Night 4

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

Sadira's eyes lock with the volunteer boy within seconds, forcing all of the blood to drain from her cheeks. His expression isn't the menacing smirk she had expected; his eyes are empty but that's not in itself a surprise either. He just stares at them from across the clearing but Sadira isn't fooled. The glimmer of his spear in the moonlight and the echo of his words in her skull won't allow her to give this a chance. Something inside her understands that the warning is not about the webs.

She knows that her next move isn't smart. She knows that he has a spear- a spear- one of the only long-range weapons available in the arena and yet Sadira still turns and runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction. Every other thought is gone from her mind. She doesn't care that her legs are aching or that the cold night air is burning her throat with every inhale. She doesn't give a second thought to the webs, the spider, or the mouse that had turned her stomach just seconds earlier.

Sadira doesn't remember to think about Erdan until she hears the scream come from behind her.

The sound is loud enough to stop her mid-step as it cuts through the air at her back. It's so raw, the scratchiness of his voice so audible that it makes her own throat cry out for moisture. More than anything else, his scream grips her heart inside of her chest and squeezes until Sadira fears it might stop on its own.

Erdan isn't sure when he turned to follow her, but he's staring at her retreating silhouette as the metal burns through his back. He is standing for only seconds after the pain hits him, and he only realizes he's hit the ground when the smell of dirt is smeared across his nose. Erdan screams again as the cold burrows deeper into his skin with the impact, though he can't remember if he even truly stopped. The fear that had gripped his entire body vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Erdan limp on the ground.

He can't think about anything except the pain searing his body and the tears muddying the dirt on his cheeks.

Jordan leaps to retrieve his weapon from the tribute, determined not to allow the girl to escape. His palms grip the handle and his eyes follow the blade as it disappears beyond the tattered uniform vest. From above, Jordan is unable to see the boy's face but it's not hard to imagine. Eyes closed, lips parted in a scream, blood draining from his cheeks. It's so easy to see him as another mannequin filled with red stuffing instead of blood. It's so easy to pretend he isn't real when the screams are so readily blocked out.

When Jordan looks up with his weapon slick in hand, he can no longer see her. The grey fog swirls around the treetops, taunting the fact that he doesn't know where to go. Every direction he looks towards could be the right one when they all look the same to him. The arena is more still than it has felt since the first day, like every tree branch is waiting for him to make the wrong choice. Even the moon feels like it's mocking him; it, of course, knows exactly where she is.

Jordan clenches his fingers more tightly around the handle as he scans his surroundings. He can't hear footsteps; in fact he can't hear anything but the slight gusts of wind that echo in his ear. It's impossible to think that she could be that far away already that he wouldn't be able to hear her. That leaves only one option- she's hiding nearby. Jordan just has to find her.

Sadira clamps a hand over her mouth as gasping sobs bubble at the back of her throat. The arena feels brighter than it ever has, every sound louder than it has any right to be. Every instinct tells her to keep running until the soles of her boots burst open, but her body is trembling too much for that to be an option.

Erdan. The quieter his screams have gotten, the louder her mind seems to shout his name.

He's dead, Sadira tells herself. There's no way that he made it. The volunteer was right there; she could have spit on him if she'd had the mind to. He has to be dead, that's why I can't hear him.

But there's been no cannon.

Sadira presses her shoulders against the tree bark, not caring that her vest is already torn enough that she can feel the roughness through her underclothes. Her nails dig into the dirt beside her and Sadira wants nothing more than to disappear beneath it to avoid meeting the volunteer again. Not for the first time this week, thoughts of dying fight to the front of her mind.

"Do you think we're going to die?"

Tears blurry her vision as Rion's words play again in her head. Their last night together, the first time she'd heard him sound legitimately terrified even though he had to have been long before that. His voice is so quiet; Sadira wishes she didn't have to think of him like this. He was so much more than another scared kid but that's all she can remember him as.

"Yes, I do."

A quiet sob escapes as her own words echo amidst Rion's. Her nails bite into the skin of her cheek as she tries to quiet herself, but it's all threatening to boil over and it feels like she can't do anything to stop it. Sadira has never been the person to show what she's feeling. She couldn't explain to her friends or teachers why she did all those stupid things in school. She never told her mother that she missed her all those nights that she worked late.

She couldn't stand the possibility that maybe no one would have cared.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of cannon fire and, for Sadira, everything stops. It echoes through the trees, leaving a buzzing sound behind that eats away at every thought that had been scrambling for her attention. Even on the first day, when six cannons filled the air and Sadira knew that one was for Rion, none had felt as final as this one.

Sadira presses herself slowly up to her feet, using the tree to smooth her motions so that no one will hear her. Her legs are numb underneath her, but somehow they're able to obey this meager order to hold her weight. She doesn't know what she's going to do, but suddenly it feels like the bottle cap has been placed back on. She needs to do something. There's no one left to help her.

The next cannon could be hers.

It's not the best plan, but as her hand graces her vest pocket Sadira gets an idea. She isn't confident enough to think that the volunteer would leave her after he killed Erdan, which means that he's still out there. If he hasn't come for her already, that has to mean that he doesn't know where she is. The trouble is, she also doesn't know where he is.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the largest of the stones still hidden inside. They still hadn't come across any better weapon, but Sadira is almost glad at this point. She wouldn't stand a chance against the volunteer even if she had a spear of her own. No, the rocks are perfect for what she has to do.

Mustering up all the courage she can, Sadira launches the rock as far away from her as possible. It makes a loud crack as it hits something and Sadira holds her breath as she waits for a response. Within seconds she can hear his footsteps as they rip through the dirt towards the sound. Sadira knows that she has to be quiet, but fear quickens her steps as she takes off in the opposite direction.

Jordan loops back towards where he'd come as he realizes that no more sounds are coming from that area. He isn't sure what he heard, maybe an animal or maybe it was actually her, but either way it's clearly gone now.

He almost doesn't register the shadow as it darts out in front of him, but the second of recognition is all he needs. Jordan adjusts his grip on the spear mid-stride, focusing his eyes on any movement that he can detect around him. Whoever it is, they aren't even trying to be quiet. For what it's worth, neither is Jordan.

It doesn't take more than a minute for him to catch up. He grabs the back of the tribute's vest and tosses them into the ground as if they weighed nothing. Jordan feels a triumphant smile begin on his lips, but guilt wipes it away just as quickly. I'm not enjoying this. The voice that promises this from the back of his mind is so quiet, however, that Jordan almost doesn't hear it.

When he looks down at the girl, the same one from before with her messy curls and wide eyes, Jordan forces himself to hesitate. He stomps a boot down onto her chest as she tries to stand, but he doesn't take his eyes off her expression. I should feel something, he tells himself but only stillness answers him. Aristona was one thing, she was a threat and a bully that would have done worse to him if given the chance. The kid a few minutes ago was also an exception, Jordan couldn't see his face or feel the fear in his breaths.

Why don't I care? Jordan demands, but the silence doesn't offer an answer. Even the wind and the leaves are still as he stares down at her.

"Please," she whispers. Jordan can see the trembling in her shoulders, but his spear doesn't waver. He can see the reflection of the moon in her eyes, the only light in the arena that still refuses to tell Jordan what's wrong with him.

He plunges the spear down but, as another sound growls to his left, Jordan is finally able to tear his eyes away from the tribute. He doesn't have to look to know what it is but, as his eyes lock with the empty white orbs of the creature, all of his frustration melts into pure terror.

Sadira gasps as the blade slices deeply across her abdomen, twisting to one side to try and somehow move away from the pain. She waits helplessly for another cut, another wave of agony but she only feels the first as it continues to radiate around her. Her shut eyes fly open when the sound of fast footsteps echo away from her. She is about to turn around when a growl from ahead catches her attention instead.

She tries to get up and run, but the pain in her stomach refuses to even let her sit up. She has never seen something as horrifying as the creature pacing in front of her. Its eyes are whiter than paper, its fur caked with enough mud and grease that Sadira can smell it from here. She struggles to her side, gasping at the tearing pain that shoots across her skin. No matter how much she wants to get away, her body has given up.

Sadira expects that it will come for her. The way that it stares in her direction, its mouth open just wide enough that she can see the sharp teeth laying within, tells her that its not just a distraction. Still, when she opens her eyes again it hasn't moved any closer. It paces between the trunks of two thick trees, different than the scraggly ones behind Sadira, like the caged chickens back at home. In this case, however, there only seems to be an invisible barrier containing it.

Having nothing else to use, Sadira wraps her arms tightly around her abdomen in an attempt to stop the bleeding. She doesn't understand why the creature won't cross the threshold between the two landscapes, but she's not in any state to question it. She vows that as soon as she can make herself stand up, she's getting as far away from this strange place as humanly possible.

The moonlight does nothing to dry Levi's clothes. However, the cold cuts so deeply that he can't even think about walking any further. As another gust of wind stings his skin, panic creeps up his throat and Levi instinctively brushes at his wet uniform. He hasn't seen the spiders for hours, but the feeling of a thousand legs crawling over him has not even begun to leave him.

He hasn't made it nearly as far from the rock wall as he had wanted to, but the shivering that has taken over his body is stronger than any force of will he has left. Levi can't remember a time when his body felt so heavy or his mind felt so exhausted. It sends him back to the nights after the Peacekeepers raided their lumberyard. When he was lead away from his parents not knowing that he'd never see them again.

Once again, the hope that he could have any power to change things for anyone has melted away with the day. It's like losing a part of himself all over again, a part that he had only just started to see under all the protective cowardice.

I can't stop any of this, Levi admits to himself and the words echo so deeply in his chest that it feels like his heart is crumbling. Another chill crawls over his skin and Levi hugs his arms more tightly around himself, but that does little to stop the shivering.

Levi watches the tree bark glow white around him, but it's impossible to reach out and grasp the fear for even a moment. How can he feel afraid when everything has already shattered around him? How can he fight to survive another day when the only glimpse of himself that he can respect has been torn away so quickly? He's not the kid that held his parents' hand and believed that good would always win in the end. He's no longer the tribute that wants to win so that he can work to end this horrible game. He's nothing.

He doesn't want to give up, but every ounce of courage that comes trailing up is beaten down almost as quickly. Nothing anyone's ever done has made a difference; the Capitol will always loom over the districts and that's just the way it is. Levi didn't change anything when he tried to direct that tribute towards water, the kid's face was in the sky that very night. The only world that even his parents were able to change was Levi's on the night they were executed for treason while he slept unaware on his uncle's couch.

Levi rests his head back against the tree trunk, but he's nowhere close to sleep. His fingertips are numb with cold, and his mind feels the same. The thoughts crawling through his skull don't even feel like they belong to him anymore.

Play the game or lose.

Levi knows that these are his only options, but he can't make himself choose. How can he decide that he's going to run off and kill someone just for existing? How can he decide to let himself die?

There has to be something else.

Almost all of Levi knows that the statement is nothing more than a hopeful lie.

Sinead whimpers as the howls reach her ears again. She isn't sure where to run, only that she needs to be running somewhere. Her eyes sting as the cool air burns across them, but the pounding of her heart refuses to allow her to slow down. Memories of Jory- teeth sinking into his shoulder, the ripping sound that she can't be sure was flesh or fabric- stab at her temples. Her hands barely catch her as she slams into a tree trunk.

You don't think she can handle it?

I don't want her to.

Sinead slips down to the ground, not sure whether to latch onto the comfort of her allies' voices or the pain of their words. She wishes that she could remember the sound of Chase's voice instead, but it's been so long that nothing comes to the surface. There are only the words of Capri and Jory, wondering whether Sinead would be strong enough to deal with the arena.

Of course, she can't handle this. She was supposed to spend the rest of her life at a dead-end job back at home, reading contraband books that her parents didn't even know they had. She was never supposed to be here, in the middle of a strange forest trying not to die by one of a dozen things made to kill her. Sinead knows she's not strong enough for this, but what choice does she have?

Sinead sobs into her sleeve, forcing herself to stand on legs that wobble beneath her. She's exhausted but, in her mind, sleep is the same as giving up right now. The snake, the dog-creature, the tribute with a dusted sword and empty eyes- any of them could come for her. Even the thought snaps her mind back awake even as her muscles protest every inch.

She can't remember if the forest sounds have always been this loud, but every rustling forces her to quicken her unsteady pace. Each tree she passes feels like it should be hiding a threat; every shadow feels like a creature waiting to pounce. Her body tells her to stop, to take a drink or a rest or something just so that she can stop running, but Sinead pushes those thoughts away. Nothing feels safe; her mind screams danger with every turn.

Her footsteps stop, but instead of relief they only heighten her panic. She screams as an unfamiliar sensation brushes her cheek, then folds over her hands as they reach to investigate. The net of soft thread sticks to the front of her body, but no matter how delicate it feels she cannot break through it. Sinead tries to step back but quickly realizes that she's trapped.

Sinead thrashes her head from side to side, trying to free the sticky thread from her face though she only seems to tangle herself further. It's difficult to see anything as the cobweb stretches over her eyes, but she fumbles for Jory's sword until she finds the handle. When she tries to pull it from her belt, Sinead finds that it too has become stuck to the threads along with her legs.

"Help," Sinead whimpers, unsure whether crying out will bring help or something far worse. She twists her hip away from the net, hoping to free the side with his sword, but it refuses to let her go. "Help!"

She coughs as something brushes against the back of her throat, spitting something dark out into the white threads near her face. Sinead forces her mouth shut as she feels more movement towards it, but any effort to bring her hand up to help is useless. She's become so tangled in this web that even turning her head requires more force than her exhausted muscles can generate. However, she doesn't have to look far to see the cascade of black specks crawling up to her.

Her scream comes out as a whimper through closed lips as they rush towards her. At first, she can only feel the tingling of a hundred legs tapping against her skin but that turns almost instantly to burning as more of the tiny creatures join them. Despite her fear, she opens her mouth to scream again for help and thrashes against the web with new urgency. However, only the slightest tears appear in the corners of the web and they are not nearly enough to free her.

Ashara has never heard a scream so horrifying as the one that manages to rouse her from her nightmares. She is alert in seconds, heart racing in her chest though she's unsure if it's from the dream or the shriek that still pierces her ears. As she presses herself up to standing, spots dotting her vision from the sudden movement, her first step is away from the sound. Fighting against her most basic instinct, Ashara forces her next step to be towards it.

She takes off running before her mind tries to tell her to stop. Screaming means a fight, one that someone has very obviously lost. If she can make it there in time, the winner might still be nearby. Ashara knows that she needs to take every chance no matter how slight or someone else will.

When she slips into the clearing, Ashara isn't certain what she's walked into. Just like the ones near the Cornucopia, the trees surrounding her are coated in a thin layer of white. However, at the center of the now-muffled screaming is a collection of cobwebs that spans the distance between two trees and is opaque enough that she cannot see the forest behind it.

As she steps closer, her stomach turns when she sees curtains of tan skin peeking out from behind the woven threads. Once she sees this, it's impossible to ignore the other details that emerge- the top of a curly ponytail, the confined thrashing of their body, and the hundred black specks dotting the surrounding web. It's impossible to tell by the gurgling scream whether they're suffocating or drowning.

"What is this?" Ashara whispers, but she's not expecting an answer. She simply doesn't know what else to do as the dizziness of the scene washes over her.

She ran here with the desire, no the expectation, of killing someone, yet Ashara finds herself rushing to help. The web clings to the flat side of her knife, but the blade cuts through it almost too easily. Ashara wants to reach out and grab them, but without knowing how they got trapped she doesn't dare. The tribute falls to the ground in a heap as soon as she finishes her last cut, but Ashara is not prepared to see what the other side looks like.

Ashara now realizes that she had been staring at the back of the tribute, because she is able to clearly see the melted remains of their face staring up at her. Rusted blood mixes with blackened skin as it streams down what should be the tribute's chest. The smell of vomit, iron, and burnt flesh assaults her nose and she has to turn away to stop the sick feeling from taking over. Ashara can't even begin to consider who they might be, with most of their body constrained by cobweb and only bits of flesh and fabric poking through. It's almost worse not knowing.

Despite her own best judgement, Ashara turns back to the body hoping that it has stopped moving. She can't imagine someone that looks like this still being alive, but the body twitches and the throaty gurgling doesn't stop.

The sight of a spider crawling from within one of the exposed bony crevices sends Ashara to her knees. Nothing but watery bile comes up, but the trees spin as all of her senses overwhelm her. The smell of blood is too sharp. The burning in the back of her throat is too painful. Somehow even the moon standing over her is too bright.

All of the courage of the past few hours rushes from her fingertips and sends her thoughts spiraling through the treetops. Ashara has convinced herself that she will be enough to win but staring down at someone so helpless brings every bit of fear rushing back.

This could be me.

It won't be.

It could be.

Ashara wipes the bile from her lips, still feeling just as sick as the taste coats her tongue. All she wants to do is wake up from the nightmare laying in front of her, but there's no way her mind could conjure up something like this. She looks up again just in time to see a fresh trench of blood join the rest. Ashara can swear she sees tiny spider legs drowning in the mixture.

She finds her knife in the grass and tells herself to leave. Not only is there nothing she can do, Ashara also understands that she shouldn't want to help. She shouldn't have put herself in danger of getting trapped by cutting them down; she shouldn't be sitting here like a static target feeling sick over someone she doesn't know. Except, she does want to help. She wants to help more than anything, maybe because she hopes that someone would do the same for her.

Ashara stops before she leaves the clearing, still painfully aware of the sounds coming from behind her. There is no doubt in her mind that whoever is back there is going to die. She doesn't know how long from now, but it's inevitable. As she reluctantly heads back, Ashara doesn't allow herself to look at the tribute until her knife is already drawn and ready. She only barely contains her retching as she searches for their neck, finds her mark, and sends a final wave of blood spraying down the web.

Now she only has to hope that no one will have to do the same for her.

Noemma slips back to the ground and pulls her sleeves up to cover her icy palms. She hasn't moved more than a few meters from her last resting spot, but even attempting to force herself to continue feels impossible. When she had woken up this morning, being alone and away from Evi had been the goal. She just never thought it would happen like this.

Evi's dead. It should break Noemma's heart to know that she killed the only person she had left in this place, but that's not what makes her limbs feel so heavy. It's the fact that all this time, she was wrong about who Evi was. She had protected someone who used their last breath to wish for Noemma's death. She had wanted so badly not to be alone that she made up a million excuses to cover what was going on. It could have gotten her killed today.

Now that Evi's gone, Noemma wishes she could say everything was crystal clear again but it isn't. The memories of what happened are as murky as before, with at least a dozen new unanswered questions. The only thing that Noemma can be sure about is that Evi was never really her ally. She's not sure if this was always the case, maybe they really did connect during training and something happened in between. On the other hand, maybe Evi never liked her; maybe she had always been using her.

Can Noemma really blame her?

Yes. The answer screams bitterly from the back of her mind louder than any foghorn she's ever heard, but it's still not enough to block out the mourning thoughts.

Noemma hates the part of her that still wishes today wouldn't have gone down like it did. She can't help but think about what would have happened if she had woken Evi up for her watch and just gone to sleep like every other time. Maybe no one would have died. Maybe she would still have someone, even if that someone likely never had truly cared about her. Still, the weak part of her mind thinks that would be better than the hollow loneliness gnawing at her veins.

It's strange to sit here, surrounded by potential danger, and even partially wish for someone else to appear just so she wouldn't have to listen to the sound of her own desperate thoughts. It would be almost embarrassing, except there is no one around to witness it.

Even through the tears building in her eyes, Noemma can't help the laugh that escapes thinking about how pathetic she must look. As much as she wants to think of herself as an independent person, there's no denying the fact that she's always needed someone. All of her accomplishments center around proving someone wrong or doing things that others told her were important.

She can't even remember if any of it was ever just for her.

Her greatest achievement, getting on the Coast Guard so young, started as a way to support her family. Then, after she met Matteo, it was always to impress him and make him see that she wasn't just a little kid playing on the boats. She wanted so badly to be worth his time; to get the whispered compliments that no one else got because she alone had made him proud. The evenings spent in his office were a prize; every touch a reward even if at times they made her skin crawl.

Noemma realizes now she had latched onto Evi in almost the same way. She had spent training up to that point alone and wishing that someone would just give her a smile so Noemma didn't feel so unwanted. Evi might have taken advantage of that, but it was Noemma that had made it so easy for her. She just couldn't be alone even while she was fighting for her life. Noemma has never heard something so pathetic.

Now, she doesn't have a choice. The only person she knows is still alive wants to kill her, and every rational part of Noemma should want to kill Jordan as well. If she is to live, she has to not only be by herself but she has to fight for herself and no one else. She's only ever fought so that people would see that she could do it. Noemma is only just realizing that it's not the same thing.

No one's going to give her a pat on the back for surviving in this place and Noemma knows now how stupid she was to think that anyone would. If she's going to do this, it can't be for another person. She has to protect her life without looking for someone to validate that. She has to fight for herself. Maybe she doesn't know what exactly that means right now, but she has no choice but to figure it out.

Doran isn't sure when exactly he became numb to the faces that flashed across the sky, but he barely looks up as the anthem begins again. It's the same way that the sound of cannon fire doesn't make his entire body tremble like it did on the first day. He's still here and so is Chiara; there's no one else in this place he should care about losing.

However, without the gripping sadness that used to come with death, Doran isn't sure what he's supposed to be feeling. Of course, there's fear, that hasn't gone away, but there's an emptiness surrounding it that just shouldn't be there. He should care that five people died today even if he doesn't know their names. He should care because when he dies, Doran hopes someone will care that he's gone.

"Attention tributes, attention. As a congratulations for how far you've come, we will be hosting a feast at the Cornucopia tomorrow. It will begin promptly at moonset, and we suggest being on time. You certainly won't want to miss it."

The voice fades between the trees and Doran's gaze drops to his lap. He's watched the Hunger Games before, it's mandatory viewing across Panem, so he knows what the feast will bring. The Capitol thinks the end is close and they want to speed things up. How many people are going to die tomorrow?

"We have to go," Chiara says. There is no question in her voice and Doran knows that she's already made up her mind. They have spent the last few hours trying to get far away from the Cornucopia, but planss have changed.

"I know," Doran whispers. He wishes that the defeat wasn't so clear in his tone, but there's no taking it back. As much as he doesn't want to go, they don't have a choice. They only found a couple of energy bars this morning and they're already long gone.

"I know you're scared but we need this," Chiara reminds him.

"I said I know!" Doran says, his voice more forceful than he had meant it to be. He softens his expression and returns his gaze to his lap. "I'm sorry."

Chiara's body tenses for a fight, but the feeling's gone just as quickly. The realization that she doesn't want to argue with Doran hits hard, almost making her wish that the fire would return. The simple fact is that they're both alive right now because they worked together, because she trusted him despite every instinct telling her not to.

She trusted him and he didn't leave her behind, he didn't lie to her like so many others have. Chiara wishes that weren't enough for her, she wishes that the bar was so much higher because now is not the time for connection. Part of her wants to push back and ruin it before Doran has the chance to. The rest of her wonders if it would be that horrible to have someone around that she can depend on even a little bit.

Chiara decides to let the argument fizzle out before it can begin. "What's our plan then?"

"I don't know," Doran admits.

"Helpful."

Doran laughs, even as his gaze drops once again. There's a long pause before he speaks again. "Fitzroy would know what to do."

The smile that had been pulling at Chiara's lips drops the second his name seeps into the air. She had almost forgotten about him, not completely but at least temporarily. At least enough that his voice wouldn't clamp around her throat and force all the air out of her lungs. At least enough that she hadn't thought of him for a few hours and the tears had stopped building behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Doran says. He shouldn't have brought him up again; he knows it must hurt like hell just like the thought of Emilia still burns a hole in his chest. It just feels wrong not to think of him, acknowledge the emptiness beside them. Doran knows that he wouldn't want to be forgotten.

"It's fine," Chiara chokes out and she turns away as the tears begin to return.

"You're allowed to miss him," Doran reminds her.

No matter how hard she tries, it's impossible not to feel her heart breaking all over again. Fitzroy wasn't her friend, she barely knew him, but he believed that they could do this. He treated her like an equal, didn't doubt that she was capable. He came looking for her when they got separated, which is more than most people would do for her. He shouldn't be gone and it's not okay that he is.

"I said it's fine."

"Chiara," Doran says softly. "I miss him too."

When she glances up, she can see the same tears reflected in his eyes but it's still not enough to feel safe. She can't cry, because it won't change anything if she does and it will only make her feel worse afterwards. Staying strong is the only reason she's still alive right now- and that was true before the Hunger Games ever started.

"I'll be back," Chiara says, getting up before he can say anything else. She doesn't know where she's going, but she isn't willing to stay here and break down. Chiara isn't sure what will happen if she stays, but every instinct tells her to run. She'll trust Doran not to get her killed, but that's about all the credit she's willing to give anyone right now.

Delias blindly walks in the direction he thinks might be the Cornucopia, but he also wouldn't be upset if he never made it there. The feast is a major milestone towards victory, but Delias feels anything but proud. All of the remaining tributes will be flocking to the Cornucopia trying to get enough food to survive. Delias is heading there to kill them before they get the chance.

Every time he blinks, he can see the girl's eyes all over again. She looked at him like he was the monster hiding under her bed with a mouth full of sharp teeth and lips swimming in blood. Delias never raised his sword at her, he doesn't think he would have been able to if he tried, but she didn't know that. All she knew was that there was a person sitting in front of her that had volunteered to slit her throat.

Delias realizes that he's not headed in the right direction when he sees the trees start to change ahead. The more he thought about it, the more he had begun to understand the creatures not following him. Something is keeping them within the thick-treed forest; what that something is, Delias isn't too concerned. He might not be the smartest person in Panem, but even he can put two and two together- stay away from that place.

He's about to turn around when he notices something on the ground nearby. As he steps closer, it's clear that it's a tribute and Delias almost just turns around the second he realizes. He doesn't want anything to do with anyone, even as his training tells him the opposite, but what choices does he have? He volunteered for this and no amount of regret is going to change that.

They don't move as he approaches, though Delias can just barely make out the rise and fall of their chest that lets him know they must be alive. He soundlessly pulls his sword out, quieting his steps as he closes the distance between them. This should be a no-brainer, they're asleep or injured and won't be able to fight back until it's too late.

Except, as his sword dips down towards them, Delias can't force himself to do it. The girl is curled around herself, eyes closed, and face so relaxed that she must be asleep. He remembers seeing her before, but no matter how much he searches he is unable to come up with a name. He raises the weapon again, but this time it drops to the ground beside him rather than make contact.

He can't do it.

Delias slides to the ground beside her, not bothering to retrieve his sword as tears begin to cut through the dirt on his face. All of his training says that this is an easy kill; there's no risk of him getting injured and the numbers will be cut down by another body. By doing this he'll improve his sponsorships and be one step closer to victory. Except none of that matters as he stares down at her sleeping face because there's absolutely no reason she should have to die.

"Wake up," Delias whispers. He reaches out a tentative hand to shake her shoulder, but the tribute doesn't awaken. As the minutes drag by, he automatically begins to scan her for injuries, but it's not until he moves her arm that he sees the blood seeping out from under vest.

How long has she been suffering?

Delias rolls her onto her back, but he knows by the amount of blood on the ground beneath her that he's too late to do anything. This should make him feel better knowing that he can have it both ways- he didn't kill her, but he's still one step closer to home. Except it doesn't because she's still going to die. Just like the girl from earlier- whose fearful eyes still burn in his mind and whose face came with the anthem. They're all going to die.

Five new faces tonight, six if he counts this girl, and the one Delias mourns the least is his district partner. They both grew up in the same system, albeit for different reasons. They both learned that District 2 needed them, that volunteering was an honour, and that coming home was like another battle won in their favour. Aristona believed it, and to a point so did he.

Delias wants to think that he had bigger reasons for volunteering. He didn't have a choice, his uncle forced it on him when the alternative was ending up in prison like his father. He wants to believe that his cause is more noble than the other volunteers; he just wants to free his father and to make District 2 a little bit better for everyone like him.

Sitting here watching this girl die in front of him, knowing that she didn't have a choice like he did, makes Delias realize that he's no better than Aristona. They were both prepared to murder all these kids for a prize; they both thought it was worth it. They were both wrong.

He watches her breaths slow as the moon starts to dip in the sky for the first time. Shadows stretch around him, but Delias doesn't move from her side. He doesn't know her, and she probably wouldn't want to know him if she were awake right now, but leaving doesn't feel like an option. Does it mean anything for her to have someone with her if she's going to die regardless? Delias wants to believe that it does.

The moon has half-disappeared below the horizon before her cannon sounds. He sits with her body a few moments longer, not for her anymore but for himself. Delias is torn on what to do now. The fact that he should never have volunteered means nothing because he's already here. He might be an awful person, he might even deserve the end that's probably coming, but Delias still doesn't want to die. He still wants to go home and do all of the things he promised, even if it's nowhere near worth the pain he's already caused.

He stands and heads back in the direction he had come hours earlier. He might not know what to do, but he knows where to go- back to where it all began before the moon disappears.

10th: Erdan Yates, District 3

9th: Sinead Kennard, District 9

8th: Sadira Abdelli, District 11

A/N: Hello, hello. Another multi-death chapter and I'm quite sad about letting these tributes go. Unfortunately, we're getting to the end of this thing and some people just won't be making it there. I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless with the gore I've been trying to get better at. I'm hoping it wasn't too much, but please let me know!

And yes, up next will be the feast! I've been planning some aspects of this next chapter for quite a while and I hope you're all as excited as I am.

Thanks to everyone still sticking around and to the reviewers especially, y'all really are keeping my motivation up even if my update schedule probably doesn't look like you are.

~ Olive