.

I

It's not even light out when Leora awakes. There's a thin crumb of comfort in the darkness at first, disorienting her when her eyes first flutter open, but it's soon crushed under the heel of the sobering sense of reality that crashes down on Leora's head and leaves her spinning. She tries not to throw up as she lurches from her bed, accidentally dragging her blanket with her in her haste. She leaves it where it falls, rushing to her closet where she grabs the first articles of clothing she can pull from the hangers, fingers clawing at the fabric in a desperate move.

Before, she might have put some thought into her outfit—she's fourteen; surrounded by girls that care about little more than their appearance, something that had started to rub off on her. But, for the past couple of weeks, she doesn't think twice about the clothes she carelessly chucks on. It doesn't matter; nobody is expecting her to look her best, and she certainly isn't going to waste time she doesn't have.

Emerging out of her bedroom and into the hallway, Leora moves quickly. She's not the only one up—her father blinks sleepily at her from the kitchen table when she enters, shoulders hunched and bags under his eyes that would rival the ones the Capitolites lug to and from the train station on their visits. He holds up a finger before she can even open her mouth. He doesn't say anything and he doesn't need to. She needs to slow down, wait for him by the door, and they will go together. She would try and argue, but her words would fall on deaf ears.

When it comes down to it, she's not entirely sure she wants to face this alone.

Boots on and laced, Leora bounces around in the few minutes she's slowed by waiting for her dad. He appears eventually, hooking an arm around Leora's narrow shoulders.

"Ready, kid?"

Leora's teeth dig into her bottom lip so hard that she can taste blood. The inside of her cheeks have already been bitten to oblivion in a similar manner. "Yes," she says, voice quiet even in the early morning silence.

The trek to the District Square is, perhaps, Leora's worst part of her day. The people they pass on the way are knowing—their eyes follow Leora and her father with a pity that the young girl has come to hate. She can't even say why; most, she's sure, would appreciate it in a time like this. But it tugs down the corners of her lips, furrows her brow, and causes an odd sour taste in her mouth.

Maybe it's because she is scared that they know something she doesn't.

Like if Alina is still alive, or if her cannon boomed whilst Leora was sleeping. It's a constant fear of hers, being away from the TVs erected in the District Square—she hates not knowing. But then again...she also hates knowing. Every day that the Games stretch on is a constant battle with Leora's emotions. She's devastated, worried, sick to her stomach, all alongside being elated, relieved, and joyful that her sister is still still sticking it out. Tantalisingly close to coming home.

As Leora and her father approach the square, the TVs loom overhead almost menacingly. A brief glance at all four screens, showing shots from different cameras, reveals nothing of Alina. It's as if Leora can't breathe; pressure that dwarves that of her father's arm—still wrapped around her—weighs painfully on her shoulders, and she abruptly pushes him away, struggling to suck in a substantial breath.

"Leo, hey," her father grabs at her, fingers wrapping around her upper arm. His grip isn't tight but it's tight enough, the girl turning to face him as her eyes search his for any sign of the panic that she's feeling. Her father extends his other arm, pointing an impossibly steady finger towards the electronic board up on the stage. It lists the still alive tributes, along with their odds. Leora had been so caught up in trying to find her sister on the cameras that she'd completely forgotten; given District Five's performance in the previous few Games, she's never really had the need to pay any attention to it.

On the short list of three names in District order, Alina's is at the bottom. Despite everything—the low private session score; the interview she fumbled through; the damning odds; the wound on her shoulder after the Three boy decided it was a suitable place to aim his knife—Alina is still alive. Leora lets out a sigh of relief; a shuddering breath accompanied by a few warm tears that she just can't hold back.

The boy from Six and the girl from Two died overnight, catapulting Alina up the rankings. Leora clasps her hands under her chin, mouthing a silent prayer.

Two others. Just two others. Then Alina can come home. It's been torture not having her here—as if the Capitol had stolen Leora's livelihood along with her older sister. Sleep is a rarity now, and bad days far outnumber the sliver of good ones.

Leora can't believe that she used to bitch about gym class like it was the worst thing in her life. And she wishes that it didn't take her sister being ripped away from her by the all too greedy Capitol to shift her worldview.

Her father pulls her close again, one hand calmly brushing her hair out of her face. He gives her a tight smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"She's safe," he says. "For a while. They won't want the finale to happen whilst everyone is sleeping."

Leora crosses her arms over her chest, a sense of unease inserting itself into the mixture of emotions building and building within her. "I don't want it to happen at all."

"She'll be just fine, Leo."

"Yeah." Leora nods, turning her gaze back to the TV screen, wanting desperately to believe it. "We're staying, right? Just in case."

"Not moving until we know she's coming home," her dad says. She can tell he wants to say something else but he clenches his jaw and turns back to the screen.

Unfortunately, Leora can fill in the blanks. They know that she'll come home; it's the how that they're waiting to find out. She's not going to correct him.

In a box or on a train, Alina? She stares at her sleeping sister on the screen, the cameras finally switching onto her. It's up to you.