than a week, but can a friendship without honestly really be a friendship? Just a friend. Nothing more.

Clearly so.

Shut up.

"It's all done," Cleo says to Zeus, standing up over the pile of now organized supplies. "If you want to go hunt…"

"Sure."

She pauses, rubbing her chin. "We'll have to leave two behind in case Alia comes back."

He snorts. "She won't."

"Just in case," she insists. "Who's going with me and Zeus?"

Devrell leaps to his feet. "I'm always in."

She frowns, looking back and forth between Lannister and me. "No offense… but I think it's generally a bad idea to leave District Partners to guard together."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I'd love for it to happen like this, for Lannister and I to have a relaxed day, where I don't have to worry about killing or murder… but it'd be suspicious. Stuck, I shut my mouth again.

"Ha!" Zeus laughs. "They'll be fine."

She looks at Devrell, who just shrugs with a stupid, stupid knowing grin on his face. She sighs. "If you guys think it's safe, then I'm fine with it."

My heart leaps—why is my heart leaping? I shouldn't be this happy about this. And then I look at Lannister and I just know that everything will be fine, that today will be great, that I'll be able to ignore my problems for just a little while longer. I bite my lip and hold my composure.

Just a friend, Jasmine. Nothing more.

Elena Vogel, 17, District Ten Female

If the logging town was creepy enough before the fires, it's even worse afterwards, now that most of the remaining roofs could collapse as a moment's notice and everything smells of smoke. I'm not sure why anyone would be here, but last night, I could've sworn I saw a figure running through here, amidst the flames. And so I'm here. Wherever the prey goes, the hunter follows.

The rope is coiled, ready to throw, with the end tied around my wrist so that I can't let go accidentally. The knife is belted in, in-reach and ready to stab. My eyes are peeled, inspecting the burnt buildings on either side as I stalk through the town. My ears are open, listening for the slightest hint of another tribute.

When I round the corner, I find a burnt-out tower, collapsed onto the street, the resulting rubble almost blocking the road. Not too far ahead, there's an irregularity in the gravel—it's been disturbed, exposing the dirt underneath, as if someone violently rolled around here. It validates my conclusion, but is there really any surprise?

Up ahead, the buildings are less charred; the rain must've come down before the fire had a chance to do much damage there. One of the shacks, a small tool shed, looks surprisingly intact relative to the buildings around it. Half of the roof is gone, but I suspect that it was that way when we entered the Arena. There's a sniffle—hmm?

When I peek in, I find myself staring into the eyes of the girl from Seven—the girl I messed up in the Bloodbath, I think? She made it out of that mess; I'm impressed. But she doesn't look so strong now, huddled in a corner, face and skin smudged with ash, a nasty burn on her leg. Instead of wearing her jacket, she has it wrapped around her arm—an injury? Her wide eyes become a fierce glare as recognition spreads across her dirty face.

"You," she spits.

I blink. "Howdy."

She sneers. "I blame you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really."

Biting her lip, she stands to her feet, axe in hand, trembling, almost like she's trying to keep herself together. "You'll pay for it."

"Sure."

"Cedric is dead because of you!" she accuses, pointing at me with the axe. I simply stare back. Her face twists; she screams at me. "You're heartless!"

Somehow, the attempted insult doesn't bother me much. She's deranged, out of control, like a rabid animal that has to be put down. "Maybe I'll grow one after I get out," I say.

"How could you?" she roars, lunging at me, swinging her axe.

Not good. I'm at a severe disadvantage in direct combat. And so I leap back and sprint away from her, looking back every so often to make sure she's still on my trail. With some animals, you have to bait them to catch them. In this case, I'm the bait and the hunter, all in one.

Animal. She's not a person. She's a varmint. I need to switch into that mentality right now; I can't be caught off guard again by the blood like I was with the… other one. The girl from Seven can't be a she to me. The girl from Seven has to be an it.

But I need to improve my position first. I dig my heels into the gravel and whip around a corner, leading it on a zigzagging run through the burnt out town. Its footsteps are quick, but I'm just as quick—I proved it to it in training on the Gauntlets.

What to do? Trap it under rubble? Trip it and then rope it down?

I'm back at the fallen tower, which forms a sort of dangerous skipping path up to the roof of the building beside it. It'll be just like training. It's approaching behind; my eyes trace a route up the rubble—the plank, and then the bar, and then…

Buzzard bait! There's no time to plan; I'll go for it. I leap on the plank, wobbling to keep my balance, pushing off before I've got my balance. I land wrong; my momentum is too great; I can't stop. Next thing I know, the air is rushing by and I'm falling and I hit the gravel ground.

I wasn't that high up; fall injury isn't a concern yet. But the varmint whoops, leaping, swinging the axe.

Now or never.

I grab at the jacket tied around its arm, yanking it as hard as I can. It screams—I was right about the injury—falling over face-forward. I dodge the falling axe, scramble to my feet, leap off its back, and I'm back on the rubble again, going a little slower, taking one jump at a time until I'm up on the roof, a hard surface with pipes sticking up.

Now for the varmint…

It's following the path I took up, hopping from stepping stone to stepping stone, the black smudges streaked where the gravel dug into its face, the eyes now blazing with murderous rage. Good. A provoked animal is much more likely to make a mistake.

I watch as it claws at the rubble, steadying itself. My hand tightens around the rope—the time is now. While its eyes are averted, watching to keep itself from falling, I hurl the looped rope, landing perfectly on its shoulders. Its eyes grow wide, realizing what I'm about to do.

And then I yank. It falls—it's about to pull me off the roof! I quickly loop the rope around a pipe, using it as a pulley to help me hold down the rope and lift the varmint off the ground as it struggles. Screaming and then choking sounds arise from the edge of the roof—and then a snap.

The rope falls still. All sounds stop. I cautiously peek over the edge. The victim swings lifelessly in the wind. I take a deep breath to calm my rustled nerves, my churning stomach. Cleaning up won't be much nicer than the last, but at least it's not as messy.

This girl thought she could best me, but Elena Vogel always comes out on top. If I didn't always win, I wouldn't be me. I wouldn't be worth anything. I wouldn't have any use.

And in here, I'd be dead.

Orysa Edrei, 16, District Nine Female

As we wander through the woods, simply to keep moving, Baize kicks at a pebble, sending it flying away into a clump of ferns, muttering something about the "effin' Capitol" the way he always does. Somehow, he didn't seem this moody in the Capitol, but I can't judge. Seeing Viyella in the sky must've really messed with his head…

But Bryson's still alive.

Why can't I let him go? He chose to leave—and he's safer now with Barrett than he ever was with me. I should be glad for him, not constantly so worried about him. If he knew I felt this way, he'd get mad at me for thinking about him like a defenseless child. Is that a bit condescending? Maybe. But does he have a lick of chance against the girl from Two? Not at all. Even if he were one of the strongest thirteen-year-olds in the district, he'd still be a thirteen-year-old up against one of the very best of District Two, where the volunteers spend over ten years training for the Hunger Games.

Ugh. Training. So unfair.

I glance at Baize and sigh. His whiny bottom is rubbing off on me. Everyone knows about the training, but somehow, the injustice of it all never really struck me. Out on the farm, it seemed like the Hunger Games were in another universe, where I could fill my days with produce and chickens and country songs and the ol' truck.

The truck. I wish we had a truck. Then we could just run over the stupid trained Star Alliance and win. We'd have to go fast, but I'm used to speed. Out on the nicer, wider country roads of District Nine, I'll go up to seventy miles per hour… eighty miles per hour… maybe ninety if I'm feelin' naughty… That impact would be sure to wipe them out quickly. Would it be unfair for us to have a truck? Yes, but it'll just be levelling the playing field!

Remember who the real enemy is. Baize's words ring in my head again, the annoying way they tend to do. Orysa! Stop it! Here I am, fantasizing about how to kill other people! How are the Games so effective at getting in my head? I shiver—I'm becoming exactly what they want me to be, a mindless killer with no regard for human life. I can claim to care about life, but do I really care about life if I try to rationalize everyone's death?

I grunt and kick at a fallen branch on the ground, snapping it in half. Somehow, knowing that the Capitol wants something out of me makes me not want to do it.

Baize laughs. "Woah, angry girl."

"Not now, angry boy." I glare at him. "I can't get your stupid voice out of my head. I don't need to hear any more of it."

He laughs. "I'm flattered. I didn't realize I was that memorable."

"You're just annoying." I stomp on another branch, lingering in the satisfying crack. "And you're rubbing off on me. And I'm becoming annoying. And that annoys me."

"Makes sense."

I can't suppress a snort, and it erupts, much louder than I had hoped. "None of this makes sense! Why am I becoming you?"

"Because I make sense!"

I do suppress a bad joke about making dollars instead of cents (whatever these ancient pre-Panemian currencies are), but the annoyed tingling won't go away, and I keep kicking at the pine straw beneath our feet as we walk. "I don't like it."

"Fine, fine. Let's talk about something else… like…" He pauses. "Woah! What's up there!"

I roll my eyes—he really is rubbing off on me. "That's the oldest trick in the book."

"No! I'm serious!" he insists, slowing to a stop. "Look?"

"I don't have the patience for a trick right now, so you'd better not be kidding." With a sigh, I glance in the direction he's pointing—

What is that? Just a little ways to the left, up in the trees, is an enormous tree house. Or should I call it a tree palace? It's a rectangular structure about the size of our barn, maybe a bit smaller, and it's held up by wooden poles that dig into the ground as well as the many trees that grow through it. There's a small fenced balcony running along the entire edge, forming a magnificent sight below the pointed thatched roof. Instead of a ladder, this one has staircases that lead up to it, with one on this side that goes up to an actual door and another staircase on the other side, barely visible through the mess of supporting poles beneath the palace.

"Oh dang…" I say. "Wanna go check it out?"

"What else are we gonna do?" He smirks. "I'll race you there."

Before the words have fully processed, he takes off, leaving me sprinting after him, trampling branches and plants as I barrel after him. "You stinker!"

I'm the faster runner; I'm more fit from outdoor work. But the distance is small enough that he arrives at the base of the staircase first, already panting despite the short distance. The stupid smile on his face is enough to get my blood rolling.

"Enjoy your victory," I spit, half-jokingly.

"I'll take that." He looks up at the stairs before us. "Ladies first?"

"To the victor go the spoils."

He grumbles, but I slap him on the back and he heads up, with me following closely behind. Somehow, though it seemed fun and exciting from a distance, each clep… clep… clep… rings with dread that echoes around in my heart until we're standing at the top, facing the closed door, the echoes crescendoing into terror.

"Do we open the door?" I say.

"I don't know." He rubs his neck. "It didn't look so scary from a distance."

"I'm pretty sure it's safe." Do I believe that? Or am I trying to convince myself?

"What if it isn't?"

Aw… frick. "I'm doing it."

"Wait—"

Too late. I twist the handle and shove the door in. It creaks open, revealing the dusty interior. It's a room about half the size of the entire tree palace, with a door on the opposite wall, likely leading to a similar room on the other side. Four thick tree trunks obstruct the view of the other wall, poking up through the floor and out of the roof.

"What did I say?" I laugh. "There's nothing here."

He steps in, and I follow right behind. We're barely into the room when I swear I hear the creeeeak of a door opening. The door on the other side?

Baize doesn't seem to notice. "I—"

"Shh! I think I heard someone!"

"S— —!"

Barrett Adler, 18, District Ten Male

"Shh! I think I heard someone!"

There's someone on the other side of the door. My eyes meet Bryson's, and we both freeze, staring at the door. Who could it be? He huddles a little closer to me; I reach an arm around him almost without thinking. For a second, I brace for him to suddenly pull away, but he doesn't seem to mind. Whew?

The silence presses in, suffocating me as we wait, staring at the door. My hand goes to the whip. I won't be able to crack it in here with the tree trunks in the way, but at least I can hit back with the lead handle if I must.

"S— —!"

A different voice. There are at least two of them; could we take them on if they attacked? Do we run? Bryson presses closer, his entire body trembling.

I rub his shoulder reassuringly. "Hey," I whisper. "We'll be okay. We can always run."

He gulps, eyes transfixed, nodding slowly.

Suddenly, slow footsteps break the silence, approaching the door from the other side. Bryson pulls out his knife. I slide the whip out, ready to strike. The doorknob turns. I pull him a little closer. A gap appears as it opens. I hold my breath.

A girl peeks in, her brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail. Her dark eyes are narrowed at first, but then she breaks into a huge smile.

"Aye! Bryson!" she shouts, rushing over.

"Wha—" Bryson's jaw drops, and then he pulls away from me, embarrassed, stepping forward to meet the girl that vaguely registers in my mind as his district partner. "Orysa!"

She meets him in the middle and places her hands on his shoulders—and Bryson promptly brushes her off. She doesn't seem to care, though. "Oh my gosh—how are you?"

"F- Fine, I guess." He looks back at me, and then turns again to her. "This is Barrett."

She beams at me, eyes overflowing with relief. "Hi! I'm Barrett—I'm so glad to meet 'ya."

"Howdy! It's my pleasure."

She turns back to the door and calls. "Baize! Come on!"

A lanky boy cautiously steps into the room from behind the door, his concerned eyes darting between me and Bryson. "Hey."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" She laughs nervously. "Sorry about him. He's just got the holler tail."

The holler tail? I grin anyway at her apologetic smile. "Bless your heart! My pleasure to meet 'ya, Baize."

"Hey."

I smile, but he doesn't respond to it, lips pressed together grimly. I resist the frown that tugs at the corners of my lips.

Orysa shakes her head. "He's saltier than District Four, but I'm sure he'll warm up eventually."

"Shut up."

"No, you."

He grunts.

Bryson and I look at each other. They're… certainly a duo.

"Wanna team up?" she says, eyes brighter than the Capitol at night. "I'm sure we'd be better off all together."

"Seriously?" Baize says.

"You betcha!"

Bryson looks at me. Teaming up… My brain tells me that this isn't good, but Bryson is happy and she's so positive—how can I say no? Besides, with four people, we have strength in numbers.

"I can't say no," I admit. "You sure Baize is fine with it?"

She cocks her head and looks at him. "He'll be fine."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

"See?"

I shrug, even though his almost-scowl makes me uneasy. "If y'all say so."

Baize Liliwin, 18, District Eight Male

I shouldn't have pointed out the treehouse. We would still be trekking through the woods, but I'd at least feel safe. My gut tells me that Orysa would never betray me, and honestly, I'm not sure I could betray her either. If someone attacked us, I'm sure I'd try to kill them, but to betray someone? That's exactly what the Capitol wants from us, and so I'm not going to give it to them. Plus, she's a lot of fun. She bugs me and I bug her, but she's fun.

But now she's catching up with Bryson, and they've been chatting for who-knows-how-long. He originally seemed happy to see her, but now he seems a little done with the conversation, with fingers tapping on the wooden floor, eyes darting around, answers getting shorter and shorter. She's… definitely a bit of a loud personality sometimes, maybe entertaining enough for the Gamemakers to leave us alone.

Bryson doesn't worry me one bit, actually. He's frickin' thirteen. The only way he'd be able to kill me is to stab me in the night, and then Orysa would lose herself. There's no way he'd be stupid enough to try anything.

On the other hand, Barrett's simple existence unnerves me. As I sit here against a tree trunk, picking at the bark, my eyes keep wandering over to his hulking figure. At the moment, he's coiling his terrifying whip, a long black one with a heavy handle. A hit to the head with his strength could easily kill a person.

I can only imagine how disappointed the Capitol is right now, wishing that they could see him tear all three of us to pieces. There have been years before where a strong outer-district tribute turned on his allies, destroying them all in one bloody fight. The commentators always looked so disgustingly pleased.

He looks up. He caught me staring! He smiles. I quickly look away, but it's too late. "Howdy!"

"What's up?" I say, trying my best to keep my tone neutral. I'd rather avoid a long conversation with him, but I don't want to push any of his buttons… I might not live another day if I do.

"Nothin' much. The Arena's been treatin' y'all okay?"

I shrug. "I guess. We figured out the wolves pretty quick, so nothing's really happened on this side of the Arena yet."

"That's good," he says, looking over warmly. Talking with him is like staring into a warm campfire, warm and calming. And that's a disaster right now because this is an effin' deathmatch. He's trying to lower my guard, isn't he…

"So," I say. Perhaps I can get some information out of him, figure out why he's acting like this. "Why'd you team up with Bryson?"

"I couldn't just watch him die, y'know?" he says without hesitation. "Could you?"

I narrow my eyes—does anyone actually think like that in the Hunger Games? It's one thing to care about your district partner, but he has zero reason to care. "I guess not."

Suspicious? Absolutely. But am I going to complain? Absolutely not, though not yet. The Capitol would love to see us fight, so I'll do my best not to fight him.

But I'll keep my eyes on him all the same.

Dove Yee, 16, District Twelve Female

While Reuben and Evelyn talk and talk, I sit in the doorway of the treehouse, kicking my legs, eating from a bag of dried apricots, watching the sun set. The shadows are growing long; the day is drawing close to an end. It won't be long until the sun sets and the wolves are released again.

I shudder. I hate wolves. Back in District Twelve, our pathetic excuse of a fence somehow manages to keep these beasts out. Here, we have to plan our travels around finding another treehouse for the night. That's actually a smart move on their part. It makes it more likely for us to find each other. It worked with me and the District Sixes.

"…Dove?"

I snap my head back—it's Evelyn, her kind voice shaky with nerves. I smile sheepishly. "I'm sorry; what were y'all asking?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she says, speaking so quickly she's almost mumbled, "It's totally my fault; I should've been louder. I just asked if you're okay."

I cock my head. "Me? Why?"

"You've been staring at that dried apricot for a long time. I thought maybe something was wrong?" She frowns. "But don't mind me. Sorry for bothering you."

I smile at her; maybe it'll keep them acting nice towards me for just a while longer. "Thanks for asking."

She blushes, embarrassed. "If there's anything… we'd like to help. Right?"

Reuben concurs. "Of course."

But then I look away from them, and I take off the smile. Do they expect me to believe them? No one is that nice in the Hunger Games. Besides, they've already slipped up with the "we're wholesome and nice" image they're playing, exposing themselves as the liars they are. When the fires started, they immediately took off, leaving me dangling on the rope bridge. Sure, they came back, but I'm sure they did that to maintain their angle.

I glance back at them as they discuss the best flour to water ratio for baking bread. Apparently, Evelyn's family owns a bakery, and Reuben does most of his family's cooking. They don't genuinely care about me, do they? Why else would they just go on and on and on between themselves, leaving me out?

For now, it seems safe enough to be with them. But once the numbers dwindle, I'll have to act—and fast, before they realize that I'm one of their last competitors and kill me first. It'll be two on one, hardly a fair fight, but what other choice do I have? My best chance is to take out Reuben first and then face Evelyn… It won't be easy, but it's my best bet.

"Hey," Reuben says, "You ready to go to bed for the night yet?"

Why are they hurrying me? Are they planning to kill me tonight? "Sure."

"Evelyn's taking the first watch. Maybe you can get the last one?"

Probably not yet. It's far too early to break a new alliance. "Of course."

I lay down to go to sleep, but my heart pounds and my mind races and I just can't rest. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of peaches… and sunshine… and birds…

My heart goes thump thump thump. This isn't working. No matter what I picture, it comes back around to the image of the two District Sixes, fleeing from the fire, ditching me on the rope ladder as the wind tosses me around.

Cleodora Mulroy, 18, District Four Female

As soon as the sun sets, the three boys go to sleep, leaving Jasmine and me on watch duty, waiting around a roaring campfire. All three of them are fast sleepers, which is a good thing since our watch system is all messed up now that Alia's gone. We always need two people awake at any time, but five isn't an even number. So, we all have to get up for two watches per person, keeping time with the timer over the Cornucopia, which counts down until the next release of the wolves. Right now, since the sun has just set, the timer reads thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes until the next wave of wolves, a muttation threat that skews the playing field in our favor, since as far as we've seen, those wolf-repellent blue flowers only grow around the Cornucopia. It feels wrong to have this advantage, yet I can't say I want the playing field to be level. After all, I did train and volunteer to win. I don't plan on dying here.

But it still feels bad that the system is unfair.

The campfire's warm glow is numbing; the leaping flames are mesmerizing. As I stare into the fire, I can almost forget where I am, what I'm doing, how horrible it all is. Right now, I want to forget. Forget what I feel. Forget what I think about the Games. Forget how much I regret it. The Capitol wants a victor, and if keeping my mouth shut and not rocking the boat is the way to victory, I'll do it.

Just like you submitted to Mom all those years.

From the other side of the fire, Jasmine releases a loud sigh. I bite my lip. Sighs aren't good. They show discontent—and we're not supposed to be discontent. It's practically inviting trouble from the Capitol. Why is she even discontent anyway? She spent the entire day here with her love interest while I spent it hunting. And yet she's upset.

Please don't say anything, please don't say anything, please don't say anything…

She speaks. "I'm just tired, you know?"

No, I don't know. "I guess." I look around nervously, pointing discreetly at the sky. Cameras.

She sighs again, resting her head on her knees pulled close to her chest. "That's tiring too."

I fidget. We're on the edge of a topic that's definitely a no-no, that'll definitely cause problems for our mentors. "But this isn't the time to talk about it," I say. Hopefully she'll get the hint to keep her mouth shut.

"You're right about them," she says, gesturing to the sky.

I nod—wise decision. Now just to move to a safer topic…

She flicks a woodchip into the fire. "I don't know if I even care about them anymore. I'm just so done."

I frown. Yikes—can't you just keep your mouth shut?

But she keeps going. "I'm sorry—you don't really care about my personal problems. I'll shut up now."

You already said too much. I sigh; at least she's done with that topic now. If we can just stay in silence, we won't have to risk dangerous topics. I look away from her, trying to signal that I don't want to talk.

Either she doesn't see it or she doesn't care, because she speaks again. "What do you miss most about home?"

Whew. A safe-ish topic. "Home? I… miss my job, actually." I chuckle. "That sounds stupid, I know."

She seems puzzled. "Your job?"

That's right. District One kids don't have to work. "By the docks. I enjoy it a lot—the water, the breeze, my crew."

"That sounds amazing. Maybe it's something I'd like to do too."

I press my lips into a firm line. She hasn't worked a day in her life; how could she understand? What do I even say—I hope you'll get a chance someday? That's basically asking for her to live and for me to die.

Thankfully, she keeps talking, covering up my awkward silence. "I miss my sister so much, even though she's a pain in the… rear end."

Is this a ploy to get favor with the Capitol? I just smile and nod.

"She wants to volunteer too, but I almost wish we could both just grow up normally and have normal lives."

"Normal?" Once again, a borderline dangerous topic.

"Fall in love… get married… have kids… just be happy, you know?"

You're already on the first one. Still, I can't help but sympathize. What would I give to have that life over the one I'm living right now…

"I… I relate to that." The words escape my throat before I have a chance to process them. I nearly smack myself—did I just confess to not enjoying the Hunger Games?

Jasmine clearly doesn't see any problem with it because she smiles. "If only we weren't here… we'd be doing those things." She laughs bitterly. "But I'll never get a chance."

Half of me wants to scream at her. Half of me feels exactly what she's feeling. Perhaps… it isn't so horrible that she's fallen in love, whether she realizes it or not. "Well… it looks like the first one's already happened," I say, smiling encouragingly.

"What? You mean—" She whirls around to look at Lannister, a blush creeping up her perfectly smooth cheeks. "No! Nothing's happening between us…"

I raise an eyebrow. 'Cause no one believes that.

"I mean… we're just good friends."

You keep telling yourself that. I shrug. "I wouldn't know how you feel."

"Okay…" She presses her temples, staring intently into the crackling flames. "Is that what's happening? Maybe I'm in denial…" Then she looks at me, worried. "Is it that obvious to everyone else?"

I shrug and smile, even though it feels so wrong. I shouldn't be encouraging love in a place like this. "If it is happening, I'd say to go for it."

"Really?"

Here's your chance—take those words back! Falling in love is not the thing to do in a deathmatch! "You never know when you're going to go, so you might as well be happy, right?"

"Thanks, Cleo." She beams at me, radiating a glow so warm that it silences my inner critic for just a moment. "I think I might."

A bell rings; a wolf howls. It isn't long before we're surrounded by wolves, walking and sniffing around the ring of blue flowers that protects up. I open my mouth; it's so tempting to comment on the unfair playing field. But then I shut it. I've said enough tonight.

The Fallen:

Rina Alcott (D7F), killed by Elena Vogel (D10F) — 17th Place

Man… this one hurt. When I first received her form, I was so challenged—how was I going to authentically write such a complex character? She was literally described as a mirror, and as poetic as it sounded, I really struggled to get a grasp of her intricate personality, simultaneously strong and weak, guarded and open, bold and shy. But as I wrote her, she came to life. Her POVs were always the hardest to write, but that isn't a bad thing! The process of getting in her head was frustrating yet also so exciting to explore, and over time, she found a unique place in my heart. Goodbye *three-fingered salute*

A/N Gosh I still have two-thirds of the tributes left… My heart can't take this. Quick Recap: The remaining groups are Star Alliance, D6 and Dove, D9 and 2B, Chaos, Elena, Marleigh, and Alia. Victor Predictions?

Also, my next SYOT, Justice, has been open for a week! Please go submit!

Thoughts?