Day 5: Adept Evasion

Dove Yee, 16, District Twelve Female

I couldn't sleep all night. No matter what I thought about or did, I just couldn't fall asleep, thinking about all the different ways the Sixes could be deceiving me, planning my death, manipulating my moves. And now I'm keeping watch, sitting in a dark corner of the treehouse, watching the other two sleep, trying to keep myself awake while listening to the sounds of their restful sleeping.

How can they sleep so well? And why can't I?

They don't know that I've seen through their "kind and wholesome" facade. They thought they could lure me in, lull me out of alertness, convince me that they're not trying to kill me. But I know better.

The thought sickens me to my stomach. How could they? What did I ever do to them? All I've ever asked for was loyalty, an ally that wouldn't stab me in the back at the first opportunity.

First it was the weak-willed girl that ditched me before we even entered the Arena. I was nice to her! I could've left her for someone stronger, but I chose to be loyal to her. And then Marleigh! I thought she was nice and kind and innocent—but she left me alone at the Cornucopia. Even when I ran into her later, she hid and fled from me. What did I ever do to deserve such horrible allies?

And now these two, these liars that pretend to be terrified and gentle when they're out for blood, just like the rest of them. At this rate, as long as they continue to threaten me hiddenly like this, I'll wear out.

I bite my lip and ball my hand into a fist. I'm done playing nice, acting as meek as possible to avoid their wrath. I'll have to take this situation into my own hands.

Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five Female

I sit in the center of the dim storage room, a place in a hidden corner of the logging town. The wooden walls lined with dusty shelves feel close, as if they're pressing in on me, hemming me in. If someone comes up the stairs, my only escape is out the hole in the roof, through which the light shines, illuminating the items scattered all around me. Just to be safe, I move a rickety chair underneath the gaping opening. If someone finds me, I want to be ready.

Oh, I miss my camp! It was quiet, and calm, and nice—and I went to the trouble of getting those pretty flowers! I originally wanted to hide up in the mountains, but all the plants I found up there were toxic and I can only last so long without supplies. Speaking of toxic plants, I gathered a few of the steams, leaves, and roots. I don't know what I'm going to do with them, but I have to do something with all the information I learned in training.

Cautiously, I place the pile of plant parts on the table in the corner and investigate this storage room. The shelves on every wall are stocked with a seemingly random assortment of rusty, dusty items, ranging from screws and bolts to paintbrushes and paint cans.

Perhaps I could paint? But that wouldn't be very useful. Maybe it could entertain the audience? Somehow, I doubt it.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

I look up—a silver parachute slowly flutters to the floor through the hole in the roof. So pretty! In the morning light, it scatters the weak sunbeams, shimmering delicately like the wings of a butterfly. Below it is a box, about six inches square, attached via silk-thin strands of string that almost disappear into the air.

A gift!

I let it fall all the way to the ground, as to not disturb its gentle flight. Once it thumps, I carefully detach the strings from the box, fold the parachute neatly, and slide it into my pocket. It'd be such a waste to just leave it lying around. Finally, I open the box.

It's a… garden gnome? I pull out the ceramic figure, with his pointy red hat and chubby bearded face and funny little coat, tied around his waist with a shiny belt buckle. It's… cute, I guess. It probably would've been more useful back in my old camp, where it would've looked so cute at the base of the bushes or a blue flower. In this messy storage room… it adds a touch of color!

My forehead scrunches up—what am I supposed to do with it? I can't complain about a gift, though I can't but wonder if this was the most efficient use of my certainly limited sponsor funds…

If I got a gift, then that means I have sponsors! Someone out in the Capitol likes me! I stare up into the sky and whisper a "Thank you," blowing them a kiss. Hopefully they recognize my gratitude. Still, my gut tells me that there's something I'm missing! If Hass is… not here anymore, then Phoebe must be my mentor right now—and she's a smart woman. She wouldn't waste precious funds.

There's a black button underneath, and when I press it, his mouth pops open and it makes a weird whirring sound. Nothing comes out. How… anticlimactic. I must be missing something. Perhaps…

Aha! The head twists open, revealing a hollow cavity inside his body. If pushing the button opens the mouth… and there's an empty space inside…

I scramble over to the window, where ashy water from the rain has collected into a bucket. Cautiously, I pour a little bit of the water into the cavity, watching as the ash in the water settles to the bottom in pretty little swirls. I restore the head, point it away from me, and press the button. The dirty water squirts out of its open mouth, raining to the ground on the other side of the room.

I made a water gun!

But not just a water gun. It could be a coffee gun, an oil gun, a… sulfuric acid gun? My eyes land on a red bottle in the corner, labelled "Danger" in bold letters. If I had this back in my camp, I wouldn't have had to run! I rush over to the bottle and pour it into the cavity until the inside of the gnome is full of concentrated acid, careful not to splash any on myself. Concentrated sulfuric acid causes terrible chemical burns on the skin; a classmate in my chemistry class once got a little on his finger. I'll never forget his howls of pain.

But if I'm using this against the other tributes… Marleigh! I step away from the terrible gnome, filled with terrible acid that causes terrible burns. How could I ever think of using this on anyone? I rub my eyes, trying to block out the disgusting thought of intentionally burning another person. Horrible, horrible, horrible—

Quick, steady footsteps. Someone's coming up the stairs—and fast! What do I do? Do I have time to clamber out the roof? I stare at the cursed gnome and take a deep breath. If the intruder's going to attack me, I don't have any choice. I force myself to screw the head back on the gnome and stand against the shelves by the door, waiting for the intruder to show their face.

Step. Step. Step.

The girl from Ten appears, and for a moment, we stare at each other. Her single hand goes for the knife in her belt, a bloody rope coiled around her arm.

Bloody rope!

I slam my hand into the button and send the acid flying. Not waiting to see what happens, I swoop a couple of the poisons off the table and scramble to the chair by the hole in the ceiling, tossing the things in my hand on top of the roof, reaching my hands through the hole, lifting myself out into the open air, looking around to find another way down from the rooftop—

"Ah!"

Her frustrated grunt registers in my ear—Did I hurt her? I look back down. She's kneeling in the middle of the room, furiously wiping her burning pink arm against her jacket, gritting her teeth, trying to suppress the growls that leak from her sealed mouth.

I… did that…

I almost leap back down—I have to help her—but she looks up, her white teeth bared, her brown eyes feral with anger.

"I'm… sorry," I whisper, but she snarls. Frowning and biting back a tear, I rip my eyes away, pick up the plants and this horrific gnome, and scramble away across the roofs.

I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!

Evelyn Darby, 16, District Six Female

I wake up to find Dove in the corner, eyes closed, nodding off. Poor girl. Maybe she didn't sleep well, and now she can't stay awake for her entire watch. Should I wake her? I really want to just let her sleep, but I feel like Reuben would be a little mad about it.

Cautiously, I tiptoe across the wooden floor and stoop down beside her, shaking her. Her eyes fly open in terror; she jerks away from me. "Ah!"

"Ah!" I jump at the sudden sound. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

She blinks, recovering from shock. "I… sorry… Did I fall asleep?"

I nod, biting my lip. Please don't hate me…

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I say, glancing out the doorway, where our view consists of tree branches and the tops of smaller trees. This treehouse is pretty high up—about fifteen feet off the ground. "We're all still alive."

"Yeah…" She's staring blankly into nowhere, preoccupied with something. Should I ask her what's wrong? I really want to, but maybe she'll snap at me for prying or roll her eyes or ah…

A sleepy voice grumbles from the other side of the treehouse. "Woah… what happened?"

I wink at Dove, who doesn't respond. "Nothing."

"If you say so… Did you guys eat yet?"

I shake my head. "We got just up."

Dove smiles weakly at me—is it just me, or does it look forced? "You should get something to eat."

"And you?"

"I'm… not hungry."

I frown. "Are you… feeling okay?"

"Yeah." She yawns, pulling her bag close. "I didn't sleep well… my stomach's a bit queasy too."

I look to Reuben. "Do we have anything for an upset stomach?" He shakes his head. I sigh. "Sorry. We got nothing."

"I'll be okay. You go eat."

I smile at her; she doesn't smile back. I hope I didn't offend her… Without anything to say, I avert my eyes and retreat to my corner, digging through my bag. Perhaps… we'll open the can of beans today?

There's a rustle behind me; I instantly just know that something's wrong. Calm yourself, what could go wrong, don't worry about it— I slowly turn my head to peek. Dove's holding a knife, creeping across the doorway towards Reuben, his back turned to her.

Time whirs to a stop. My heart plummets; a scream bursts from my lungs—"Reuben!"—but the sound is distant and I'm lunging at her, shoving her, yelling at her—"No!"

Her head turns, eyes wide, mouth open in a frozen scream as my push knocks her off balance and out the doorway and she disappears, followed by a muted thud moments later.

I… I killed her!

How could I? I killed someone! My legs give out; my knees hit the hardwood floor. Guilt rushes into me like a punch to the gut, bowing me over as tears stream down my cheek, dripping onto my hands.

Firm arms catch me—Reuben—and he pulls me close, whispering into my ear. "Shh… Shh…"

A sob catches in my throat; I gasp for air, breathing rapidly but never catching enough oxygen. "I— I killed her!"

"Shh…" He rubs my shoulder; the back and forth is soothing. "It'll be okay."

"No!" I choke, horrible shameful words running through my head—you're an awful person, how could you do this, everyone hates you— "Her poor family! Now they hate me and I deserve it because I killed her!"

He sighs. "It's okay. You know… I actually should say thank you."

What? I wipe at my eyes. "Thank you?"

"You saved me."

"And killed her!"

"I'm sorry for not watching my back too," he says. A pause—he cocks his head and listens. "I didn't hear a cannon…"

The thought of her mangled body, barely even alive, makes me want to throw up. I bury my head in my hands, gulping back bile. "I can't look."

"Don't worry about it." Tenderly, he pats me on the back, and then he pulls away, inching towards the deadly doorway. He peers down and gasps. "She's not there!"

Then… "So the hovercraft already took her away?"

"No! I think she didn't die!"

My heart stops beating—What? "How?"

"I don't know!"

"So… she's alive?"

"Looks that way."

W-What? I crawl over to the doorway. Sure enough, there's no one down below, the only sign of Dove being a shred of her shirt caught on a branch below.

She survived.

Should I be happy? Relief's washing over me—she's not dead! I didn't kill anyone! Then why does this feel so… wrong at the same time? Like I want her to be dead.

The image returns to my mind of her, ready to stab Reuben. If she was killing him, then she must've been ready to kill me right after that. If I didn't kill her, then I likely wouldn't be alive anymore. Only one of us can live.

But that applies to Reuben, too. The realization hits like a hovercraft crash—we can't both live? An angry tear leaks from the corner of my eye as a furious rush runs through my veins. How could they do this to us? Somehow it was a truth that never fully clicked, but I know it more than ever before.

I hate the Hunger Games.

Tommy "Chaos" Chassis, 16, District Three Male

I hike through the woods, now carrying double what I had before. Even though I wasn't able to get the Five girl, I think it was well-worth it! I have more water, more food, more first aid—more everything! I almost considered bringing her flowers with me, but it seemed like a lot of work for very little payoff. I'm adept at climbing; I won't be on the ground anyway.

To be perfectly honest, I'm glad she ran. I fulfilled my duty to the cameras; no one can say I didn't try. It's not my fault that she got away—she's a smart girl! She can keep living until her bleeding heart gets her killed by someone else (preferably when I'm not around), and I'll avoid getting blood on my hands for as long as possible.

Blood. The thought of a lot of blood makes me squirm. I can do cuts and small wounds, but the blood that comes with cutting someone open? Ugh. Let's hope I find creative ways to get rid of the competition without having to get dirty. The Capitol can enjoy my antics and I'll enjoy my relatively clean conscience. It's a win-win!

I'm by the river now, scanning the underbrush on both sides for any signs of other tributes. The burnt-out ruins of the city are just a little further downstream. I could get my pressure washer back!

But as I scan, something poking out of the woods high up in the mountains catches my attention. That's not a treehouse—it's a tower of sorts, painted white, rising above the trees all around it.

I bite my lip. Pressure washer or mystery white tower? Which one would be more entertaining to the audience? The pressure washer was their suggestion, but they've seen me use it enough times.

Mystery white tower it is!

Elena Vogel, 18, District Ten Female

That… girl! Urgh!

As I climb down a ladder in the ruined city, I bite my lip to keep myself from making noise. Every time that sore spot on my arm touches anything, it erupts in pain again. When I dug through the first-aid kit, there weren't painkillers of any kind. And so I did the best I could to rinse the burned area with water and slather it with anti-infection cream.

The burned spot brushes against a rung on the ladder, stabbing daggers into my arm. I grit my teeth—I mustn't scream. It's a sign of weakness, and I'm not weak; I can't possibly be weak. I've taken down two competitors, District Seven and District Eleven, each a fierce competitor in their own right.

But it hurts!

I allow myself one grunt and one brief pause to catch my breath, and then I force myself to continue cautiously down until I hit the ground.

Oh… the irony. The Seven varmint had a wound too, and I took advantage of it. Now, some no-name girl (from… Five, was it?) has done the very thing back to me. But she couldn't kill me. There's no way she could kill me.

Dut dut dut dut dat!

It's the sound of a jackhammer, ending with the dat! of piercing through something metal. I freeze, listening carefully, scanning my surroundings.

Dut dut dut dut dat!

My gaze alights on a bird, perched on a building a block down from me, pecking furiously at the corrugated metal roof. A woodpecker?

Dut dut dut dut dat!

The bird hammers its sharp beak down at the metal, into the metal, through the metal—

Through the metal? Oh, I gotta go. I ain't staying around for no killer metal-pecker.

Dut dut dut dut dat!

It's from a different direction this time—there's an entire flock of these monstrous birds slowly descending on the logging town from the previously burnt out forest. It doesn't take a second thought to get me running down the gravel road towards the bridge.

There's an entire flock of birds on the other side of the bridge too. My heart sinks. Am I trapped here? No—they're congregated on the left side of the opposite bank, leaving the right side wide open. It's a risk, but it's better than staying behind with the birds on this side. I slink across the bridge, treading softly on the wooden planks to avoid alerting their attention. As soon as my foot lands on the other side, the entire flock cranes their ugly heads to look at me.

Why, hello. Good day. Bless y'all's hearts. Let's say y'all find some other tribute to kill and leave me alone, 'kay?

I don't run—what if it triggers them? Instead, I back away slowly, taking cautious step back after cautious step back, watching, waiting, hoping that they don't attack me. They don't. But they do waddle after me on their tiny legs, waving their drill-like beaks at me.

So they want something from me… stupid birds. I guess they just don't want me to go that way? Cautiously, I take a small step towards them. Instantly, the entire flock begins to charge, so I leap back—and they settle down again.

Aha! A direction. But where are they driving me? It's likely another tribute, so who could it be? The Star Alliance? I haven't been that boring, have I? I have two direct kills, with another one indirectly caused by me; I'm probably one of the more interesting tributes happening right now. Barrett and his friend? It's possible; it'd be an interesting showdown to watch. He's also the biggest untrained threat, so taking him out now could be good for me, though it'd be better to send him at the Star Alliance and hope he takes a few of 'em out.

Then why do I feel sad about it? Barrett is another tribute, my competitor, someone that has to die. There is absolutely no possibility of both of us surviving. Perhaps it's just because I know his name. If only that had been avoidable…

His kind voice. His soft eyes. I can't deny it no matter how hard I try. He seemed to care about me before he saw what I could do, and that… that…

Means a lot.

Gah, Elena. Get your head in the Game! No good guessing whom I'll be meeting; it could be any. For all I know, they're driving me to weed out some of the hiders. And so I pause for a moment, keeping my eyes on the killer-peckers, and wind up my rope so I'll be ready to catch anyone I see. My knife's firmly secured in my belt. I'm ready.

Bring it on.

Alia Bernold, 17, District Two Female

The Ten guy hasn't exactly been careful to keep his tracks covered, making it easy for me to track him. He stopped me once, but I'm not letting him stop me again. I didn't break off from the others to end up with no kills—yet I haven't gotten a single kill since the girl at the Bloodbath.

You have to work harder. I grit my teeth—how could this have happened? I volunteered for glory, attention, and the spotlight, not to end up like this! At this rate, the Gamemakers will have to send another mutt after me to keep me interesting. Andreas better be keeping them off of me. Dying to a mutt is such a horrible way to get eliminated.

Dut dut dut dut DUT!

I whip my head around—there's a bird in a tree, hammering it's beak into a tree—and through the tree? This is worse than I thought; the mutts are already coming after me. If it were a bear or something, I might have a chance. But what am I going to do against a flock of birds?

The tracks in front of me are suddenly unclear; the trail splits. Worst. Timing. Ever. More than before, I have to find him, to cut him down, to win back the limelight—and now I don't know where to go!

I lift my eyes to the skies, where I can see these birds scattered among the trees. "Hey! Which way?"

A moment of silence. But then all the birds congregate on a single tree, hammering into it until the top is lopped off, crashing through branches and hitting the ground with a thud that shakes the dirt under me, blocking off one of the paths.

I smile up and wink at the cameras up there, wherever they are. "Thanks."

The tracks are more recent now; I'll have to stay quiet. I tread carefully on the pine needle-covered forest floor to avoid as much sound as possible. I'm finally so close; I can't afford to lose this one. The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows over me, with intense golden light that lands on my skin in warm patches.

Thump!

The ground shakes. I whip my head around; another tree's fallen behind me, with the flock of killer birds flapping around it, forming an arc behind me. The message is clear: Get moving—and fast.

A shadow moves. I lunge forward just as a trunk crashes down, right where I was standing before. There's no more time for tracking. I take a breath and break into a run as birds cut more trees down behind me, filling the air with the dat dat dat of the birds and the whishhhh of trees falling through the foliage and the thump of crashing to the ground.

Suddenly, the whishhh sounds to my left. I yelp and leap right, barely in time to avoid being flattened into an Alia pancake. They must not want me to go that way. There's a thick clump of evergreen trees to the right. On a gut instinct, I charge through, shoving branches and leaves out of my way, leaving scratches down my arm. Finally, I stumble out the other side.

A startled cry. "Ah!"

The boy from Nine, just a few feet ahead of me. He's the one that kept the Ten guy from taking up my offer, the one that got away from me from the bloodbath. My blood suddenly boils—my life would be so much easier if this little twit didn't exist!

I swing my scythe. He's limber and agile, quickly darting backwards, yelling for help. Shouts appear, and I'm suddenly surrounded by not only the Ten male but also two others, a girl and a boy.

Four on one. This isn't good. I take a few steps back towards the dense trees so that I can keep an eye on all four of them at once.

"Scram!" the unknown boy spits. "Trained trash!"

I glare at him. "I could take you out right now."

"But then you'd be gone."

"Touché," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. There's a slight quiver, a signal of fear—how could you be so weak? My blood boils—Keep calm, Alia! This isn't the time!

The Ten male's whip is extended; his eyes are narrowed in quiet resolve. "We don't want a fight. I suggest you leave."

I want to laugh—is he really that naive to believe we can get out of this without violence? We don't have a choice here! But at this moment, he has the negotiating power. All I can do is stand at the ready, keeping my scythe up in a defensive posture should any of the four attack. Hopefully, one of them makes the first move, giving me a chance to make it a three-on-one.

Rustling from behind. The girl from Ten suddenly bursts out from the dense trees, hand on a bloody whip, a knife at the ready in her belt. She flinches and freezes.

What the heck, Gamemakers?

For a moment, we stand in tense silence, with the four of them unwilling to move like the cowards they are and the two of us unable to move with the huge numbers disadvantage.

Finally, the Ten girl breaks the silence. "Oh," she says cooly, surveying her five opponents as she backs up slowly. "Bye."

And then she's gone, dashing through the shrubbery.

That effin' Ten male speaks again, his imposing figure even more intimidating because he stands uphill from me. "Get going."

The conclusion is clear—I have to leave if I don't want to die. F— —. Not again! I want to scream, to attack, to slice them all open, especially the donkey from Ten for turning down a fight not once but twice.

But I have to win.

One last time, I search each of the four for a weak point, a spot where I can attack with being immediately killed. There is none. And so I grit my teeth and take several cautious steps backwards, biting the inside of my cheek to force my will into submission.

I avert my eyes, blood burning with humiliation, and charge back into the dense trees, blinking back the furious tears of shame that seem ready to burst. You failure! You immense failure! No wonder no one takes you seriously! Andreas must be having the time of her life out there, laughing at her pathetic excuse of a sister. I growl. I have to prove her wrong!

Deep breaths.

I have to be composed when I appear before the cameras. I close my eyes, calm my breathing, wait for every last shameful tear to dry, and then I step out of the trees, sealing my face into a sheet of steel.

What do I do now? The four of them are nigh impossible to take down by myself. The realization saps my strength—the entire goal I've pursued thus far seems even further out of reach. District Ten Male, the white whale… oh, how appropriate that title is.

But the female? My eyes alight on a broken branch in the dense foliage where the Ten girl must've exited. She can't be far away! She must be a major competitor too, if her bloody rope is anything to go by.

Fine then. First the Ten girl, and then I'll come back around for my white whale. Even if it's the last thing I do—I will kill him. But it's getting dark, so it's time to find a tree to spend the night in…

Ugh. Things are not going as planned.

Lannister Saint, 18, District One Male

When we arrive back at the Cornucopia, entering the protection of the blue flowers, the sky's almost completely dark and the timer is on its last five minutes. If we'd been just slightly slower, we might've been caught by the wolves. Thank goodness for these little blue things; will they last the entire Games? I hope so. It's a big help. Hunting is becoming less and less appealing by the day; I don't need to be fighting a pack of wolves.

Cleo, who stayed back today to watch, greets the four of us with a decently smelling soup, made with water from the river and canned goods from the Cornucopia supply stash, but I don't have much of an appetite. My feet drag on the ground, my eyelids are drooping, my head feels heavy—why am I so tired? Is hunting really that sickening to me now? I feel like there's more to it than just that.

When Cleo offers me a plastic bag full of soup, my stomach lurches. I can't eat.

"Sorry," I say. "It's not you; I'm sure the soup is good. I'm just… not hungry today."

"You okay?" she says.

I nod. "Nothing a good night's rest can't fix."

She smiles. "Why don't you take the entire night off? We'll cover your watch for you."

"Oh—no, that's necessary—" I catch the words stumbling out of my mouth. "I mean, unnecessary." She just stares at me with a twinkle in her eye, and I laugh. "Fine, fine. Thanks so much."

"Of course. Go rest; I'll tell the others."

I smile appreciatively, but it's a half second too late and she's already walking back to the others, who sit around the fire she started, eating dinner. I bite my lip and then sigh—why do I feel like this today? Better go to bed fast. If I wake up early enough, maybe I can still help take a watch.

I've just sat down in my usual sleeping spot when I hear footsteps approaching. I look up—Jasmine's approaching, her silhouette glowing from the campfire behind her, as if the sparks of fire were flying out of her.

"You look cool." The words leave my mouth before I even realize it. I curse myself internally. Seriously? What kind of a comment was that? My brain's really not functioning right today…

She giggles. Since when did Jasmine giggle? "Oh, really?"

"Yeah…" No words come to mind; everything was already jumbled up in my head but now it's dialed up to a ten. "Like with the fire?"

"Fire?"

Oh gosh… "Like—sparks! The fire behind you, I mean. Gah!" I take a deep breath. "The campfire behind you made it look like you were glowing. There we go. I finally got it out straight."

"Good job," she says, laughing as she sits down beside me.

But then a somber silence falls, almost like a sheet of cotton that smothers everything. Despite all the good times we've had over the past few days, it always comes back down to this silence that reminds us that we're in the Arena, we're here to kill, we're not both going to survive. Maybe Jasmine's been thinking about this for months, but it didn't really hit me until the night before. And now that I'm aware of it, I can't get it out of my head.

"You know," I say, my voice low. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

"What?"

"That… stuff from our last night in the Capitol."

She tenses up. "What about it?"

The words don't feel right in my mouth—how do I say it without exposing both of us on national television? "I… agree, and every single day I agree more."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ugh… she's sad now. I shouldn't have said anything. I smile; maybe it'll cheer her up a little. "You opened my eyes."

Jasmine stares at the ground. Even though she won't look up at me, I can almost see the deep pools of sadness that've been slowly filled over years of training for something she didn't want. The silence returns. I really shouldn't have brought it up.

A chilly wind picks up, and I place an arm around her, pulling her close. She leans her head on my shoulder, and for a moment, it feels like electricity. Hmm… I don't think this is related to my head problems.

She sighs, bothered by the gloom. "Can we forget about it all for just a moment?"

"Sure," I chuckle, "So what would you prefer to think about, princess?"

She jabs me in the rubs. "Oh, come on, Prince Charming."

"Prince Charming?"

She gasps and covers her mouth. "Did I say that?"

"Yes," I say, grinning like a fool as I wait for her to admit it.

She nudges me again, teasing. "I was going to say 'prince,' but I guess 'Prince Charming' works too if it makes you happy."

A happy warmth rushes through my body—why does it make me so happy? "It… does."

She stares up at me, her blue eyes like sapphires piercing mine. As I linger in them, looking into her heart— It clicks.

I'm in love.

She opens her mouth, but in this moment, I feel like I already know what she's going to say. "Lannister… I've wanted to say something for a little while now…"

I suck in a deep breath. "Say it, please."

"I wasn't originally going to, but I was chatting with Cleo last night and…"

"And?" My heart is pounding; my ears strain, waiting for her sweet voice to just say the words.

"Maybe I'm an idiot, but…"

"Please, Jasmine!"

"I love you."

She said it. Time suddenly stops; we're not in the Arena anymore. Her hopeful eyes are like a sea of blue, swirling us together over the ocean currents, taking us on and on into eternity.

It registers that my mouth is dry. Eyes wide, I grin the largest grin I've ever grinned, stretching my face beyond what I thought humanly possible. "Jasmine… I'm the idiot for not realizing it earlier because…"

She sucks in a breath, holding it in as her eyes widen in realization. "You mean…"

"I love you too."

The words are out; the world is gone. It's just us, staring into each other's eyes, carried away on a cloud of white, soaring through a bright-blue sky. Her hand reaches up to my cheek, sending a tingle throughout my body. I reciprocate, moving in closer and closer until she's all that I can see, all that I can feel, all that registers in my mind—

"Lan—"

"Yes."

I press my lips to hers and close my eyes. The cloud and sky both disappear; now it's just white, blinding white, as fire rushes through me from my head to every part of my body. It's just Jasmine, Jasmine, Jasmine, who still manages to linger with perfume five days in the Hunger Games, who's hair is softer than silk, who—

"Oh my gosh! I called it!" 'Eff you, Devrell.

I'm suddenly transported back to reality. The clouds. The sky. The world. The Arena. Jasmine pulls away, cheeks redder than a pomegranate but smiling like never before. There's a second shout—"Shut up!" I look up just in time to see Cleo yank him by his hair, causing him to yelp, apologizing profusely.

Jasmine suppresses a laugh. "Maybe… we should stop, at least for now."

I pout. "Aw…"

"They're watching!" She punches me in the shoulder. "And cameras!"

"Fine…"

She pulls away, but she brushes her hand up against my cheek for a moment, holding her sparkling gaze into my eyes for a moment that ends all too quickly. "Get some rest, okay?"

I wink, rubbing her shoulder. "I will."

Bryson Fields, 13, District Nine Male

The tree palace that had seemed so cool and awesome in daylight now looks creepy in the darkness of night. There are windows on both sides of the room we're in, but the little bit of silver that filters in is obstructed by the tree trunks that grow through the palace, leaving dark shadows everywhere.

It doesn't help that after the confrontation earlier today, we might have two killers as well as wolves prowling the woods around us, the girl from Two and Barrett's district partner, both of them fierce in their own right. I caught a glimpse of the Ten girl's lasso—it was soaked red with blood.

Yikes. Being hunted by your own district partner? I can't imagine what that'd be like; I'm so glad Orysa isn't like that. And the girl from Two? What was she doing here? I thought she was with the Star Alliance.

And so we're all huddled together in the same corner in the same room of the tree palace, not wanting to spread out, with a small flashlight for the four of us.

"We need to figure out a new watch system," Barrett says. "How are we splitting it?"

I hold my tongue for a moment, waiting for the others to speak, but I'm met with awkward silence. "We need two people on watch," I say, "Just in case those two are still out there."

Barrett nods. "That's smart."

"Maybe we should split up the original alliances," Baize says, eyes darting around. "I'll go with Bryson. You and Orysa."

Orysa presses her lips together—does she have a problem with Barrett? "Why?"

"So we can watch each other too," he says to her, "I know you probably won't kill me in the night but Barrett doesn't know that."

Barrett bristles. "I'm doin' just fine, thank you. I ain't too worried 'bout that."

"Then that's your choice." Baize shrugs.

"We can stick with the original alliances, I think," Orysa says. "It'll make keeping watch less boring."

I snort. "You mean you'll just talk all night? All four of us will be on watch 'cause none of us will get any sleep!"

She frowns and crosses her arms. "It's not like that…"

Oops. I'm suddenly self-conscious—gosh, I speak so often without thinking. "I'm… sorry."

Barrett smiles at me, barely visible in the dim light. "Let's just stick with what Orysa suggested then."

A quick rock-paper-scissors determines that Orysa and Baize go first, so I grab my bag and huddle in the corner of the room, closing my eyes, trying to find a comfortable position between the hard wall and hard floor and hard backpack. Eventually, I settle with the bag as my pillow, and I close my eyes, letting my mind drift off…

"So you're okay?"

Fricken' Orysa. Of course she's talking; she can't help it. I squeeze my shut shut—Bryson, I command you to sleep—but now I'm wide awake. Maybe I'll say something if Barrett's bothered too. I quiet my thoughts and listen…

Yep, that's Barrett's heavy breathing; he's asleep. I sure ain't gonna confront both of them about it—what can I even do? At least they're whispering; she's trying not to be too loud.

"Yeah."

Now Baize. So they're just going to talk and I'm not going to sleep all night. Barrett would probably let me sleep during our watch, but that'd be unfair.

"Are you sure? You didn't seem too happy with the idea."

"I don't trust the big guy."

"Aw… C'mon. He's great. That's what Bryson says, at least."

"Whatever." A sigh. "But I'll play nice."

"Good."

"Even if it's just to spite the Capitol."

Another sigh, this time from Orysa. "Fine… If that's what motivates you… But I'm telling you. It'll be okay."

They keep going, but a chill runs down my spine. "Just to spite the Capitol"? That sounds like a death wish to me. Usually, the rebel tributes are… less than popular—except in their abnormally horrific deaths. If that's who Baize is, then I don't want to be anywhere near him.

"F— — the Capitol."

"Shh!"

"I don't care!"

Yep—this alliance is deadly. Too bad Barrett is sleeping; I need to talk to him about this! I'm not going to get dragged down with Baize and Orysa!

…Somehow, I doubt Barrett will want to ditch them, even if it's dangerous. I'm still not completely sure if he's trustworthy, but in this crazy new twist of fate, I now trust him more than rebel Baize and crazy Orysa.

And I still can't sleep.

Capitol

Sitting in his office with a mug of black coffee, Adrastus glanced at the top headline in the Opinion section— "Gamemakers Make Laughable Mistake" —and his heart sank to the floor through his stomach and the chair he was in. The phone rang. He tensed up. What if it was Snow, asking about the seemingly mindless decisions coming out of the Gamemaker tower? Still, if it was Snow, then there was no avoiding it. He hesitantly picked it up.

"Hello? Head Gamemaker Beaufleur."

"Sir, this is security, calling to inform you that our scan revealed no weaknesses."

No weaknesses? Impossible! In a moment of frustration, he yelled into the phone. "Then scan again! Do it as many times as you need to—your lives are on the line!"

A pause, a staticky breath. "Yes, sir."

He slammed the phone down (time to replace it, again) and fell back into the plush backrest of the chair, squeezing his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, banging his fists down on the handrests. Where was the hole in their armor? They had to find it before the Red Blades abused it, yet the entire day of searching had yielded no answers.

He glanced back up at the screen and the brutal analysis of why the Gamemakers shouldn't have lured the Two Female and the Ten Female to the large group of four, with every word biting into him because he already knew all of it. All the experienced members of the team had been called to scour the Arena, the security, the technology for any exposed weaknesses, leaving only the young, excitable Gamemakers to manage the actual Games. He would have to return to the main center tomorrow; worse reviews would give Snow a bigger foothold.

Ugh. He grabbed the mug and chugged the rest of the now cold, bitter liquid, trying to drown the feeling that all they could do was wait for the Red Blades to strike.

All they could do was wait.

The Fallen: None!

A/N I'm trying my best to fly through these chapters since my goal is to get Justice going in September! If you haven't submitted, please do! The Stage One deadline is this Wednesday! But if you're a person that likes to stay caught up on reviews, you might not want to wait to do nice long ones. The chapters will pile up fast, so better just leave a shorter one. We can always talk more in the discord (link on profile).

Oh! Marleigh's little garden gnome was sent by none other than CarrotLord, the victor of the meme competition!

Predictions for the next deaths and why? What characters do you enjoy hearing from the most? Any changes in Victor Predictions?

Thoughts?