Reap What We Sow Chapter 16: Fifteen: shatter the cave's bones, a hunger games fanfic

(a/n): Man, this chapter was a BEAST! I am so excited, because I have the next chapter mapped out, and ooh boi. *evil cackle* Anyway, enjoy!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

shatter the cave's bones

It's a little disorientating to be in a cave where everyone wants to kill you and blood is pooling out the back of your head.

Birch tore up a piece of his shirt and folded it so that I could use it as a rag to staunch the bleeding. I wasn't overly enthused to the idea of using an unclean piece of fabric to press against an open, very much bleeding, wound, but the other option was to let it keep bleeding out and hope for the best. To staunch it now and deal with it later seemed the better option, so this is where my hand has been for the last ten minutes of Jason leading us through these caves, gratefully without any encounter from one of those damned bats or bugs or even one of those crocodiles. I could care less about the Tributes at this point, at least they were straightforward to to deal with.

The Muttations this year are beyond their usual scale; they're much larger, significantly more dangerous, and possess higher capabilities than what I have seen before. I remember a couple of years ago, there had been a couple of tracker jacker hives carefully situated throughout the Games, some of which were set upon Tributes deliberately by other Tributes while others must have been programmed to attack anything that got remotely close.

And from what I have gathered, these Mutts just love blood.

I know that I'm bleeding, and I also know that the Cornucopia isn't close. More than likely we might have to do some scaling or have more encounters with those things. But I try not to focus on those details, not when I can feel the moisture of my own blood seep through the rag and into my hand. Thankfully, survival instincts kick in; I turn off distractions. I focus, and I focus hard. Jason is ahead of us, guiding the way through the golden lit caves which have begun to shift into a more orange-ish hue, which in turn shall turn pink; it's the afternoon, and dusk shall be upon us soon.

I think about the colors of the cave, as well as how many steps I've taken. I think about the Mutts. Black water, the crocodiles are in black water. They're drawn to blood, as proven when I kicked Mecha into that first pool. But what about the second pool, when we'd had to jump in when we were being chased by bats? We were bleeding, then. The boy from District 5 was covered in gnarly bite marks and scratches, so why hadn't a Mutt come out? Maybe the Gamemakers just wanted a good ole-fashioned blood show between humans. But it doesn't sit right with me. It's inconsistent. Gamemakers like consistency.

...twenty-three, twenty-two...twenty-four. No, that's not right. I clench my teeth, trying to hone my sights on Jason's back, but my vision feels like it's shifting. I'm losing blood. I need to sit down and rest and have my head looked at, but we can't afford any of these luxuries. If Jason wanted to kill us, he would've done so by now. He has to be taking me to my brother. The Cornucopia will have medicine, I assure myself. The Cornucopia-

"Are you okay?"

Birch has inched closer to me. Bags have manifested under his eyes, which are now thoroughly bloodshot, and I can tell by his stride that he is in pain. The stinger of that thing had only mildly pierced his back; it could have done much worse, such as impaling him. He was lucky. But it didn't change the fact that there was venom in the stinger, and the exact nature of that venom cannot be under or overstated at this time. What I know is that it is slow acting. He has not fallen, convulsing on the ground in anguish before choking on his own blood as it pools from his mouth, nose, ears, and even eyes. He has not fallen unconscious. Yet he does not appear in good health, either, though he tries to present himself in such a way.

Daisy and Rust are both visibly concerned, but it doesn't in any way surprise me that Birch is hiding his pain for their sakes. I understand, though. He is their protector, their guardian. To appear weak would be to admit defeat, particularly as we are walking, very wounded, into the jaws of the beast.

"No," I reply. "You?"

"No," he replies back, quietly. "I thought you said you didn't trust the Careers."

"I don't. But we don't have a choice. Go with Jason, or die back there."

"I don't think either of us t-"

I stumble a little, using my free hand to catch myself against some rocks. Birch is there instantly, reaching out to steady me, but I do so myself by leaning my body against the moist surface. Daisy moves around Birch's body and stands in front of me. "You should sit down," she says. "It's a good spot. The rocks are nice and smooth here."

"We shouldn't stop," I say, even as I am sliding into a kneeling position on the ground, my hand and makeshift gauze still pressed into the back of my head. "We should keep going. Tributes are out there, not to mention the Mutts. If we sit out here, we may as well be fish in a barrel."

Daisy eyes me curiously at that, though says nothing of it. Rather, she reaches out to try to touch the gauze I have pressed against my head, which I flinch away from. "I just want to look," she says.

"You can probably see her skull, the rate she's bleeding," Rust mumbles.

I decide, for that moment, that I really hate kids. "We should just leave it be," I protest, eyes closing. "At least until we get there..."

I try to think of something, anything, we can do, but suddenly I hear that distinct little bell, and my eyes open again. We all watch as that silver parachute flies gently through the cave corridor, swaying back and forth and settling down at the feet of Birch. He leans forward, groaning quietly in pain. He muffles it well, though I can tell Rust is eyeing him critically.

"It's from your Mentor. MF," Birch says. "Coat it, then let it rest."

I watch as Birch opens it, revealing a silver jar inside, which he opens to reveal a foul smelling ointment that is far too minty for my liking.

"That should help," I mumble.

"Someone's looking out for you," Jason notes, sounding indifferent.

Probably the Gamemaker's nephew.

"I can apply it. I know how," Daisy says. She reaches out, touching the back of my head gently. I wince, but I am quick to stiffen my back and lean towards her. The pain tears through me like knives, so I bite the side of my thumb to keep my groans down. My eyes squeeze shut as she gently parts my hair, her dainty fingers prodding across my scalp in search of the open wound. "Well, it looks like the bleeding's stopped, but it's...you've bled through your jacket."

My voice is muffled against my hand. "My jacket is the least of my concerns," I assure him. "Tell me how it looks."

"It's just a scratch," she says.

Just a scratch? All of that blood for just a fucking scratch?

"How the hell do you know so much?" I ask, releasing my hold on my hand when I realize I'm leaving deep teeth indentations.

"My big brother goes hunting for my sister and I, so I sometimes have to patch him up if he gets scraped in the forest. He gets scraped in the mines, too," she says, reaching for the healing ointment in Birch's hand. "I had to sew up a cut on his cheek once, but it never healed properly."

I can hear her dip her free hand into the jar.

Birch leans over me. "It's going to hurt."

"No shit," I reply.

"What's the biggest thing that's ever hurt?" Daisy asks. "Sometimes I ask Micah what hurts the most, and it helps distract him."

Now that's a question. A lot of things hurt. There is the physical sense of hurt, like when I got a fish hook stuck in my thumb when I was five years old, or when I slid on some rocks while playing on the beach. Then there's the pain of seeing Finnick's dazed sea green eyes as he sits by the beach's edge, watching something in the distance that isn't there, or when my dad spends hours upon hours weaving a fish net that's never good enough, until my mom puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him.

There's the hurt I'm feeling now, where my scalp is on fire, and there's the hurt of knowing that I'm not making it out of here. My brother will, because he never deserved this, he never wanted this, and there's a life waiting for him outside of this Arena. If anyone other than me had been Reaped with him, I know he would have received no mercy. It had to be me. But, in all honesty, there is a heartache in that, too. In keeping him alive, I'm losing everything for myself. I may never have aspired to the great heights I fictionalized in my head, but I could have had Finnick for longer than our one night, I could have fallen asleep on the beach and awoken to the sound of seagulls over my head and the sight of the sunrise over the ocean. Then again, maybe all I've been doing in this world is what we all have been doing: surviving.

I wonder if living, true living, has ever been an option.

"A shark tried to bite me once," I say, instead. "It was little, but it swam up behind me and grazed the side of my leg - so I kicked it in the gills and it swam off. I think it was just curious, but it still - fuck!" I quickly press my hand to my mouth suppressing pained noises as Daisy applies the healing ointment to my scalp; dainty fingers moving vigilantly, yet carefully. It burns. I can feel it absorbing into my skin, settling into the wound as it begins the slow process of healing.

When she pulls her hands away, I lean forward to catch my breath.

"Now you," Daisy says, to Birch.

I can see it in Birch's eyes. He knows that there's a difference between our respective wounds, though I can tell he doesn't have the heart to deter her. So he crouches down and pulls the back of his shirt just enough so that she can apply the ointment to the wound. I spare a glance towards it. It is a small indent into his skin, thankfully having been shielded by his layers of clothes, but the area has already begun to swell and redden, and I see little bumps arising; fine blisters, with whitening tips. Nevertheless, Daisy applies the ointment to the wound, and Birch has to all but shove his fist into his mouth to keep from doubling over to scream.

Yet when Daisy pulls her hands away, he's forcing himself to smile, and even helps her close the lid. "Thanks," he says, tensely.

"If we're done now, we should get going," Jason says.

Daisy approaches, reaching out to hand the ointment to me.

I shake my head. "You carry it. You seem to know what you're doing," I say, and she smiles a little in return.

We walk together for some time. My head is still light and my scalp certainly burns, but I feel significantly better as I walk forward. The amount of blood I lost is likely the contributor to this irksome, little factor, but at least I am no longer in pain. Birch is keeping an even stride, though I can see how stiffly he's walking. The ointment had likely only healed the superficial aspects of the wound, even just temporarily; the way it blistered and reddened, I know it will expand. As to what it shall be, I can't say. But I know it won't be good, and so does he.

When we eventually reach the Cornucopia, I find my brow raising. "What is this?"

The fortification surrounding the Cornucopia is more or less impressive. The metal storage containers which had housed weaponry and other necessary supplies have now been positioned as barriers in front of the Cornucopia. They're stacked carefully to ensure durability, but also where one could squat and peer over should the situation arise. It appears as though all major supplies have been buried into the heart of the Cornucopia itself. If one were to try to take from it now, they would have to breach these makeshift defenses, then likely come face to face with Careers. Undesirable, to say the least.

I've watched Games in which the Careers are able to, more or less, colonize the Cornucopia to their benefit. They have done so in a number of ways, like stockpiling the items or organizing them accordingly, and tasking specific Tributes (usually 3) to keep watch, or build a sort of defense system with what they have able; as District 3 is the tech savvy District. It's almost a shame that most of the Careers were killed in the first day, otherwise this Cornucopia could have been a real fortress. Shame, indeed, for Capitolians, but entirely beneficial for we, the Tributes.

"So you've claimed the Cornucopia as your territory?" Birch asks.

Jason nods. "Gloss said to secure it once the bloodshed was done," he says.

Bloodshed is never done in the Games. "Smart," I say, instead. When Jason walks forward again, I lean closer to Birch. "If this is a trap, run." Daisy is still holding the ointment safely in her pocket and Rust still has the knife that Birch gave him at the start of all of this. Birch has his machete and appears to be standing strong, for however long that takes, but I know he has it in him to run, if necessary.

Birch doesn't reply.

I advance forward a little, until I'm in stride with Jason, who doesn't even bother sparing me a glance. "Birch and the kids from 12 are my Allies," I say, firmly.

Jason appears unimpressed. "Killing any of you would have been easy, Four, especially after the cave in," he says, finally meeting my gaze with those cool, unrepentant eyes. "I'm not interested in killing District 12. If that's what you're getting at."

I find myself stiffening again. "Why's that?"

He appears slightly irked by my query, as if it is so obvious - that to answer it is beneath him. I remember him looking at Caesar that way, though Caesar had grinned brightly and scarcely paid it any mind. Then again, Caesar hadn't been in an Arena setting with the Tribute. "No sport," he grunts. "It would've been over too quickly and they can't fight back.

"So you won't kill them?"

"If they try to fight me, I will. And if we're the last ones standing," he says, "I'll break their heads in. But I'll kill you two before it'd reach that point. Just not now. Besides, we have too many things to worry about."

At the very least he's honest about it. Still, I look over my shoulder at Birch and the others, wondering what it will come to. In the end, we'll have to die in some shape or form, and our bodies fed to the beast that is the Capitol. I need Liber to survive the Games, yet I look at Birch and his determination to see these kids through as long as he can, and I can't help but to feel a measure of guilt. I know I need to kill it inside of me, otherwise I'll falter.

So I bring my eyes forward, and they land upon my brother. Liber is fine. He's perfectly fine. He isn't wearing his jacket, so it's just his sea green shirt. There are a couple of scratch marks along his arms and a cut on his left cheek, but he's okay. There's no blood upon his figure, nor any notable sign of distress or trauma. He's standing on the other side of the barricade, watching us come, and he scales it after recovering from the shock of seeing me, too. I book it, then, rushing forward to embrace my brother. My arms are tight around his shoulders, and he embraces me back.

"You idiot," I say.

"Hi, Ceres," he says, pulling back. "Glad to see you're alive."

"You, too," I say.

Lamia stands on the other side of the barricade, watching us. She looks at Jason, who nods twice, and she nods twice in return. Jason helps Daisy and Rust over the barricade, then he offers his hand to Birch and I. Birch doesn't accept and neither do I, which Jason seems to regard with some small measure of respect, before he goes into the far back of the Cornucopia to sharpen his axe; his burly form disappearing into the shadows. Meanwhile, Lamia lights a fire, and Liber pulls some canned food from out of one of the storage containers. He presents it to us with a small gleam in his eyes.

There are silver parcels laid out in an organized pile, and I have to wonder which of the three received the Sponsors. I feel inclined to ask my brother about it, but I need to wait. There's so much that needs to be said, and I don't want to hurtle it at him all at once. Rather, I just sit by the fire, watching everyone eat as comfortably as they can around each other. Strange eyes look between one another, narrowed, and waiting.

I notice how Liber sits closely to Lamia, who keeps brushing her shoulder to his. I try to ignore it for now. "How're you feeling?" I ask Birch quietly, who's leaning back against some cargo containers.

"It just hurts a little, I'll be fine," Birch says. I can see it in his eyes, though, that he is not fine. I could tell just based off of the way his back is swelling and reddening. But for a young man who has knowingly dedicated the remainder of his time in this Arena to keeping two children alive, I suppose he's playing the role of confident protector well. I just wish he wouldn't sugarcoat things entirely. But he seems lost in the depths of his own mind. "We'll be going back soon."

"You should stay and rest," I say. "We're Allies."

Birch exhales through his nose. "Yeah, I know," he says, sounding genuinely saddened. His voice drops, overshadowed by Lamia talking about how she, Jason, and Liber had secured the Cornucopia after the deaths; taking bodies away, for example. "There are twelve of us left. When those numbers get lower, Alliances will, too. And then there'll be two." He looks at me, then, wearing an expression of regret. "I'd like to stay. It's safe here, I know that. But you heard what the guy from District 1 said...he'll kill us, in the end, and if Daisy and Rust are still alive, he'll kill them, too."

I brush my tongue over my bottom lip. I think about the time when I was a child, when I had watched a seagull trying to capture a frightened crab in its beak on the beach. I had chased the seagull away and cradled the crab to me, mindful of its pinchers. It had been my mother, I think, who had given me the lesson that is life. The seagull was starving. Although the crab indeed had life, its death could have been used to save that of the Seagull's. I had been so confused, watching the seagull as it watched me. To this day, I don't think I know the right answer. I don't think there is one. But I know Birch is ensnared in a similar circumstance.

"You don't want to hear this, but you need to. Only one gets out," I say. "Even if it comes down to just you three, you're choosing between those two kids."

Birch doesn't reply for a while, to a point where I think I shall receive nothing but silence from him. "They know that," he says, after a time.

"Something else you should consider is that stinger."

Birch visibly flinches. "We put the ointment on it."

"Maybe it healed you. Maybe it just closed the wound, with the venom flowing inside of you," I say.

"Okay, student of history...I've been stung. How long do I have?"

I've been thinking about this for what has felt like hours, so I reply immediately. "At most, five days. At minimum, five minutes. You've already surpassed five minutes."

Birch nods. "Then let me worry about that," he says. "You just worry about who you're protecting."

Right. Who I'm protecting. I look as my brother leans his head against Lamia's, appearing thoroughly relaxed. It's nice to know that at least one of us has been fairing well in this Hunger Games experience.

Birch elbows me gently. "In the end, I don't want to kill someone who's saved my life twice, you know? There's not a lot of justice in that."

"There's no justice anywhere, Birch," I counter.

"I know," he says. "But we still need to go."

"At least rest for the night, so they can eat."

"We will," he assures. "Besides, I want to make sure you're safe before I leave, too."

Hours have gone by. Birch has settled against the barricade for the night, with the kids tucked away with a blanket that Lamia had provided for them. A calm rest has settled over us, now that we're mostly convinced we're not going to kill each other in the middle of the night. With the rocks now glowing blue, I decide that now's the time.

I need to talk to Liber.

He's awake, still by the crackling fire. I can tell by the look in Liber's eyes that he knows what needs to be said, for when his eyes raise to meet mine as I shuffle towards him, he has, at least, the decency to appear ashamed. He looks down again once I'm properly situated beside him, looking down at his hands as they drape over his raised knees. I let him sit in silence for a moment to gather his thoughts, just as much as I need to gather mine. I've spent my short time in the Games terrified that my brother was hurt, or that any cannon could have been his. To see him not only alive, but verily unscathed is a relief that I cannot put into words. He's been well-protected in my absence. For that, I'm grateful. Still, there's no denying that there's a small part of me that is sincerely angry.

My own brother had abandoned me during the bloodbath. When I had rushed to help Birch, I had made it clear to Liber that he was our Ally, and had expected him to run alongside me; all of us could have made it out together, then regrouped just as Liber and Lamia had done. But he had chosen her, without even a fraction of hesitation. One moment he was behind me, the next he was running across the cave with her. Even when he had peered over his shoulder to look at me, he had not truly paused. He had kept running, had called no words.

I want to scream. Thinking about all I've endured so far, as he has been sitting leisurely in the conquered Cornucopia, makes me want to scream.

But instead of my fury, I choose warmth first, at least as much as I can muster. "I'm glad you're alive," I say. "I wasn't sure what happened to you after the bloodbath. I'd just hoped you were safe."

Liber nods. "I'm glad you're safe, too," he says. "But that's not what you want to talk about, is it?"

At the very least, my brother knows me all too well. My brow arches a little, deciding that softness is hardly appropriate right now. While I certainly cannot be furious, at the bare minimum, he needs to see something. He needs to feel what I felt, if only for a split second. "You left me behind," I say. "During the bloodbath, I told you that Birch was our Ally. I ran to help him, but you didn't come with me. You went the opposite way, Liber. You didn't even hesitate."

Liber looks up at me, his cheeks flushing. "It was a bit more complicated than that," he says. "You ran towards someone I don't know or trust."

"I could say the same about Lamia."

"Tilda and Finnick told us to Ally with District 1. That was always the plan. District 7 isn't even a Career or winning District, Ceres. I feel like someone with enough Games savvy would've had better options," he goes on. "And his Alliance is with a bunch of kids. If you ask me, mine was the less risky gamble."

"It wasn't about gambling, Liber. You left me behind, you didn't even try calling out," I say, mindful to keep my voice low as not to wake the others, and yet I can feel my temper slowly rising. Heat floods in my neck, spurring my anger, and sharpening my very demeanor.

"And you didn't try going after me."

At that, I scoff. "Right. Forgive me for not running across a bloodbath to get to you," I say. "I thought you were behind me."

"Look, I took off with Lamia because I knew I'd be safe with her and you'd be safe with the guy from 7. We'd be able to protect ourselves without worrying about protecting the other. I was worried that, if we stuck together in the bloodbath, you'd be so hyper-focused on keeping me alive that you'd get yourself killed in the process," Liber says. "I had to run."

"Bullshit." I cast my brother a cool glare. "You chose a cute girl over your own sister, Liber. Just admit it."

My brother's temper snaps, then. His eyes widen into the size of saucers, gaping at me with utter contempt, but the enormous flush in his face and the way his gaze flickers, albeit briefly, towards Lamia's prowling form tells me enough. His lips part and he releases an indignant sound. If the situation weren't so dire and angry, I might have found the entirety of his appearance and sounds to be amusing. But he sullies it by speaking. "I'm not as shallow as you are, Ceres," he says. "I finish what I start. What about when your pretty b-"

"I didn't Volunteer because I wanted to fight with you in a life or death scenario, you idiot. I Volunteered because I'm trying to keep my stupid little brother safe. And you're making that very difficult," I cut in, quickly.

Dread pools fast through me like ice, seeping into my very bones. I didn't like the way his words were trailing, too many risky things could have been said in the heat of our verbal anger. He might have recounted something stupid I did as a child, but he also could have addressed how I couldn't even Volunteer in place of Mara when Finnick had been Reaped, because I couldn't afford to kill him. I had wanted to win the Games so badly at the time, but I couldn't do it at the expense of possibly being the one to end his life. It's a story, no matter how vaguely told, I never want the world to have.

If it were to have it, then it wouldn't take long for rumors to spread, and I can't bear the thought of more spotlight being placed on Finnick. As is, I know that our single night together was remarkably stupid and dangerous, but what did it matter to the girl who was going to die in the Arena? It wouldn't ultimately turn on Finnick, not when this place would be my tomb. He knew that much. Whether or not he accepted it was another story, but that's beside the point. Whatever my brother was going to say, I can never let it breathe even the simplest gasp of life. I had to kill it, immediately.

I can't risk him saying anything in these Games, not when everything is filmed, monetized, and then repurposed for the Capitol's agenda. If my brother were to even hint to the possibility of Finnick and I, then I can only imagine the consequence paid by Finnick.

Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if the Capitol censored any talk surrounding Finnick. It's too risky, too much of a gamble, to put their precious darling's reputation on the line.

Liber doesn't seem to notice the agency I had in cutting him off, rather seeming vexed that I had cut him off at all. The context of it dosn't matter at all to him, nor, do I think, he would have any knowledge of it to begin with. "I trust Lamia. For now, anyways," Liber says, glaring. "I like her, but there's not much to look forward to beyond the Arena."

"I guess it doesn't matter, then, since she and I are going to die here in the end," I say. "You know, keeping you alive is going to be harder than I planned, if you're going to run off with her again."

"Maybe I don't want you keeping me alive. Maybe as your brother, I want you to live."

"If I weren't interested in keeping you alive, do you think I would've Volunteered?"

"Why not?" Liber sighs in frustration. "It's all you ever talked about for over ten years...then things just changed for you."

Finnick. Finnick changed things. I still remember the way my stomach dropped when Finnick's name had been called and when no one had Volunteered for him. I had been so determined, so hard set, to Volunteer and prove to him that I was better than he was. It was my driving force for so long, that when I cast it aside, I felt numb for the longest time. Mara had been Reaped after, Harpee hissing in my ear to Volunteer for her. After all, I wanted the Games. So wouldn't it have been selfless and beneficial if I had Volunteered for my friend? I could have. Maybe I should have.

But I didn't. All I could do was stand there as I looked at Finnick on the stage, unable to imagine myself having to kill him. Harpee had Volunteered, then, and she had died in the Arena. I could remember it so vividly that it sometimes haunted my dreams. She was my ghost. But then when Finnick came home, his father was killed, and he had requested I kiss him so his last free will choice of physical intimacy could be wholly his, before he sold everything to the Capitol.

Watching Finnick change from the boy I loved to tease to the Capitol's darling had changed things, in ways I can't even begin to explain. Then I think about our final day together, where he held me close to his chest and whispered into my ear, various things that I still can't quite form into a cohesive narrative. I was so lost in that night, everything else was just confetti.

I can still feel Finnick's fingers gliding up and down the trail of my spine, murmuring pretty, little words into my ear as we laid together in the solace and comforts of his bed. What idiots we were. Had we woken up sooner, maybe we could have found that same solace of touches and words in District 4, with the sun peering through one of our windows, and ocean breeze rustling us awake. I wish I was with him now, in District 4. I wish I was waist deep in water with a spear over my head, looking through the water for a ripple of silver, with Finnick located almost out of sight on a boat, standing upright with a net in hand. And simply to screw with me, he'd throw the net over my head instead of into the water, because that was who we were. Relentless.

I wish I could kiss him again, tell him that I love him one more time. I wish I'd said and done a lot of things.

"I think it was the finality of it," I admit after a long pause.

"The finality of death?" Liber counters.

"I suppose," I say. "But also the finality of who you are as a person, because who you were before the Games is killed by the person you are during and after the Games. But you don't lose the people you love."

"Sometimes you do."

"No...no." I shake my head. "You know, love doesn't cease out of being after death, and grief is just carrying on love's legacy, right? So when you win the Games and go home, you'll have her in your memory. Hopefully you'll have some fond memories of me, too, if only for mom and dad's sake."

Liber considers me for a moment, before averting his gaze into the fire. I follow it, watching as the fire crackles before us, in an array of red and orange and golden hues that reach upward, smoke pluming like little snakes into the air. I remember Liber and I lit a fire on the beach once, when we had gone night swimming with a couple of friends. It was one of those rare outings we had both partaken in, though it hadn't been enjoyable for everyone. Liber had struggled in the water, particularly at night, and I had had to sit beside him to calm him down, even though I wanted to lay in the moonlit ocean.

But he seemed to have appreciated my presence, as he had tugged a blanket tighter around his shoulders, and offered me the barest trace of a smile. I don't remember if I smiled back, which is something that sits heavily in my stomach.

"I wish you'd never Volunteered," Liber says.

I shrug. "I'm your older sister. It's my job to protect you."

"Even if it means you die?"

I elbow him. "I'll still haunt you."

"Liber, it's your turn to patrol," Lamia says suddenly, appearing over us.

I look up, taking her in. Lamia is a pretty girl, though her age is prominent in her features; youthful and girlish, with some fat left in her heart shaped cheeks. Her caramel hair hangs in ringlets, which are pulled back from her face, though a few strands hang over her eyes, which are a crackling shade of hazel. Freckles are speckled across her olive toned features. She looks rather intimidating with the way the fire crackles around her.

"I guess it is," Liber says, cheeks reddening. He pushes himself to his feet and goes to collect a trident leaning against one of the barricades. It looks unnatural for him to be holding, but I imagine that the Capitol adore the sight of a District 4 Tribute wielding such an iconic weapon. Likely it is entirely for show, as I am very aware that he doesn't know how to use it.

Luckily, my brother doesn't patrol far. He simply walks along the edges of the barricade, pausing occasionally.

Lamia settles beside me once Liber has moved on.

"Jason said that you have too many things to worry about," I say. "What does that mean?"

"There's an Alliance we haven't properly dealt with yet. District 7 has been holed up somewhere with a few other Tributes, keeping out of range, and staying alive, oddly enough," Lamia says. "We'll wait a day or two before we look for District 7 and her group. Your head needs to recover and I think it would do us some good to strategize before we do anything too risky, you know? Besides, we have more than enough supplies to afford resting to regain our strength, particularly since you've brought us another able bodied Tribute." For now, I try to ignore her Lamia's eyes narrow when she glances at the kids, clear disapproval upon her young face. She resumes. "Liber's been telling me that you've been studying the Games since you were a kid. Maybe you have something you can share. Knowledge on the Districts, techniques, Arena layout...anything."

"Don't they teach you this stuff at Academy?" I wonder.

"The academy certainly taught us how to fight and to strategize, but I imagine you know a great deal more about the grittier details. Am I wrong?"

I don't reply, causing her to laugh.

"You don't trust me." Lamia sounds more amused than offended. "I've kept your brother alive, you know. I pulled him from the bloodbath while Jason cleaned out the pests, so we could have it. If I wanted your brother dead, I would've killed him as soon as I had the chance, which, I should remind you, was many."

"And I'm grateful," I say. "But this is the Hunger Games."

"Fine," Lamia says. "Keep your secrets, then. We'll discuss it tomorrow. Maybe your little friend from 7 has some things he can tell us about his District partner."

I doubt Birch will be inclined to say much of anything, least of all with what Jason made clear. But then again, if he's smart, he'll pit the Careers against District 7 so he and the kids can get to the farthest corner of the Arena, and wait for everyone to kill each other. From there, who knows what'll transpire. I just hope it doesn't come down to me killing him. For Liber, I know I have no choice...and at least I wouldn't have to live with the guilt long, but, still, the anticipation of it feels like acid in my body.

I look to the daggers she has attached to her belt, their fine steel glittering in the glow of the rocks; though dried blood stains the metal hilt, burrowed into its blackened cracks. "And after they're dealt with, we kill each other?" I ask, slightly alarmed by just how casually I asked it.

Lamia doesn't even flinch. She does, however, scoff, looking at me as if I were stupid. "What else did you expect, Four?" she says, shaking her head at me. "Personally I hope I get to kill you. You seem like you'd put up a fight. Well, that and I think it would be impressive to have killed the child of a Victor."

"Why not kill me now?" I inquire, wondering if I'm prodding at fate right now. "The advantage seems to be yours."

"It's tempting, I'll admit," Lamia says. "But the girl from District 7 has more people than we do, shockingly. With District 2 dead, along with District 3, the Career pack is a little limited."

"You don't think either of you can handle it?"

Lamia's eyes turn cold at that. "We're not stupid to jump into something outmatched, even with the Cornucopia as our claimed territory. They'll get hungry eventually and, I imagine with lacking Sponsors, they'll have to try coming here...even to sneak a little something," she says.

"If you're going to complain about the lack of a Career pack, you should blame Jason. I watched him kill the boy from District 2, and the girl from 2 was running from the Cornucopia to get away from him before we stumbled on her," I say, watching her huff with annoyance. "If you wanted to Ally with District 2, I think you did a poor job of it."

"Sometimes," Lamia says, coldly, "people get their own ideas. I thought Allying with the Careers would be beneficial. Jason saw them as a liability. Maybe hw as right, maybe he was wrong. Either way, one of us is getting out of this, so at least a pair of the more lethal Tributes are gone. Makes our job easier."

I grunt. "What if I killed you?" I test.

Lamia loudly snorts. "If you tried...I wonder who your brother would choose to save," she says. "Then again, maybe he'd be dead at that point. Ideally not from me...I do like him, you know."

"Liking someone, knowing they're going to die, sounds dangerous," I say, aware that I am entirely hypocritical. If I had had any devotion in keeping my head entirely clean, I would never have loved Finnick, nor would I have gone to him the night before the Games.

"Live before you die, I suppose," Lamia tuts. "Well, I'm going to sleep. I suggest you do the same. And don't worry, Four. I won't slit your throat in your sleep. I like to watch the lights go out, so it'll be when you're awake."

Finnick

"Well, Mr. Odair, it appears your reputation proceeds you..."

I peer over my shoulder, casting a smirk to my latest patron. She is still laid in bed, her floral silken sheets covering her body, and she lays across her decorative pillows completely spent and visibly exhausted. The fancy golden wig she wears is tussled just slightly, though I can see a few strands of greying hair peering through the golden façade. I'm grateful her eyes aren't on me, since she's looking at the ceiling. She isn't the oldest woman I've ever been with, but I've certainly hoped for shorter appointments, too. Still, I'm no longer in bed with her. I'm on my feet putting on my clothes, though I still feel naked.

The feeling of her long, fake ruby red nails raking down my back and touching every inch of me still lingers, like spiders crawling not just over my skin, but under it. Still, I mask my repulsion perfectly. Even my eyes convey nothing but false affection when she does look at me, appearing all too pleased as I'm pulling my shirt on.

"And if you don't mind my saying so...I hope I can count on your support, Amabilia," I say.

Amabilia Numitor. Her husband is a Gamemaker, who has been working under President Snow for roughly twenty years now; one of the longer lasting patrons, as far as I can tell. In fact, it were Tilda who had informed me to this fact, as Amabilia's own husband happens to be one of her clients. All it had taken was one call, in which I wooed Amabilia, to have her requesting my presence to her bed. Although I can still feel it upon my body, I know I don't regret it. It's a small price to pay, to ensure the safety of my Tributes.

"Of course," Amabilia replies, giggling. "I'll speak with Cedric immediately about it. As Gamemaker, he can't outright support your Tributes, but he can certainly...influence a few things." She giggles again. "And I think I feel giddy enough to Sponsor a few treats those sweet dears today. If you don't mind my spoiling them."

"Not at all, so long as I can spoil you first," I reply, leaning down to blow cool air into her ear. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Amabilia..."

I can still hear her laughing merrily as I'm leaving her quarters, and walking, with my saunter firmly in place, to the elevator. It is not until the doors are closed and no eyes are upon me (save for the cameras, though I'm not as afraid of them), that I allow myself to lean back against the elevator wall and almost slump. I close my eyes tightly, fighting back the physical repulsions which rattled through me during and well after the act. Some days it's easier than others to disassociate out of myself, slipping into the false skin of my Capitol persona and allowing my instincts to guide me. My words are defaulted and my actions are by habit.

It's always trickier when this Capitol nonsense is for the Games. But this time it's far different. Now, whenever I look at any screen, it's not two Tributes who were unfortunately saddled by fate's cruelty, it's someone I love, and her brother. Every Client, every encounter, every move I make feels as though I'm not doing enough, not when I'm watching Ceres in perilous situations.

She's certainly proving every point she's ever made, though. Despite all of her pomp and overconfidence, her skillsets have been utilized in the Games, and to watch her has been almost admirable in some moments. But during the first day, watching her encounter with the crocodile, I had been so certain to her death. It would have been poetic for her to die the first day in water, devoured by a creature with an insatiable appetite for blood. Isn't that what Snow does to me, everyday? No doubt he knows how I feel about her, likely even before I knew it myself. Killing her would be the greatest blow he could commit against me.

But I know Snow isn't entirely wasteful enough for that. And, in any case, she had survived, by outsmarting the creature and utilizing her surroundings. From the perspective of her Mentor, I was impressed and proud. But from the view of her lover, or whatever I was, I was terrified.

I still am.

Nevertheless, I'm counting off the various new Clients I've procured, thanks to Ivoree, and I find solace in the array of assistance she and Liber will be receiving during the Games. So far, Liber has received bunches of food and some weaponry, including a rather fancy trident that almost mirrored my own. The Gamemaker's nephew had sent it as a gift, as a show of good faith to our recently founded Sponsorship dealing. But even I know he can barely hold it, much less fight with it. Still, it sets an example. It spurs others to Sponsor him and Ceres.

Seneca Crane.

My skin crawls as I recount my meeting with him. Ivoree had been entirely vague as to the context of it, as the message itself had been vague; a simple time, place, and absolute urgency to meet as soon as possible. I'd never been approached by Seneca Crane before, though there was a first time for anything. If he had approached me because he wanted me, then I wouldn't have balked; to secure someone associated with the Head Gamemaker as a Client would keep my loved ones safe. Yet Seneca had denied me, to which I had been relieved, but all of that had gone away the moment he unveiled the truth.

He had met with Ceres, in secret, to discuss Sponsoring District 4. My stomach rolls to the thought of it. Immediately I understood every move he'd made, and why he had made it. He wanted her, not just the way that I've seen other Capitolian men talk about her, or the way their eyes leered at her during the Parade or Interview or even during the actual Games. The want he had for her had escalated to a degree where he had used his position to violate rules, just to see her, and then arrange a formal Sponsorship. I believe in some capacity what he said during our meeting, that he'd never touched her. I could see it in his eyes. But something else sat coolly with me.

But it didn't matter. I couldn't refuse him, not when his influence could secure their safety.

Why hadn't she told me?

That had been racking my brain, as well. Since our encounter, I've been wondering as to why Ceres never said a word to me about the matter. She had gone to me that final night, when we had made love as sweetly and as freely as I've ever known, to tie the loose ends she didn't want to leave behind. Why hadn't that included her telling me that she'd been approached by Seneca Crane? Surely as a Tribute, she would want her Mentors to know...to some capacity, I would understood if she didn't want to tell me. But the others wouldn't have kept that a secret, even if she'd sworn them to it. It's too dangerous to keep secrets like that as Mentors.

Then there is another part of the narrative. I remember Ceres telling me she was going to the roof with Mags, which hadn't seemed so odd at the time. Mags had taken me to the roof of the Training Center before my Games, too, so that I could talk to her about whatever needed to be said. I had even kissed a girl on that roof - the girl from 8, I think - to tie my loose ends. But now, Seneca's words are in my ear, like worms.

The elevator doors open and the darkened look upon my face immediately lightens, as several Capitolians are standing there, looking at me with awe. I walk through them with ease, casting a smirk and even a few winks in their directions. I maintain this expression until I return to District 4's apartments in the Training Center, when my expression finally falls. The buzzer at my hip is quiet, at least for now. But the apartments are not. I can hear Ivoree in the dining hall quarreling with Ren about scheduling, and how utterly overwhelmed he is keeping track of these new Clients. I'd almost feel inclined to pity him.

In the living quarters, I find Mags seated on the couch, watching with hunched shoulders, watching the Games. My own eyes drift to the screen. The girl from District 7, Nellie Baumbauch, is crouched low with her Allies. Her dark hair is pulled out of her face, with her brown, nearly golden, eyes reflecting confidence. Despite being from one of the lower Districts, Nellie is a Tribute with confidence and prowess. I often hear Joanna boasting about her, as much as Joanna is capable of. She's proven herself fairly effective as a motivational speaker, as she's managed to convince her small group of Tributes to form an Alliance, with the intention to fight off the Careers. It's ambitious, and were situations different, I might have almost rooted for her.

I still in the doorway, glancing at Mags who hasn't noticed me. Her wrinkled hands are clenched in front of her mouth, with her wild grey hair hung freely around her shoulders. She looks exhausted.

I look back at the screen.

The Tributes are seated together by a clear pool of water, underneath a crevice in the cave that serves as a fair structure to house them. It shields them from prying eyes, but is small enough that they must squat awkwardly. There are four of them altogether, with Nellie seated in the middle.

"They have the Cornucopia blocked off," says the boy from District 9, whose name is Coile Wheatwind. He's fifteen years old and lean, with a mop of dark hair and light green eyes that seem distrustful. "They haven't strayed far, which means they're not comfortable exploring. They won't go somewhere they don't know."

Coile's District partner, Hayla Copper, nods in agreement. She's eighteen and a few inches taller than he is, with dirty blonde hair that has some matted blood in it. "It's just District 1 and the boy from District 4, right?" she asks.

Nellie sighs loudly. Her voice is deep with a slight gravel to it. I remember Joanna mentioning to me that Nellie had been struck in the throat for stealing bread once, leaving her voice damaged, and yet she has used it well to her advantage. The three Tributes crouched beside her seem intent to hear her out, each leaning forward and watching her closely.

"If District 4's sister joins in, that's four," Nellie says. "We'll be matched, then."

"What about Birch?" inquires Mox Wildhorn, the girl from District 6. Her nose is broken and dried blood lingers on her skin, and a few of her teeth are missing. "Do you think he'd change his mind about District 12?"

"I doubt it," Nellie replies. "We know what we have to do if we find him and his Alliance." She sighs again. "I know that Birch Allied with the girl from District 4. Unless her Interview was a ruse, she's going to go with her brother. And Birch won't want to be affiliated with the Careers. It's too dangerous and he's a liability."

"What do you suggest?" asks Coile.

"We need to find a way to flush them out," Nellie says. "They'll see us coming even if we try to sneak up on them, so we need them to come to us."

"Easier said than done," Mox says.

Nellie nods. "It is, but we have to be patient, otherwise the Careers will just kill us."

Mags sighs loudly, bringing my gaze from the screen to her. She's rubbing at her temples. When she makes a sniffing sound, I decide to make my presence known. I approach her slowly and as gently as I'm able, and take a seat beside her. The sullen features in her eyes seem to soften.

"I was lost in my thoughts," she admits. "Ceres found Liber, so she's safe."

"I know," I say.

"You smell..."

"I know," I say, nose crinkling. "Sorry. I haven't showered yet."

Mags reaches out to take my hand, squeezing it. Her hands are remarkably soft for a woman who has worked essentially everyday of her life, and I welcome to the touch of them. They're warm and familiar, and remind me of when she'd take my hands when I'd show her fishhooks I'd make as a kid. Even before I became a Victor, I liked visiting Mags in Victor's Village. She taught me some fishing tricks that I showed off to my dad. Whenever he was out to see and wouldn't bring me with him, it was Mags who I stayed with.

"How did your meeting with Mrs. Numitor go?" Mags inquires.

"As well as could be expected," I reply. "She'll Sponsor them."

"Good, good," Mags says. "You know, Ivoree told me you met with Seneca Crane the other day. That's such a powerful influence to have for the Games, Finnick. Ivoree said he was the one to gift Liber that trident."

I still a little. Slowly I pull my hands out of Mags' grasp, earning a very perplexed look from her softened features. A part of me is angry, but I know that I can't afford that emotion right now. I need to be calm, even though I feel cornered. "Seneca met with Ceres before the Games," I say, causing her to gasp. "It was on the rooftop, Mags."

Her eyes remain wide as she looks at me, her hands lifting to touch her lips. I watch as countless emotions wander across her features, one by one until she settles on disbelief. "Ceres received a note from an Avox. She thought it was from Birch, so we went up together...I stood by the door, so she could meet with Birch to discuss the Alliance, but she said he never came. Oh, God, Finnick," she says, shuddering. "What did he d-"

"He says he didn't touch her. I'm inclined to believe him," I say. Mags trusts my ability to read people well enough to seem to accept this, though her expression is still tight with horror. "So she hid it from the both of us."

Mags appears hesitant at that. "I can't begin to understand why," she says, slowly. "But surely her intentions were pure. Maybe she was afraid of him."

It's funny imagining Ceres being afraid of anything. The girl who had spent years boasting about how she'd win the Hunger Games, who used to swim at night and during storms, and who loved me even despite what I was, being frightened by a man like Seneca Crane seems impossible. Yet, all the same, I hope she was, because it would be absolutely insane to be unafraid of a man who holds that much power.

I try to give her that benefit of the doubt, though I can't deny the ache in me. I don't think I could've lied to Mags about something like that, when I as a Tribute, even if I was afraid. But Ceres isn't me, and her brother is involved in the Games. And she's made it very clear she means to protect him. Whatever her intentions were, I want to believe they were, as Mags says, pure.

But Seneca's aren't.

Mags reaches out to gently touch my cheek, but I don't want comfort. I'm angry, and I'm tired, but I allow it.

But why hadn't she said anything?

"He wants her," I say. "I saw it in his eyes."

Mags is quiet for a moment. "Oh."

"If she wins..."

Her demeanor shifts, no longer my fellow Victor and my friend, but now a Mentor. Her hand lowers, gaze now fixated upon my face. She's reading me carefully, just as she's reading the situation we've found ourselves in. She's waiting on my hung word, her breath seemingly held. I stay quiet, though, because any word that seems to flit across my tongue tastes wrong, so I swallow it down. Mags, sensing my hesitation, breaks the silence.

"What are you suggesting?" she says.

When I don't reply, she makes a gasping sound.

"Are you suggesting we let her die?"

My chest tightens. "What is this life, Mags? First it's Seneca, then who next? I can give you a long list of men who'd gladly tear her apart...you should hear what Cashmere has to say about her Clients, and their appetites. And then mine," I say, watching as horror paints itself upon her face. "You don't know what it's like."

"I see it everyday, in your eyes-"

"That's not the same as living it."

Mags' lips press together. "No. I agree, it's not," she says. "Finnick, you're scared, and emotional right now. But what you're suggesting is, turning your back on Ceres at her most vulnerable, along with her brother-"

"She's already made her peace," I say, finding bitterness seeping into my tone. I try to swallow it down, but it only strengthens its resolve and bursts out of me again. "In case you haven't noticed, she's made it very clear that she wants Liber to win. If she dies in that Arena, maybe it's saving her life, from what this is. She doesn't become like me. She's...well, she gets to be free-"

"Enough. Enough of this," Mags says, her tone sharpening. "You can give up on her, Finnick, but I won't. It's not just you in this. Rheon knows he's going to lose at least one of his children during the Games. The last thing he needs is you spewing out that she'd be better off dead."

I clench my jaw, feeling that bitterness collide with anger, and then from anger...resentment, but not towards Mags, Ceres, or even Seneca Crane. It settles against myself, like a knife in my chest. "I love her," I say, though Mags' eyes don't soften. "She came to me the night before the Games to say goodbye, Mags."

"Finnick." Mags' eyes have started to water. My hands twitch, fighting the urge to take her old, wrinkled hands into my calloused ones. "Either way, we're going to lose them. One of them might walk out of the Arena, or neither at all. But no matter what, we mustn't stop fighting for them, even if you're afraid of what comes next. I didn't stop fighting for you, did I?"

My teeth clench. I think about being fourteen and being taken to President Snow's garden, where he congratulated me on my victory, and then gave me a choice. It seemed like a choice at the time, harmless, even. I'd denied him, because I thought I had the power to do so at the time, and I'd ignored the warnings given to me by Tilda and even Ren. Mags had just assured me. But when I came home, finding my dad the way he was, I knew I'd never be free again. And everyday, seeing Ceres down by the water, I couldn't help but to imagine her floating in the ocean someday; having drowned, mysteriously.

That fear's haunted me for three years. It's one of my many ghosts. To imagine Ceres with ghosts of her own, faced with the decision I was, I don't think I could bear it. But I can't bear the idea of losing her in the Games, either, as selfish as that is. I don't care that she wants to keep Liber alive. If she dies, I don't know what I'll do.

Without her, what does Snow have over me?

"Sometimes I wish you did," I admit.

"Hush." Mags puts her hand on my knee, squeezing. "I know, Finnick. I know. But you can't give up. You have to fight, for her sake, and for yours."

I pull Mags' hand away, and push myself to my feet. "I need to shower."

Mags tries to stop me, but I'm already storming out of the living quarters and to my room. I spend the next two hours bathing, scrubbing off the evidence of Amabilia Numitor. But it isn't long before my buzzer is off again, and I find something new to wear. So the day continues, trying to push these thoughts out of my head; just disembody for a while. But between it all, all I can see is Ceres smiling down at me as we laid in bed together, her hand pressed to my cheek. I think I would've been a very lonely person without you, she'd said to me.

We had spent years at each others' throats, but we were always at each others' sides, too. In the last over three years, things had changed. The competitive edge that had spurred our verbal sparring and little glares had softened, and we'd found comfort in each others' company. We fished almost daily, whether in the water or by it, and if we weren't fishing we were on the beach. I was never alone when she was there, even during those days where we'd sit in silence.

When I look up at any screen, seeing her in the Games, I'm reminded how I'm going to lose it. A part of me wants to accept it, just let her go the way she wants; protect Liber to the best of my abilities, and bring him home to District 4. If she died in that Arena, it would save her every grief. She'd never fully know what it's like to be wanted by someone powerful and to have your freedoms stripped from you, more than just your clothes. The thought of her being undressed by Seneca Crane pierces intrusively through me again and again. I'm powerless to stop it. If she lives, and Snow takes her to his garden...I can't protect her for what comes next.

But if she dies in the Arena, she's safe and free forever. I want so badly to yield to that part of me, but I can't. Despite my words to Mags and what I feel deep within me, I can't lose her. Not without fighting as hard as I can. So I keep going, and going, and going with my Clients. Ivoree is hard at work accumulating more Sponsors for me.

And every time I see Seneca Crane Sponsoring food or any variety of weapon or medicine, I try not to picture his unnatural blue eyes watching her through the screen, wanton.

It's been three days without any deaths.

The Alliance in the Cornucopia has stayed in place, though Birch with the two Tributes from District 12 moved a day ago. As far as I am aware, they're following water, and actively avoiding his District partner. Nellie and her own Alliance have started to wander through the Arena, edging closer towards the location of the Cornucopia, but none are brave enough to enter its sights. They rather sit and plot, trying to think of ways they can lure the Careers out of their hole. The Careers, meanwhile, are in no rush. The Cornucopia is rich with weapons, food, and a variety of other resources already, and this is to say nothing of the array of Sponsored gifts that have been sent for District 4, as well as general Sponsors for District 1; accumulated by Cashmere, who is as hard at work as I am.

But the Arena's quiet has started to create an unrest throughout the Capitol. It's an impatience I haven't seen in a while. The Tributes aren't keen on killing each other until they have killed their respective enemy Alliances. They inch closer, day by day, but there has been no breaking point yet. Each group is waiting for the other to make their move. In my experience, in the rare instance where boredom settles over the Arena, the Gamemakers start to feel pressured. I know this all the more for a fact as given by the fact Seneca Crane hasn't sent any Sponsorships or messages since two days ago, indicating that he is hard at work alongside his uncle and the others.

When Gamemakers feel nervous, things tend to unravel. I've seen it.

The Capitol is tired of the lack of bloodshed in the Arena. They were intrigued by the notion of these three very specific Alliances and how they could come together at first, but now they are bored. Birch keeps the two kids from District 12 safe. The Cornucopia is occupied by the Careers, with regular patrols and never straying far. And Nellie and her fellow Tributes are waiting for the Careers to slipup. But nothing is happening.

Still, a part of me is relieved, though I know it's building towards something.

What I try to focus on is the fact that Ceres is safe. She's with her brother, keeping him safeguarded, even if she evidently doesn't feel entirely safe with the Careers. I've heard her try to talk Liber into leaving the Cornucopia, like Birch did, but Liber won't budge. He believes it's safer to keep Allied with the Careers until they can't any longer, which is a logic that I am loathe to, but also understand. Ren thinks it's sound logic. They have a steady Alliance with District 1, as well as steady supplies, so why leave? Aside from the fact that Jason and Lamia have made it very clear they intend on killing them, whatever reason could there possibly be to feel doubtful?

I want to agree with Ceres that they should go, because I don't entirely trust her with District 1. But I know that she's safest there, then wandering out to where Nellie and her Tributes could get them.

God knows, especially with the array of Mutts that prowl the Arena...anything could appear at anytime, though even the Mutts have gone quiet, too. This has unsettled me all the more, though I try to mask it. After all, I am with a Client.

Obelia Flickerman, Caesar Flickerman's own wife. She's old enough to nearly be my mother. Her skin is fake tanned and an odd shade of orange similar to her husband's. In contrast, she's wearing a bright lavender wig with highlights done up into a curly spiral that resembles a tornado, and a dress of the same color. Her fake eyelashes are made up of peacock feathers, which serve in contrast to her dark green eyes, which look on at me, fluttering. I'm not in her bed, thankfully, though she has taken me out to the Borage House.

I hate this place, particularly now that I've had to meet with Seneca Crane. Yet I smile charmingly at her, as I know I'm supposed to. She bats her eyelashes and giggles at whatever I have to say, and she flushes a deeper shade of orange when she watches me place a sugar cube seductively into my mouth.

My body is defaulted, doing things out of habit, and saying what she wants to hear. But my eyes are discreetly flickering to one of the many screens in the Borage House depicting the Games. Things are still quiet. There are even a few bored sighs as others are watching on.

Daylight is pooling through the large hole over the Cornucopia, with Ceres on patrol. She's walking along the edge of their makeshift barricade, her spear in hand, and she's watching the various entrances surrounding them. Jason is sharpening his axe. Lamia and Liber are discussing their battle plans against a makeshift map they've crudely drawn in the sand, based off of their memories and guesses of the cave's layout.

"...oh, I haven't been treated so romantically in years," croons Obelia.

"I can treat you to every variance of romance," I assure her, smirking.

She appears pleased and covers her face, giving me time to glance at the screen. It's a brief closeup of Ceres' face, where I can see her dark blue eyes narrowed slightly as she's examining her surroundings. Her face is still a shade lighter from her blood loss, which causes my stomach to roll, but her expression is no less determined. She walks with her head high.

My girl, I think fondly, as Ceres spins her spear in her hand, before I remember where I am, who I have to be, and what I need to do. I smirk at the blushing Obelia. "After lunch, maybe I could treat you to dessert..."

"Oh, that would be so lovely," Obelia says, gasping softly.

But something catches my attention, as it does with Obelia, because both of our eyes turn to the screen. There's a sound far off in the distance in the Arena, like a quieted rumble. The cave doesn't move, remaining still, but I can see Ceres' whole body tense up. She looks around for a moment. The others seem alert to the sound now, with Liber slowly standing up. Jason grips his axe firmly, with Lamia already placing her hands over her knives.

There is a new type of anticipation in the Borage House now. Everyone is at the edges of their seats, watching on as the Games suddenly become exciting again. That restless, boring silence is all at once disturbed, to my horror. I keep my expression perfectly masked, watching as Ceres' eyes move from the cave itself to above them. She locks her eyes on the hole over the Cornucopia, which shows a clear sky, and where sunbeams trickle through.

"What is that?" Lamia says.

The rumble grows louder.

All at once, Ceres' eyes go wide with realization. "Hold onto something! It's flooding!"

Sure enough, water is suddenly pooling out the hole over them, falling rapidly over the Cornucopia. It pours into the Arena in large bursts, spreading widely as it immediately starts to carry away the makeshift barricade composed of cargo boxes. The Cornucopia itself, no doubt built into the ground, doesn't budge, but everything else around it does. Ceres lunges out, grabbing ahold of Liber's wrist well before he can do or say anything. The water is pouring down on them so hard and so fast that it would seem they were all blinded. Jason has fallen over, struggling to get up, and Lamia is rushing to grab ahold of something.

But Ceres has her hand firmly on Liber's wrist, and she's pulling him with the water. Liber does not even bother struggling. But it is not long before the brute force of the water pushes them apart, too. The water comes faster and harder, second by second, flooding through the corridors. It rises steadily. I watch on with wide eyes as the screens cut to the other Tributes. Birch and the kids from District 12 had stopped by some water, but they are immediately swept up; carried away. The same goes for Nellie and the others. Although the water roars its arrival far beyond the cave halls, there is no time to react. It sweeps through, tearing the Alliances apart.

Within minutes, the caves have near flooded. The Tributes can do nothing but brace for impact, with a handful foolishly trying to outrun the riptide which tears through the cave's caverns. The cave itself rumbles, with its own walls breaking apart, now opening two sections of the caves together, and even the cave floor opens, with Tributes being sucked through these various new holes. The black water, I note, remains unmoved by the riptide. It stay still like a sheet of glass, and I imagine whatever resides beneath it sits in anticipation. When the waters disperse again, no one is where they were before. Everyone is scattered. And a single cannon goes off. The girl from District 9, Hayla, drowned.

There are awes and shrill little cries throughout the Borage House. Everyone is immediately placing bets and murmuring amongst themselves. In the chaos, I struggle to keep up. My heart is hammering as I watch on, waiting until the calm has settled.

"Do you think your Tributes are safe?" Obelia asks, casually.

Thump, thump, thump, goes my heart. "Well, they're my Tributes," I try purring. "They were built for water."

Water. Seneca Crane. He must have...could have had an influence? I think about the Gamemakers, wondering how they were brainstorming arousing excitement. They could have done it in a million separate ways, but they chose to flood the Arena, albeit for only a few minutes. I imagine Seneca looking rather smug as he watches on, and I imagine, for my own pleasure, impaling his chest with my trident.

The screen cuts to the individual Tributes. Jason has been swept away from the Cornucopia, currently crouched and coughing in a section of the Arena that seems familiar. I recognize it as the place where Ceres and Birch found the children from District 12. Jason isn't alone. Coile is on his side, coughing and wheezing as he recovers from the sudden assault. But even in his haze, he looks terrified. Both are out of sorts, but Jason has his axe, and Coile has nothing. I expect that it will be a short-lived fight, unless Coile can get his bearings, and quickly.

Liber is by himself, gasping for air as he balances on his palms. I don't know where he is, but I know that he hasn't moved to higher ground, or lower. Nellie is alone. I can tell by her location that she's someplace elevated, as she's set atop a ledge, overlooking a steep drop off. One of the holes in the top of the cave is closer to her now than it has ever been before. But she is alone, and down below her is Lamia. It appears that they can see one another, but neither have direct access. Mox is alone, though she seems unconscious, and she's in an area of the Arena I don't recognize. The rocks glow silver instead of gold, and the are appears blackened and cold. I recognize, albeit grimly, that this is below ground. She must have been sucked through the holes built into the cave floor.

I straighten a little when Ceres appears on the screen. The area surrounding her is dark, with the rocks glowing silver, and extend out of the walls like crystals surrounding her, curving across the side of the walls, to the ceiling above her. I can see the hole above her head where she had been dumped out of during the flood; too high for her to reach on her own, and too dangerous to even try given the array of pointed objects surrounding her. But more so than that, when she lifts her eyes up to regard this new section of the Arena, I see her expression fall and her face pale. I feel mine fall with hers.

Black water surrounds her.

(a/n): EL GASPO! WHAT IS THIS? A chapter with TWO POVS? Indeed, yes. I've always planned on this story featuring a few point of view chapters, most obviously being from Finnick's perspective. Reason being, I found the retread of Catching Fire from the Tributes' perspective all over again to be kind of boring, and the Arena can be very, very boring. I've written my Arena to be action packed, kind of horror based, etc., but I can't have stuff happening in the Arena at every minute of every day, because that's just unrealistic. So for the quieter moments, I can redirect the vision to someone who has stuff currently happening, and establishing various things which will manifest later in future chapters. So Finnick and Seneca are currently the other POVs in this story. Will there be more? Potentially. There is one POV chapter I have very specifically mapped out (very, very far into the future), who I won't unveil. ^^

But, anyway, the reason being this chapter has two POVs versus each character having their own individual chapter...if I am being perfectly honest, I couldn't extend the scenes without a shit load of filler I didn't want or need. Ceres interacting with the Careers was necessary, but for the next stage of her story there I needed setup from Finnick's end, and vice versa. So it made the most sense to combine the two, instead of giving you guys two very short chapters. It is bothering my OCD a little bit. But what do you guys think? Do you like having two POVs in one chapter or do you prefer individual chapters per POV?

Also I am very, very excited for the next chapter! If you guys thought that the first crocodile fight was horror, just wait till the next chapter. I've been playing The Last of Us and just rewatched The Descent, and I am heavily inspired. Anyways, please favorite, follow, and review if you're enjoying the story so far! Pretty please?

Review replies

scars from the sun: Haha, thank you! I take that as a compliment! ^^ I've been mapping out Ceres' Games for years now, and I could make a list off of my failed ideas and scraps, none of which I'll reveal anytime soon, just because I might recycle them for future scenes/moments/etc. But I am so glad you're entertained by them! It has been so much fun writing an Arena as terrifying as a cave full of monsters. (Another influence of mine was the movie The Descent, which I highly recommend!) I'm also glad you appreciated Finnick's wardrobe description. ^^ I found writing Seneca's view of Finnick to be fun, as it is entirely superficial. Finnick's role of Capitol darling is a character in it of itself, so it was fun to write that, with the real Finnick leaking through.

the. apple .seed: Gosh, thank you so much! Your reviews always make my heart all warm! Writing Seneca was so challenging, but once I found his voice, I found him extremely fascinating. In Mockingjay, Plutarch makes a quip to Katniss about how the role of Head Gamemaker isn't exactly a reliable job, and I'd like to think that the Head Gamemakers are VERY aware of that. Like any position of power, it's highly competitive and you can easily lose your spot if you lose your nerve if you upset the boss (aka, Snow). In my mind's eye, Lucius should have been Head Gamemaker before Cicero, but because his brother had the position first, he has WAY more pressure than he needs. Then there's Seneca, who's kind of airy about things, and is optimistic over realistic, which I hope I captured here.

TRIBUTES OF THE 68TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES

DISTRICT 1

- Jason Ironjaw (18)

- Lamia Lowvale (15)

DISTRICT 2