8:27 am, Bottom Floor of The North Wing.
"We should head out," Lilith said, nudging Nash with her shoe. "C'mon, we can't stay here forever."
Nash stirred, opening his eyes sleepily. She felt bad that she'd woken him up, but as the hours passed, she'd gotten increasingly anxious. Merix's death had only proved that the Arena held real threats, ones that couldn't be avoided. Lilith had to keep them moving, had to focus on the next step.
He slowly sat up, his sluggish movements already telling Lilith that it was going to be a long day. Of course, she hadn't expected things to magically get better overnight, but she had been hopeful for a step in the right direction.
Hoping didn't seem to be doing her much good these days.
"Let's see how much ground we can make up today," Lilith muttered, mostly to herself. She felt this insatiable need to fill in the silence without Merix around, as if she was subconsciously trying to fill in the places where he used to be. "We don't want to run into any more issues."
Nash just gave a noncommittal grunt. Lilith glanced over at him, satisfied that he was at least shoving his stuff back into the backpack. She watched for a moment, quietly wondering how things had gotten this bad so quickly, then turned away. She had to keep looking ahead; if she spent too long dwelling on the Nash she used to know, she'd only get stuck in the past.
Lilith was already weighing choices in her mind, trying to determine the next step. As long as her mind was focused on something, she couldn't be held down by her grief. Her goal was to avoid the hallway with the planetarium at all costs as she led them to a new area of the Arena, so they would have to do a bit of backtracking. Fortunately, she was good at remembering the paths they'd taken. After all, if you broke it down, this Arena was just a large, rather simplistic maze. Lilith almost enjoyed trying to memorize the patterns.
"Ready?" she asked, pulling on her backpack before turning to Nash.
He managed nothing more than a nod in response, but Lilith tried not to let that get her down. It was strange. In less than a couple weeks, Merix's infectious optimism had managed to make an impact on her, the kind that almost no one else had. A part of her wanted to push it away, but she wanted to hold onto her memories of him.
She'd keep them together as long as she could. For Merix.
Luckily, it didn't take her long to navigate them back to where they'd started out. From there, she got them going down an unfamiliar path, hoping to get far away from the devastation behind them. Lilith needed them to keep going, to put distance between herself and the emotions inside her fighting to be seen. If Lilith was good at one thing, it was hiding her feelings. And that's what she had to do now to keep it together.
"It was my fault."
Lilith froze, glancing up at Nash. His tone had been completely without inflection, his brow furrowed as if he wasn't fully aware of what he was saying. She grappled with herself, trying to find something to say but coming up hopelessly empty.
"Huh?"
"It was my fault," he repeated, frustration seeping into his voice. "His notebook practically said as much."
"You read it?" Lilith immediately tried to remember when she'd last seen the small book, but she was coming up blank. It should've been tucked away in her backpack, but now that she looked back, she hadn't noticed it when she was packing up her belongings earlier.
"You were asleep. It fell out of your backpack."
"Why'd you read it?" Lilith demanded, taking a step closer. "Those were his private thoughts."
He shrugged helplessly. "I wanted to hear his voice again."
Lilith glanced away, wrapping her arms around herself. She more than understood that sentiment. "He thought the world of you. It could never-"
"But that's why it was my fault," Nash insisted, cutting her off. "He wrote down everything I said, all in pursuit of being strong. Maybe he was trying to… to prove himself."
Lilith thought back to Merix - his eagerness, his innocence, his bravery - and quietly thought to herself that he'd always been one of the strongest people she knew. "He didn't have anything to prove to anyone besides himself," she decided. "He made his choice independent of your input."
"But…" Nash clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to work out what he wanted to say. "But maybe he'd still be alive without me. Without us."
Lilith frowned, uncomfortable with him dragging her into the mix. She'd dealt with her own guilt over Merix's death, and she didn't want to go through that again.
"We were happy," she said quietly, staring down at the ground. "And I… I miss him too, but you can't keep blaming yourself."
"He wrote about us a lot."
"Us?"
"Memories. He was happy too. I just wish… I wish it was different."
"Me too."
They continued in silence for a few minutes before Nash spoke again. "Do you think we would've been friends without the Games?"
Lilith weighed that in her mind. "I killed people," she reminded him. "I'm not sure either of you would've wanted anything to do with me."
Nash looked down at his hands intently, and Lilith recognized his emotions. She'd been through them before, when she was much younger. It was hard to take a life at first, and Lilith could feel the blood on her hands for weeks, but after that… all she ever felt was numbness.
"What about if things were normal?" Nash tried again.
"Normal?"
"You know, like… if we knew each other back home or something. I think you'd like Five."
Lilith pondered that for a moment. She didn't know anything about Five, not really, but that didn't matter. Not if Merix and Nash were there too, in this hypothetical situation.
"Okay," she said softly. "Five sounds like a good place to be."
"And we'd be happy there," Nash insisted, watching the walls with a far-off look in his eye, as if he wasn't really beside Lilith at all. She wondered if she'd lost both of her allies to that Career.
"Happy," Lilith echoed, unsure of what else to say. The word was foreign on her tongue, a sensation that was now lifetimes away.
Briefly, Lilith thought to herself that she missed the ability to lose herself in the darkness. At least there she didn't have to worry about getting hurt.
Lilith shook off Nash's words; there was no use in dwelling on what could've been when this was their reality. She went back to navigating the halls with ease, keeping herself and Nash away from any of the more tempting, ornate doorways. Nash hardly seemed to notice anything that was going on around him, and perhaps that was for the best. Lilith just wanted to get them to a temporary safe spot.
Her ears caught the slightest noise. Lilith paused where she stood, barely registering that Nash kept going without her. She surveyed the area, holding her breath and trying to quiet her own heart as she waited to see if she'd hear it again.
The slightest scuffle, like a person walking. Lilith followed the noise, nearly entranced by it. Perhaps a deep part of her longed to get into a fight, one she could win. She wanted her agency back. She wanted to prove herself. She could still fight, even if she didn't know what she was fighting for anymore.
Annie would be so disappointed in her.
As her eyes landed on the figure down the hall, Lilith's eyes widened. She recognized who it was immediately, from the dark hair to the way he carried himself. She hadn't caught sight of him since the bloodbath, and now… now he was here. Right in front of her. And really, there was only one thing she could do.
Lilith instinctively reached for her crossbow. She knew she could make the shot, she'd practiced the movements a million times before. All it would take was one properly placed arrow, and-
A hand landed on her arm and she was tugged aside, into the shadows of a room. Lilith squirmed against the grip, her reflexes kicking in and causing her to land a jab in the stomach before a hiss of pain made her recognize it was Nash. She paused, relaxing slightly, but she never let go of the crossbow.
Through a crack in the door, Lilith watched Thay glance around, his senses as keen as ever. Lilith felt that familiar hatred rise up from deep within, the only thing that could overpower her sadness. He held a knife out in his hand, mouth opening as if to say something, but then he decided against it. Instead, he just ducked his head and sighed before heading out of sight.
A full minute passed in relative silence before Lilith managed to get out of Nash's grip, frowning up at him. Still wary of Thay's potential closeness, she hissed a quiet, "What was that for?"
Nash looked almost as startled by his actions as she was. He opened his mouth, wavering before muttering, "I don't want to see anyone else die."
"There's ten of us left, Nash," she whispered in return, voice growing harsher. "It has to happen at some point."
He recoiled from her as if her words stung, but Lilith couldn't find it in her to care at the moment. "He wouldn't have even known you were there."
"Then he should've been paying better attention. This is the Games. One mistake, and that's it."
Nash went quiet, averting his gaze, and Lilith just huffed quietly. She'd been so close.
"Revenge," Nash muttered to himself.
"Huh?"
"Revenge," he repeated. "That's what Arcturus said. You're looking for revenge against someone in here. A him. The only ones left are me and the Career and your own District Partner."
"I have to do it," Lilith said quietly, crossing her arms. She didn't have to confirm his suspicions. He already knew he was right.
"Why?"
"You wouldn't understand," she muttered bitterly. "Things are different where I'm from."
"Then explain it to me."
Lilith made a quiet noise of frustration. "You don't know what he's done."
"Because you haven't told me anything!"
"He killed someone close to me," she bit out. "I want to return the favor."
Nash looked conflicted. "But-"
"Forget about it," Lilith said, cutting him off. "Let's just go."
To his credit, he did nothing more than adjust his backpack and nod, letting Lilith take the lead again. A darker part of her wished that he'd fight back more, that he'd prove to her that there was more of him left than a faint echo of what he once was. But Lilith didn't think she could bring the old Nash back - and even if she did, it was too late in the game for her to try.
If Lilith was a nightmare, then Nash was a ghost. And Merix was nothing more than a memory.
12:48 pm, Second Floor of The East Wing.
Imperia Bachmann was no fool. A gift was never freely given, and Imperia was more than aware of that fact. Everything about her interaction with the Jude clone screamed a trap, but that's what made it so fun. There was a real risk here, one that she'd have to outwit at every level.
And god, what a joy that would be.
She'd settled on something new. While Imperia would've reveled in breaking down Thay Yukimura, she also wanted to try something a little… different.
Based on the file Imperia had read over several times, Jack had picked up some knife skills. That worked well enough for Imperia, as she felt decently confident in her own knife skills. Unless Thay of all people had decided to start investing in his allies, she was certain that it would be an even match. She'd been purposefully holding back in her private session, so though Jack's predicted placement was slightly higher, that didn't deter her. Nothing would. Jack was nothing but a pawn in the grand scheme of things, and Imperia was made for this.
This game belonged to her.
See, Imperia had achieved one thing that not a single other tribute had: control. That much had been evident since the training days. Jude had tried; he approached Jack back during training, and his performance was lackluster to say the least. But Imperia had managed to get into Crush's head long enough to figure out that if Makani was in danger, Crush would drop everything to help her. It had certainly been a bold theory on her part, as Imperia doubted she could fend off Crush adequately enough to escape with her life, but Imperia liked bold. As long as she kept that sense of control, nothing could stop her.
And so, even though everything from the day before pointed to Imperia being led into a trap, she could play along. After all, that opened up a possibility that positively fascinated her.
In Imperia's eyes, it was simple. If the head gamemaker wanted to play this game with her so badly, he'd deliver Jack to her without question. After all, tributes were just pieces in the grand scheme of things, able to be moved around at will. Everyone knew the Games weren't fair, but that didn't change the fact that the strong and the clever tended to win. It was a game of survival where you outlasted everyone around you.
What a boring narrative. That's why Imperia was better than her fellow tributes. She was willing to take things into her own hands, to go beyond what others only dreamed of.
Theory: The challenge before her was not to outwit Jack, but to outwit the head gamemaker. All Imperia had to do was put herself in a position of control and the game was already hers.
If Jude was here - the real Jude, not the pathetic mockery of him that kept following her around - he'd tell her she was doing too much again, that she was aiming too highly for her own good. But Imperia was done with just testing her abilities on the other tributes; she'd had more than enough time to do that after her alliance fell apart. It was far more exciting to dive into the psyche of someone she didn't know as well, someone she had limited exposure to. She could hardly resist the allure of a challenge, especially one so obviously presented to her.
An outsider could only observe - they couldn't be hurt. And Imperia was the epitome of an outsider. She was above the rest of these neanderthals, and she'd prove it once and for all.
No one could bring her down. Not even the one that fancied himself in charge.
Jack had been aimless for longer than she cared to admit, trying to keep to herself. Any sign of a noise and she headed the opposite way, not wanting to get caught up in anything. To her knowledge, she'd managed to leave Thay far behind her, which was good. She hoped not to see him again.
The halls were quiet and never ending, a maze that was nearly impossible to crack. Everything looked the same, and Jack just focused on trying to get as far away from her old ally as she could. This Arena was large enough that she felt it was almost unlikely that she'd run into any of the other remaining tributes. Then again, the Capitol was probably looking for some kind of a show from her. Jack wouldn't put it past them to force her into some sort of conflict with another tribute.
It was a shame that Jack didn't intend to play into their hands.
She'd figured out that the mirrors lining the halls acted like doors of some kind, so she tended to stay as far away from those as she could. But the more Jack thought about it, the more she thought that even the walls shifted sometimes. She'd turn a corner and hear a slight sound, only to look back and see that things were slightly different from before. Sometimes there was laughter she didn't recognize, but it was disembodied, floating around her before disappearing. She often felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, as if prying eyes were on her, but no one was ever around.
The sensation reminded her of old stories from the women at the factory, the kind where they spoke of ghosts that lived in an old abandoned house on the outskirts of the city. They all told conflicting tales, weaving together dramatic stories that would send the whole group into fits of giggles. But Jack never bought any of it.
She couldn't bring herself to believe that something as silly as ghosts were watching her, but Jack knew there was something unsettling about the Arena. She'd do anything in her power to avoid running headlong into trouble again.
A door creaked at the end of the hall. Jack sighed softly. She was tired of the Arena playing games with her, trying to tempt her into investigating. She wouldn't make the mistake of running headlong into danger again.
But her blood still ran cold when she heard the sound of two voices, hushed as if in a discussion. With a dwindling tribute count, she didn't trust any groups to be anything but the Careers. Whether she liked it or not, her best option was to duck into one of the surrounding rooms and wait it out. Even if the voices weren't real, she couldn't chance it.
The room she found herself in was dark, so Jack silently shut the door while she waited for her eyes to adjust. There was a quiet click that she attributed to the door closing, but she froze when there was a second click. When she tried the handle of the door, it didn't move at all.
She was locked in.
It would be of no use for her to panic now. There was nothing she could do but wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness around her.
There was the slightest rustling. Jack knew instantly that she'd managed to walk straight into some kind of trap. In her careful avoidance of anything that resembled a threat, she'd managed to forget that gamemakers could force anything if they desired a certain outcome.
She wanted to protest the unfairness of it all, but Jack just stayed quiet, back pressed to the door. She'd gotten this far, and she wouldn't give up. Not now.
You need to learn not to hesitate.
Jack hated that Thay's words stuck with her even now. He was an unwelcome visitor in her mind. She didn't need his advice. Patience and hesitation were two very different things, and she was merely exhibiting the former. She didn't want to make the first move, not when she didn't know what she was up against.
"All alone again, Jack?" a voice taunted, piercing the quietness of the room. "I'm sure that's a familiar sensation."
Jack frowned at the intrusion, slowly beginning to creep away from the door. She stayed on her toes, shifting her weight carefully so her footsteps wouldn't give her location away. She didn't want to stay in one spot, not when whoever was here was clearly aware of her identity.
She ducked behind a large shadowed object, her fingers brushing against some kind of cloth and gathering dust. Jack wrinkled her nose, figuring she'd managed to wander down one of the horrifically dusty hallways, as if no one had touched this area in years.
"There's no use hiding," the voice continued, a touch annoyed. "We're just going to play a little game. Are you familiar with the concept?"
To be honest, Jack wasn't, but the last thing she wanted right now was to use her voice. She still needed to get a grip on her surroundings before she lost everything.
"The rules are simple enough. Only one of us is leaving this room alive, so I suggest you stop hiding behind that mirror."
Jack glanced at the object she was behind, finally registering that it was the back of a mirror, half covered by a sheet. A quick scan of the room revealed that there were more mirrors scattered throughout, though she still couldn't see any sign of who else was in there with her.
She didn't know why she was the target for this, but it was clear that Jack was already at a disadvantage.
"What do you even have to go home to? A father that you don't speak to? There's no one waiting for you. Your only real ally is dead, and you gave up on the other one."
Jack gritted her teeth. Whoever was talking was just trying to get a rise out of her, but when her reaction to her father's voice had nearly gotten her discovered by Careers, she'd learned to hang back a bit. Her best bet was to keep her head down and wait for a chance to strike. It didn't matter if the voice was right or not. She wouldn't answer.
"What's the point of fighting if you don't have anything to gain?"
A flash of movement - Jack caught sight of a girl with raven black hair in her peripheral vision, and she lashed out with a knife only to recoil when something shattered.
Right. The mirrors. They were organized almost like a maze, caging her in. The darkness and reflections did nothing to help her orient herself, as all she could see surrounding her were gilded frames, her own figure reflected in each one. The girl was already gone, as if she'd never been there at all.
Jack ran through the possibilities in her mind. She wouldn't put some kind of ghost mutt past the gamemakers, but this felt more like a confrontation with one of the other tributes. If it was a Career, she was fucked, but if she remembered correctly…
The Sixes were clever. The boy had tried to talk to her during training, and while she'd tuned him out for the most part, she hadn't been able to shake the prying eyes of the girl after that. Every glance from Six indicated that she knew too much, but now Jack felt seen like she never had before.
If it was Six, then Jack couldn't let her guard down for a moment. Six always seemed to have a plan, and the last thing Jack wanted was to die by her hand. She'd find a way to make it through this.
It was the only way to get home.
Imperia prowled around the room, expertly navigating between the mirrors. She'd found this room earlier and figured it was the perfect setup for a confrontation like this. She wondered if Jack would be able to figure out the layout of the room - or if that knowledge would even help. Imperia had the clear advantage here, but a deep curiosity made her want to see what would happen if Jack managed to gain the upper hand.
The mirrors captured Imperia's image, reflecting it throughout the space. Imperia heard another crash echo through the room, a smirk playing across her lips. She wondered if Jack was going to continue smashing mirrors until they were no longer a threat, despite that clearly displaying her location. It was for the best that Imperia wasn't actively looking for a fight - not quite yet.
If Jude couldn't get Jack to react, then Imperia would just have to do better. No one could just be immune to that sort of thing. Jack had a weak spot, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. And Imperia was going to find it.
She lifted her chin, glanced around for the camera that was certainly trained directly on her, and raised a single eyebrow. A challenge. She wasn't to be trifled with. These Games were still hers.
"A shame about that Five girl," Imperia tried, trailing a hand along the side of a mirror. "Eleanor, wasn't it? Oh, wait… she went by Norrie, didn't she? Crush really did a number on her."
There was a moment of dead silence, and Imperia could almost sense the question Jack so desperately wanted to ask. How did you know about that?
"I saw the aftermath," Imperia said, thinking back on the bloody scene she'd come across. "Crush was worked up into a state when I saw her. Did you know we allied for a bit? A brutal thing, Crush is, but I suppose she saw something more interesting in me than your friend."
Another crash. Imperia just smiled pleasantly, wondering if Jack would tire herself out soon. It had to be exhausting, to let yourself succumb to the brutality of the Games like that. Imperia herself didn't want to get her hands dirty in the same vile manner as those other degenerates, but she'd killed before and she'd do it again.
Anything for the sake of a good experiment.
"Or maybe Norrie was just completely dense," Imperia suggested, finally drawing her knife. "What ignorant fool would touch a sculpture like that? In a place like this, everything needs to be regarded with scrutiny. But I guess now I know why you two were allies, despite her general incompetence and your social inadequance. You wandered in here without question, right into a trap of your own."
Imperia caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself. Finally.
She easily ducked under Jack's outstretched arm, her shorter stature aiding her in evading the other girl. Jack was still relatively expressionless, her brows drawn together in concentration. She had one knife in her hand with no other visible weapons on her, clearly ready for a fight now.
Perfect. So was Imperia.
"I was wondering when you'd show your face," Imperia said, nonchalant as she passed her knife between hands. "You can't hide from this one, though I'm sure you've gotten very good at that over the years of avoiding your own-"
Imperia easily jumped back, avoiding another swipe of Jack's knife that would have slashed her in the throat. She just let out a laugh, glancing up at Jack. Imperia had learned from training that knife fighting was more than just stabbing and hoping for contact. In a way, you had to hide the blade and only bring it out when you thought you could get a good hit in. It was all quick moves and deflections punctuated by a sharp reminder that your life was on the line. The handle of the knife was just as easy to grab as it was easy to drop, and the right hit would leave someone weaponless. Imperia wanted to test for weak spots, to try out her abilities on an opponent closest to her own skill level before she went any farther in the Games. But while the other girl was certainly bold with her movements, there was nothing special about them, no challenge to evading them.
It was almost a shame. Imperia was hoping for a good fight.
Briefly, she thought of Jude, and the fact that he was the only other person in the Arena worthy of standing next to her in any capacity. To be fair, he wasn't any better in combat than Jack, but at the very least, he would have been helpful to have as a shield.
Imperia brought her focus back to Jack. Her lips were pressed together tightly, having drawn back slightly to reevaluate. Imperia almost wanted to congratulate Jack for putting together enough brain cells to consider that she needed some semblance of a plan to go up against a foe like Imperia, but she didn't want to be insincere. This was nothing more than a game to Imperia. Every movement of hers was carefully chosen and implemented, an experiment to see how Jack would react. No plan of Jack's could possibly be good enough to overcome Imperia's mind.
Jack launched into the fight again. She lashed out with a knife again, leaving her left side open for Imperia to attack, though Imperia just stored that information away for later. Though Jack's defensive strategies were far clumsier than that of the trainers, Imperia had to give her a certain amount of credit. She wasn't as sluggish as Imperia had initially anticipated, so perhaps she'd actually learned something from training. Imperia studied her form for a moment, noting the way she kept her weight on the balls of her feet, using her height to her advantage by forcing Imperia to consistently duck down out of reach of any of her vital organs.
It was almost frustrating.
But Imperia was good in a pinch; she knew how to outwit people. She'd insisted the trainers show her tricks, over and over again. A jab here to fake out her opponent so she could use their movements against them, a quick kick of the leg to knock their feet out from under them. Whatever it took.
She lifted her forearm to deflect a hit from Jack, using the girl's momentary pause to drive her knee into Jack's leg. When Jack faltered, she lunged forward to swipe at the girl's chest, aiming for her heart. But Jack twisted out of the way just in time, causing the blade to land in her shoulder instead. Jack made a sound of discomfort, the only reaction she'd had since this fight started.
Imperia took advantage of the slight show of weakness, yanking her knife back and driving her fist into Jack's stomach. When Jack doubled over, she rammed her elbow into the side of the girl's head. She had to admire that Jack had managed to avoid being knocked to the ground yet, though she figured it wouldn't take much more.
But Jack wasn't done just yet. Imperia leapt back to avoid Jack's knife, the blade getting close enough to her head to slice off a few strands of hair. That made Imperia frown, straightening back up. If Jack was getting close like that, then it was time for her to stop playing around. She'd end this now.
"It's a shame you won't get back to see your father," Imperia commented casually, easily avoiding another clumsy swing. "I'm sure he was touched by your little display back on day three."
Startled, Jack's eyes widened. "How did you know about that?"
Imperia smiled innocently. That little file she'd found was full of all kinds of material, even containing some of Jack's Games activity. For something that was supposed to be a trap, the gamemakers had made things all too easy for her. "I know everything. You're nothing but a cog in the machine. Has all that hard work ever gotten you anywhere? Face it, Jack. Even if you leave this Arena alive, you'll fall back into old habits."
Jack just set her jaw, back to her irritating little vow of silence. That was just as well; Imperia didn't need anything more from the girl. Now all she had to do was finish her off, prove to everyone that Imperia Bachmann was not to be trifled with.
A searing pain shot down Imperia's arm. She staggered back a few steps, clenching her jaw as her hand jumped to the blade sticking out of her flesh. She'd gotten her fair share of hits in, but she hadn't expected Jack to recover quite so fast. At the very least, her arm now held Jack's last knife. Imperia held the advantage, and she wasn't going to give it up.
"Nice try," Imperia hissed, ripping the knife out of her arm. "You left yourself without a weapon, you imbecile."
Jack's eyes were hard, determined. Imperia would've admired that if she didn't also notice a glimmer of something else - satisfaction.
No.
What was she missing?
Imperia didn't miss things. She was above that. If she narrowed her vision, she became just like everyone else, and Imperia was better than that. There was no way someone as ordinary as Jack could pull one over on her.
Imperia could not be outclassed. Not like this.
She couldn't let herself think on it for too long. Imperia just gritted her teeth and rushed forward, wielding the blood-soaked knife. Instead of trying to counter Imperia's attack, Jack just moved to the side and stuck her foot out. Imperia couldn't stop her momentum fast enough, tumbling towards one of the cloth-covered mirrors. She braced herself for impact, but instead she fell through the sheet, a brief sensation of weightlessness making her stomach turn before the world came crashing down on her.
Glass shards dug into her skin, making Imperia cry out from the unexpected pain. It clouded her vision, and she had to blink a few times to register what had happened. Imperia was met with Jack's face looking down at her, and there was a look in Jack's eyes that made Imperia wish she had the strength to get up and tear everything away from her. Imperia loathed the idea of pity, of someone looking down on her. Especially someone like Jack.
Their fight… they'd circled around each other, but evidently Jack had a greater goal in mind. She hadn't intended to win; all she wanted was to distract Imperia long enough that Jack could take advantage of her. She'd spread the broken glass on the ground, used the cloth to mask the area, and then lured Imperia into a fight to keep her distracted.
But worst of all, how had Imperia not noticed?
Perhaps Imperia Bachmann wasn't an observer at all. Maybe she was just a normal girl, simply… human. Reality began to crash down on her. She had a life and dreams, multitudes of things she'd never gotten the chance to try.
And now she never would.
"No," she hissed, straining to pull herself away from the glass littering the floor, every inch of her skin alight with pain, but her muscles refused to cooperate. She wasn't even in control of her own body anymore. "I can't-"
I can't be done yet. It's too soon. My story isn't over. There's so much I have left to do.
I never really got to live.
Every movement of her body made a shard of glass dig in deeper, and Imperia had to give up on the idea of standing up, at least for now. She wasn't happy about the prospect of letting her guard down, but she also wasn't sure that Jack had the resolve to outright kill her. Perhaps there was still a way out of this; she just had to think a little harder.
Imperia Bachmann would not be just another number in the Games.
Relief swept over her as soon as Jack realized her hastily made trap had actually worked. She was probably lucky that Six had been focusing on her and not her surroundings for whatever reason, but that didn't matter now.
The important thing was that Jack was still alive.
She hovered uncertainly over Six, frowning as it registered that the right thing to do would be to kill her. Jack didn't know if Six had registered it yet, but one of the shards had gone straight through her ribs, and was probably working its way deeper with every breath she took.
"A cog in the machine," Jack muttered to herself, picking her knife up off the floor. "You don't know anything about me if you think that was an insult."
"Even if you get out of here, you'll die old and alone," Six hissed bitterly. "There's nothing waiting for you."
Jack crouched down, eyes watching Six's hands as she tried to grasp a shard of glass to lash out with. "That's not for you to decide."
Before she could hesitate any longer, Jack plunged the blade into Imperia's chest, looking away as the girl's body spasmed. She let go of the knife, wiping the blood on her pants as the cannon rang, signaling the girl's death.
It almost hurt to admit that Six might be right, that Jack might be doing all of this for nothing. But Jack knew the importance of never giving up; she wouldn't get anywhere if she didn't at least try. Even if it took getting blood on her hands, she was determined to fight her way home.
She navigated her way back through the mirrors, snatching her backpack off the ground where she'd left it and pocketing her other knife. She tried to wipe her hands off on her pants, but no matter how many times she tried, she still felt the blood clinging to her skin. She'd finally been put in a position where she had to kill, and she'd managed to survive, but she couldn't sail through the rest of the Games on this one kill. Could she do it again if she had to?
In the end, would everything be worth it?
3:25 pm, Second Floor of The North Wing.
It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. But Justus couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Something was bothering him, and it had since the day before, since their… encounter with the Makani lookalike. For some reason, he and Alila weren't at each other's throats in quite the same way they had been before. Small steps, he supposed.
He scratched his arm, fighting off a yawn. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and after the cannon earlier, he was already anxiously anticipating the nightly recap. Every time, he prayed he wouldn't see Phaedra's face, and Justus knew that wherever she was, she was likely in a similar position.
He hoped she was okay.
Surely she had to be. Phaedra was the strongest person he knew. She'd gotten through everything life had thrown at her, and the Games would be no different. They were separated for now, but that wouldn't last forever. This was just a temporary setback.
He shook his head, trying to stay in the present. Back home, he'd go on walks with his dog to clear his head after a long day of training, but here Justus had to stay alert. There could be a detail he was missing, something that would lead him to Phaedra. He couldn't afford to miss out on anything now.
His mind was fuzzy from the limited sleep he'd gotten. It was as if he couldn't get his mind to settle down. There was this static noise that persisted every time he managed to get close, and instead of sleeping he'd spend hours thinking about everything - possible plans for the future, why Alila chose to stick around with him, things he wanted to remain buried in the past. The darkness of the night refused to let him sink into the clutches of sleep, and now he was little more than a ghost drifting through the halls.
With a sigh, Justus tried to adjust his makeshift sling again. He remembered from the (rather brief and inadequate) first aid training he'd gotten back home that a dislocation could take up to a few weeks to heal enough to be able to safely remove the sling. But Justus didn't have time for something like that. With the way these Games were steadily creeping along, he wasn't sure they'd even make it two full weeks in the Arena.
Scratching his arm again, his fingers brushed over a small, slightly raised scar that made his throat tighten uncomfortably. Justus immediately drew his hand back, instead raising it to stifle another yawn.
"Quit yawning," Alila muttered beside him, just as on edge as he was. The cannon from earlier hadn't done anything to soothe her state of mind either, and they wouldn't have any confirmation on anything until that night. With no sign of Phaedra or Makani, they were both starting to become desperate for any news at all.
"Sorry," he responded out of habit. "Didn't get much sleep."
She laughed a bit at that. "Neither did I. That incessant buzzing kept me awake."
"Buzzing?"
"Yeah? What, did you not notice? It keeps fading in and out, like… like a nest of bees or something. It's more annoying than anything else. It's not like we're in an outdoor arena."
There was a full moment of silence before Justus realized he should probably say something in response. "Uh, yeah. Weird," he managed.
That didn't seem to be enough. Alila glared at Justus, taking a step closer to him. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No? I, uh, don't think so."
She hummed, pausing in the middle of the latest hallway. "Fine, keep your secrets. We're looking in all of these rooms, right?"
"It won't take long," Justus said, though he could sense Alila's rising irritation. "It's just… best to be thorough."
Alila frowned, but she eventually sighed and nodded. "Let's make this fast, then."
Their interactions were frosty at best, but at least each one didn't spark some kind of fight. Justus didn't think he had the mental capacity for that today.
Now that Alila had pointed it out to him, he recognized the noise that had been bothering him wasn't static at all. Buzzing was the right word, but it wasn't the sort of noise he'd attribute to bees. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized why he'd been so on edge.
He knew that sound. Justus could never forget the sound of tracker jackers.
Scorpions under his skin, his very essence being pulled apart, Phaedra forgetting who he was and disappearing forever.
He shook his head, trying to focus back on the room in front of him. He hadn't even realized that he'd stepped in, but Alila was already rifling through the room's contents, barely giving him a glance. She was far more focused than he was, and even now, where he had every reason to keep fighting, he felt the faintest sense of inadequacy rise up yet again. He couldn't even stay focused long enough to look for Phaedra, and that was supposed to be his sole goal at the moment.
Scanning the room, he noticed that this one was on the larger side, and for a room on the second floor, it was actually rather nice. It was clean and well laid out, but that also meant that there were more things lining the walls, and therefore more for them to look through.
Justus wandered around the bed, opening a closet door. He waved a hand in front of his face, coughing, as dust flew out. There was old, dusty clothing hanging in the closet, which he quickly tried to look through to see if anything was behind them. All that did was send more dust flying through the air, so he quickly shut the door and moved on.
There was a mirror across from the bed, which Justus avoided looking at too closely. He could still remember Phaedra's voice coming from the other side of one, so close to him and yet so far…
Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something in his reflection. Justus froze, turning to face the mirror. The reflection wasn't of himself - it was someone else entirely. But his features were familiar, so much so that Justus couldn't bring himself to do much more than stare in horror.
The boy in the mirror mimicked his movements. When Justus stepped back, the boy took another step closer. Justus tried to tear his eyes away - he didn't want to see the boy's familiar copper hair or his stocky build or the cruel glint in his eyes. He recognized this boy, but Justus hadn't expected to see him here in the Arena.
Cardiff.
Justus was paralyzed as he watched the boy wander closer to the mirror, stopping just on the other side. He knew that there was no way Cardiff could physically be here, but that didn't stop him from flinching as Cardiff tilted his head back to laugh. The room stayed deadly silent, but Justus heard the laughter anyway, felt it ring in his skull. He wanted to bring his hands up to his ears, but he couldn't block out something that was only in his head.
Cardiff placed a hand against the glass on his side, and for a terrifying moment, Justus was sure he'd pass straight through. He tried to convince himself that Cardiff was nothing more than a reflection, that he couldn't possibly be in the other room, but Justus couldn't shake the sensation that something was wrong. Cardiff fixed him with a stare, mouth open as if to say something, and-
He couldn't breathe.
The sound of shattering glass rang throughout the room. Justus's chest heaved as he stared down at the shards littering the floor. His movements were sluggish, or maybe his mind was; he didn't recall grabbing his shield to break the glass, and he didn't remember putting it away either. His arm itched again, but this time when he brought his hand up to scratch, he dimly realized that it was covered in blood. It streamed from his knuckles, a few jagged pieces of glass sticking out of his skin.
"What the hell are you doing?" Alila hissed, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to face her. "Are you trying to broadcast our location to everyone else?"
Justus couldn't form an answer for her. His gaze kept going back to the shattered mirror, almost hoping that it could explain for him. But Cardiff was gone again, as if he'd never been there at all.
He tried to summon air into his lungs, but every breath was insufficient. Alila's voice was starting to get muddled in his head. He wanted to close his eyes, to drown it all out, but he knew that even if he did, Cardiff would still be there, waiting for him. Cardiff always seemed to know exactly when he was at his lowest. He'd appear armed with careful jabs that would settle down under Justus's skin, lying in wait. Even now that Cardiff was gone, Justus could still feel the weight of his words dragging him down. They were suffocating him.
He should just give up now. There was no point in finding Phaedra; she was always too good for him anyway. No matter how hard he tried, he'd never be enough for her. He was never enough for anyone, not even his own father. That's why his father had paid his way into Mirador, had paid his way through the tournament. The Games were more important than his own son.
"Justus?"
Based on her tone, Alila had recognized that something was off. She didn't sound as angry; her tone had softened to something kinder.
Somehow, Justus hated that more.
He didn't want pity. Phaedra had only insisted on training him in the first place because he couldn't handle Cardiff's relentless bullying on his own. She'd felt bad for him more than anything. But he so desperately wanted to be able to handle things on his own, to prove himself in some small way.
When would Justus Arculeo ever be enough?
Justus felt as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. More often than not, he felt close to snapping, to pulling apart at the seams. Phaedra had taught him that humans weren't meant to bear that kind of pressure on their own, but she wasn't here anymore.
He was all alone.
Justus finally realized that his hands were trembling. The one that wasn't in a sling had a few shards of glass buried in it, and he watched as blood from his knuckles dripped onto the floor. Dully, he registered pain in his hand, a tingling that wouldn't go away.
A blink, and then suddenly he was on the floor. Justus momentarily panicked, worried that he'd passed out, but Alila was crouched down in front of him, undoing his sling. He recoiled, worried that she was about to turn on him and run, but she just pulled away as soon as she'd gotten it off.
"Better?" she asked, keeping her voice low and measured.
He gave a careful nod, though he was still struggling to take in an adequate amount of air. Justus tried to latch onto any noise, anything to take his mind off of Cardiff's voice in his head, but the damn buzzing was back, and suddenly all he could feel was tracker jacker stings peppering his skin.
"I need you to focus on me," Alila said, bringing something out of her backpack. "Do you want to talk, or do you want me to?"
Luckily, she got the message when all he offered was a mute nod.
"It's a lot quieter in the Arena than it is at my house," she began, carefully picking up his hand. "But I guess that's what happens when you have more siblings than tributes in the Arena."
For every shard of glass she picked out of his skin, she rattled off a new cluster of siblings. The names all blurred together, but he tried to pay attention as best he could. If anything, her voice gave him something to focus on, so he clung tightly to every word.
He heard about Prestige and Gloria, the twins from Two that swung wildly between loving and hating each other and drove the rest of the house insane with their antics. Archimedes and Diocletian were all of seven years old and too inventive for their own good, though the most trouble they usually caused involved setting off traps that would fling their toys across the room, just out of their reach so they had to call in another sibling to get it. Only four of them weren't adopted, and Alila and Zuli were easily the closest out of the original residents of the Perwane household, but that was partially because Peridot and Warner weren't exactly the brightest. They only managed to egg each other on, much to the dismay of Alila and Zuli. Many of the kids were native to One, but there were several from all over Panem, ranging from Nine to Six to Twelve and everywhere in between. Alila was the oldest, she was only a few months older than April, who was more than happy to take on a more motherly role so Alila could focus on training.
Each word of fondness made Justus's own heart long for his sisters, but surely he'd come home to them in time. He knew they were watching him, and hopefully they still believed in him too. He wanted to believe that he'd make it back to them too, but he had to focus on getting back to Phaedra right now. Everything else would come later.
"There," Alila said, tying something around his hand. "Don't go punching any more mirrors."
"I didn't quite mean to," he muttered absently.
Alila managed a soft smile, sitting back. He was relieved when she didn't immediately ask how he was feeling, instead choosing to ask, "Ready to go?"
"Go?" he echoed, tracing the gauze she'd put on his hand. The pain had dulled somewhat, and he was pretty sure the cuts weren't too deep, so hopefully his fighting wouldn't be affected too much when the time came again.
"We've stuck around here for too long," Alila said, already getting up and heading towards her backpack. "Besides, the buzzing stopped. I hope it'll stay that way so we can both get some sleep tonight."
He paused, trying to listen for the buzzing noise, but at some point it must've faded out. He'd been too caught up in listening to her voice to notice.
Alila was already moving about, getting her medical supplies back into her backpack. Justus watched her for a moment before getting to his feet. He wasn't quite sure what to say to her - thank you didn't seem like enough.
"Why'd you help me?" he blurted out, standing in the middle of the room.
Alila didn't turn to face him, but she fiddled with the zipper of her backpack as she searched for an answer. "You help me, I help you," she settled on, giving a firm nod of her head. "It's as simple as that."
It certainly didn't feel quite that simple to Justus, but he didn't feel like arguing, not when he thought they'd reached some kind of unspoken understanding. The weight of the world was still squarely on his shoulders, but he wasn't completely alone in carrying it anymore.
7:39 pm, The Basement.
Her only company was the sound of her own humming.
Makani traced the walls as she walked, feeling the jagged stone beneath her fingers. She was trying to recount the melody she'd hummed back when she and Alila had danced so long ago - was it only a few days? - but she was afraid that even the memory was slipping through her fingers too. She was humming the same part over and over again, without any way to recall how the song had finished. Had it finished? She wasn't sure anymore.
Her other hand was cradled close to her chest still. Any wrong movement would jostle it and make tears spring into her eyes, and Makani was so tired of crying. It was grossly swollen and turning shades of purple as the bruising finally began to set in. She had tried to wrap it up somehow, to see if that would make the pain lessen, but she couldn't manage it with only one hand. Her attempt had only led to her trying not to scream from pain, so she let it be.
It was lonely in these halls. Makani was reminded of the way she'd wander aimlessly as a child when Bastian went off to school, devoid of any companionship for the majority of the day. Her mother was always in the house somewhere, but she was always busy working on some new project and would shoo Makani away whenever she came to ask a question. There was never enough time, not for Makani, so she learned to stop asking.
And now she was alone again. Crush had disappeared once more, but when she hadn't come back in a reasonable amount of time, Makani had set out to try and find her. To try and find anyone.
Makani was scared of being alone.
The lights in this area of the Arena were dim. Makani wondered if it was a good idea to even come down this way. She felt as if she was already lost, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to make it back to where her and Crush had been camping out either. Maybe she'd never find her way to Crush and she'd never find her way back and she'd just wither away in these tunnels, never to be seen again.
She sniffled, and then wanted to curse herself for the tears that welled up in her eyes yet again. She scrubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, trying to get them to go away, but that only egged them on.
Glancing around, she tried to think about where she'd come from, trying to gain some semblance of direction. But her eyes instead landed on something in the distance. The lighting was so bad that she couldn't see what exactly was on the ground, but she figured some kind of landmark was better than nothing. Perhaps it was a sign that someone else had been through here - that perhaps Crush had been through here, and she'd be saved.
Her brief elation was quickly abandoned when she got closer, however. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as she pressed her back against the wall, staring at the stone piece in front of her.
It was similar to the sculpture she'd seen of her own face in the library, back when things were mostly okay and her only concern was getting back to Alila at the end of each day. This sculpture still clearly looked like her, though it was just as unfinished as the last one. This newer creation wasn't quite as rough around the edges - in fact, most of her face was almost disturbingly captured in stone, down to the minute details. But Makani kept looking at where the eyes were supposed to be.
And yet nothing was there at all.
"Eyes are the window of the soul," she remembered Kahlia telling her in a ridiculously posh accent. "You can tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes."
Makani wrapped her good arm around her waist, as if she was trying to collapse in on herself and disappear. She bit her lip worriedly, unable to look away from her own visage in front of her. What could this mean? She hadn't seen any other sculptures since that day, and she'd almost forgotten about them, but someone hadn't. Where had they come from?
Absently, she stuck her hand in her pocket, her fingers closing around nothingness. She tried not to let that get to her.
"Crush?" Makani called, her voice wavering. "Are you there?"
No one answered, but Makani should've expected that by now. Sniffling again, she took a few steps down the hallway, trying to see if she could determine the source of this sculpture. This whole area was made of stone, but she had yet to run across any part where the stone was missing from the walls. Maybe if she kept going, she'd be able to find the source.
Against her better judgment, Makani began to creep forward, sticking close to the wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she went, trying to think through who could've done this. It could be a strange gamemaker trap, but that almost didn't make any sense. They were so oddly placed - one had been set out as if she was supposed to find it, but this one was just discarded. There was no fanfare, nothing to it at all. Plus, if it was some kind of trap, then Makani probably would have been attacked or something when she first approached the sculpture. Perhaps she was still walking towards her doom, but it didn't feel like something the gamemakers had orchestrated.
That only left the others left in the Arena with her. She couldn't imagine it being any of her allies - her old allies. Phaedra and Justus were too focused on each other, and Alila wasn't even allowed to leave the Cornucopia. So it had to be someone else - but who else was left?
Makani tried to run through all the other tributes in her head. Nine and Five had been in an alliance with the little one from Three, and they were close-knit enough that she couldn't fathom why they would do something like this. The other one from Nine and the girl from Eight had been in an alliance with the girl from Five back when she'd seen them and let them go. The boy - Thay? Was that what Alila had called him? - had looked about ready to put a knife through her head if she tried anything, and Eight had barely glanced in her direction. Even back in training, she didn't remember either of them paying any particular attention to her, so chances were they weren't responsible for the statues.
Furrowing her brow, Makani continued down the hallway. She could see something at the very end, an open space that was more brightly lit than the rest of this space. She picked up the pace a bit, trying to remember who she was missing.
There was the girl from Six, who she'd tried to help before she'd gotten herself stuck in this mess. That would almost make sense, but if she remembered correctly, Six had a habit of watching everybody. Alila had once mentioned that the girl was nearly off-putting in that way, but had reassured Makani that it was nothing to worry about. Six had been too busy with her own alliance early on, and while they'd all died in the first few days, Makani wasn't sure that left her with enough time to create all of this.
Makani swallowed hard as she stepped into the room at the end of the tunnel. She squinted against the brighter light, blinking to let her eyes adjust. When they finally did, she almost wished they hadn't.
The room was barely more than a space carved out in the stone. Makani assumed that this alcove had always been there, but there were chunks missing from the walls, likely destabilizing the entire foundation. It appeared to be a workroom of some kind, as there were pieces of paper scattered around the entire floor, as well as a few different chisels and hammers. When she bent down to get a better look at the scraps of paper, she immediately recoiled, recognizing her own face once again. Each one was a different shot of her, capturing different emotions that she didn't even remember.
But the centerpiece caught her eye the most.
If the sculptures she'd found were set out because they were unfinished, then Makani could only assume they were practice for the life-sized piece she saw right before her. Everything up until the face had been finished, a terrifyingly accurate copy of her own body. This sculpture held the same rough, jagged features as the others, but they were beginning to be smoothed out some, as if whoever was doing this wanted this sculpture in particular to be more flawless than the others.
She stepped towards the creation, but she nearly tripped over something on the floor. It rolled to the side as she caught herself, and she looked down to see what it was.
A chisel.
Something prickled at the edge of her mind, and Makani tried desperately to figure out what had been bothering her from the start. She'd seen this before, it was almost familiar, and yet…
Crush had gotten a chisel from the Cornucopia. That's what she had grabbed when Makani let her go.
Crush, who had met her before the parade. Crush, who had danced with her at the party. Crush who had gone to where she'd been stationed at the Cornucopia, Crush who had miraculously managed to be there when Six had attacked her, Crush who had always been just out of sight but always right there…
"Oh my god," Makani whispered faintly.
Her stomach turned violently, and Makani felt bile begin to rise up in her throat, but she forced it down. She had to get out of here, had to find a way back to… back to anywhere. Makani didn't care where she ended up as long as she got out of this room.
But even before she turned around, Makani already knew she was no longer alone.
Now that Crush saw her creation and Makani in the same room, she couldn't help but be underwhelmed by what she'd done so far. Just a few minutes ago, when she'd left in search of Makani, she'd thought she was at least close to the perfection she so desperately craved, but now she recognized that that wasn't the case at all. If anything, she'd never been farther.
Crush had never desired to possess anything as strongly as she did in this moment. She had always tried to separate herself from Makani, to make it easier for Crush to observe and craft, but she couldn't resist the siren's call. It was an allure like nothing she'd ever felt before. She was brought back again and again, hoping to hear another word or story that she could use to power her craft. She wanted to capture everything - every smile, every tear, every laugh.
But her stone couldn't possibly compare to the flesh and blood beside it. Her meticulous gaze raked over both figures, and Crush could point out a million ways in which her creation was vastly inferior to the real Makani. Even the slightest difference set off warning bells in her head, and Crush longed to go back to work despite the weariness that had sank into her bones.
She'd worked on this tirelessly, almost every hour of the day. It was like a feverish dream - sometimes she'd wake up and not even remember falling asleep. All she knew was that she was possessed by the image in her own head of what her vision could be, and she was working herself past the point of exhaustion trying to reach it. But she wouldn't - no, couldn't give up. If her passion ceased to define her, then she'd become nothing more than a ghost.
And oh, how she could feel the eyes of her mother on her now, watching, waiting for that fatal mistake. Crush just had to make one and it would all come crashing down.
If she continued to miss perfection, then she'd fall into mediocrity.
"Crush?"
Makani's quiet voice caught her attention once more. Crush tilted her head to the side, examining the girl again. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, and she was standing close to the wall, though she kept eyeing the open space behind Crush. She looked almost nervous, but that would be ridiculous. What did she have to fear?
"Where did you come from?" Makani asked once she knew Crush had no intention of responding.
"I heard you calling my name."
Makani nodded slowly at that, biting her lower lip as she fidgeted in place. Crush had heard her name echoing down the hall and dropped everything to get back to where Makani was supposed to be, taking a shortcut, but their space was empty when she got back. By the time she'd managed to retrace her steps, Makani had gotten back here.
"What… what is all this?"
And though it was nowhere near good enough, not even close, Crush felt the question bubble up in her chest anyway. "Do you like it?"
The other girl hesitated, her mouth twisting into an expression Crush didn't recognize. She silently memorized it and filed it away for later.
"I don't think I understand."
Makani looked back to her, hopeful for some kind of answer, but Crush didn't even know where to begin. There were too many things to say, too many reasons that she couldn't possibly say out loud.
You're perfect and everything I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you. I want you to be mine and no one else's.
There were a million things on her mind, but when Crush opened her mouth, none of it came out. Her art tended to reflect what was on her mind, and if Makani didn't understand that, then how was she to express her feelings?
Every so slowly, Crush stepped into the room. Makani's eyes widened, darting around as if looking for something, but she didn't move a muscle. Crush took that as a good sign, approaching her as if she'd run off with one wrong move.
"They're for you," Crush explained.
Makani was soon within arms reach of her, but she kept her gaze firmly on the sculpture. "They're… beautiful."
"Of course they are," Crush whispered, one trembling hand reaching out to brush away a single tear from Makani's cheek. "You're a masterpiece."
She didn't understand why the other girl flinched.
Her passions and desires were clawing so fiercely at her insides that Crush felt that she might be torn apart any minute now. Makani was here, right in front of her, flesh and blood and bone and light and life in a way no one ever had been before. All of her sculptures back home paled in comparison to this, right here, and Crush knew that she'd never be able to go back. She was teetering on a precipice, and once she fell, there would be nothing but the darkness below.
Mine. Forever.
And yet a deeper part of her was stirring, struggling to make its way back up to the surface. Crush had managed to stifle it, had run herself ragged after her encounter with Five in order to throw herself into her passions, but now it was back. Crush looked at Makani and recognized that the look in her eyes wasn't the adoration she'd expected to be reflected back at her. No, instead it was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
And it made Crush angry.
Makani didn't understand what was happening. She still struggled to make sense of everything that lay before her. She could see that it was all of her, that it was all for her, but she didn't understand why.
Somewhere along the way, had she made a grave mistake?
Her gaze again went to the walls of the room, where entire chunks had been taken out. There was the slightest tremble in the room, and another piece slowly crumbled away from the wall. She wondered if Crush even realized the state of the room, and she assumed the answer was no. Makani could still feel Crush's gaze boring into her, as if searching for an answer that Makani didn't know how to give.
"We should go," she suggested lightly, taking a step back. "We can talk about thi-"
"No," Crush insisted, moving towards her again. Her voice was suddenly louder, agitated, but Makani didn't know what had suddenly set her off. "It has to be perfect. You have to be here for this. I can't let this die!"
Crush's voice was impassioned; she almost seemed desperate somehow as she towered over Makani. She shrank away, trying to formulate an escape plan. She wished that someone else was here - Alila, Bastian, even Phaedra or Justus. She'd even take being alone again. Anything to get her away from here.
The walls trembled again.
Makani's eyes widened as a bit of dust floated through the air around her. She could buy that it was just an Arena mechanic, but that didn't change the fact that she felt close to suffocating. It was all too much.
She had to get out of here.
"I'll help," she blurted out, hoping that at least Crush would back away, would lower her guard just enough. "Whatever you want."
Makani desperately hoped that she kept the tremble out of her voice, that she looked slightly less terrified than before, but she didn't know if she succeeded. If Six could look at her and instantly know everything about her, then Crush could see through her. She wondered how long Crush had been watching her every move. Was this planned from the beginning? Was she doomed from the start?
Did she never even have a chance?
"Liar," Crush breathed, and Makani's entire world fell apart.
The next tremble held the force of a shockwave, powerful enough to send Makani to her knees. Shards of stone cut into the skin of her knees, and she cried out as she accidentally caught herself with her broken hand. Above her, Crush was frozen in place, looking around the room as if she couldn't fathom what was happening.
A piece of the ceiling broke off, crashing to the floor mere inches from Makani's hand. She scrambled away, clinging to the wall for support as she pulled herself up. Her legs trembled beneath her, and she hardly thought she had the strength to walk over to the doorway. The room shook again, each time getting more powerful than the last, and Makani realized with horrible clarity that she was going to die here.
She lunged forward to grab Crush's wrist, hoping to shake the other girl out of her stupor. Makani tried to drag her towards the opening, but she was as steady as the stone they were surrounded by.
"I can't leave it," Crush was muttering to herself, staring at the sculpture. "Not after everything."
"Please," Makani all but begged. "We have to go!"
She let herself be led towards the doorway, but she stopped short, turning back to grab her chisel and hammer. Makani went to take the last few steps on her own, but something smashed into the side of her head, and she was sent to the ground again.
Makani pressed the side of her head, whimpering as her hand came away red with blood. Her heart beat in her chest, measuring her steadily increasing panic. Part of her wanted to give up now, to accept that this was the end of Makani Allard, but she couldn't. She wanted to go back home, to see her brother again. She couldn't let it end like this.
She swayed as she got back to her feet, trying to regain her bearings. Her head was sticky with blood, and she felt as if it had already gotten in one eye. Was she already dying? Was there a point in continuing to fight for her life?
That's when it occurred to Makani. Only one of them was supposed to make it out of here alive.
And as she glanced at Crush, desperately scooping up pieces of paper from the floor, Makani knew what she had to do.
With all the force she could muster, Makani rammed her shoulder into Crush's side. The shocking blow sent the girl off balance enough that she stumbled just outside the entrance. Makani tumbled to the floor, and for a few blissful seconds she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could make it too.
The view on the other side was blue skies and an open sea. Makani could smell the ocean breeze, heard laughter and the sound of waves crashing against the shore.
She was almost home.
And then she felt nothing at all.
When the dust settled, Crush still wasn't sure what had happened.
She'd gotten out of the room, yes, but how? She'd been so focused on trying to recover her magnum opus that everything else had slipped out of her mind entirely.
Carefully, she got to her feet, chisel in hand. She surveyed the area, looking over the rocks that now fully blocked the room they'd once been in. She furrowed her brow, looking around her for any sign of Makani, and that's when it hit.
No.
Not again.
Crush let out a screech, throwing herself at the wall in front of her. Stones bit into her hands, cut through the callouses, but she kept trying to dig her way into the room. She hadn't heard a cannon, not yet, and therefore Makani had to be in there somewhere. She'd been so focused on her magnum opus that she'd forgotten her inspirational muse entirely.
But with every stone she managed to throw aside, another piece of Makani fell out of her mind. What was the exact shade of her hair? What was the shape of her eyes? What were the little details that had made her perfect in Crush's eyes?
She had to find out.
Crush began desperately clawing at the stones, tearing the skin on her hands as she did. It felt like Crush wasn't making any progress at all, but her desperation fueled her to keep going. If her faceless mother still lay in the stones somewhere, then Makani had to be as well.
Boom.
She froze.
"Makani!" she yelled, beating her hands against the stones. "Makani, come out!"
What did her voice sound like? What color were her eyes? How did she smile? What did her hands feel like when they danced?
It didn't make any sense. Crush had chased her passions to the ends of the earth, had done everything that her cowardly father hadn't, but she'd ended up here anyway with nothing to show for herself.
Her bleeding hands left marks on the rocks as she continued to tear them away, but her pace was beginning to slow. Makani was gone, just like her mother. Dead, just like her mother. And now Crush couldn't remember either of them.
She had to reclaim that which she had lost.
No matter the cost.
8:13 pm, The Control Center.
Estelle would never forget the anguished cry that left Bastian's mouth as Makani's cannon went off.
Everyone in the room was staring at the large screen displaying Crush in front of the crumbled room, determinedly avoiding looking at Bastian. Estelle herself was staring down at her nails, picking at them and trying not to cry. She knew just as much as Bastian did that if things went sour for Makani, he'd have no way to help her. There simply wasn't enough sponsorship money. Not this late in the Games, and not for someone that had purposefully avoided every fight she'd come across.
The other mentors were so silent that Estelle could hear every click of the keys as he desperately searched for something - anything - that would bring his sister back, but the cannon had already fired.
The minutes crept on.
Estelle looked up at her own monitor, frowning to herself as she saw the look on Alila's face. She could tell that after two cannons, Alila was going to work herself up over what possibly could've happened. But today there would be no good news to soothe her nerves.
She slowly got to her feet, heading towards Bastian a few chairs down. He was still feverishly typing away, as if the right combination of words would magically bring Makani back. Estelle hesitated with her hand outstretched, afraid of what would happen when she touched him, but she hated seeing him like this.
But before she could interrupt him, he swore loudly and stood up, his chair crashing backwards onto the floor. Surprised, Estelle took a quick step back to avoid getting hit.
He didn't notice she was standing there at all. Bastian just raked a hand through his hair, chest heaving, as if waiting for someone to give him some kind of direction. He looked lost, and Estelle's heart panged as she recognized the look.
Makani had been wearing a similar expression before she died.
"Bastian," she started, but he was gone before she could get any more words out. He slipped out the door, disappearing to… well, Estelle wasn't sure. But she had to find him.
Glancing around the room again, she noticed that most of the other mentors were still pointedly looking away from Bastian's chair. She'd ask Asteria to take over for her for a few, but like the others whose kids had died, Asteria had been kicked out of the room days before and had since retired to their floor to watch Justus. Really, there weren't any mentors to spare, not this late in the game; now that it was top eight, just a battered few remained.
"I'll watch her."
Estelle stiffened at Callan's voice, but when she turned to look at him, he appeared completely sincere. His voice was solemn, and he refused to make eye contact, but he nodded for her and repeated his words. "I'll watch her. They're still allied, after all."
She looked up to the screen he was positioned in front of, where Justus looked just as anxious as Alila did. Had this happened a couple of days prior, they'd have been at each other's throats from the stress of the cannons. But somehow, today, they were content to be in silence.
"Fine," Estelle muttered, reluctantly accepting his offer. She paused before adding a quiet, "Thank you."
"Take as long as you need."
As she ran towards the elevator, Estelle tried to determine where he'd gone. In the past, when they'd lost their first kids, they'd huddled in the corner of the roof together in the hopes that things would get better. It never did, but at least company had dulled the ache in her chest. It was starting to become a tradition for them, but given the circumstances, Estelle couldn't blame Bastian if he ran somewhere else.
On a whim, she jabbed the button for the fourth floor as she got in. Estelle remembered that the other Four mentor, Faye, had been pretty checked out from the start, so it was likely that the floor was still empty. There was every chance that he'd gone back to the last place his sister had been before the Games even started.
"Bastian?" she tentatively called as she stepped into the silent apartment. "Bastian, are you here?"
She didn't let the lack of response deter her, instead making a beeline for the rooms. As Estelle turned the corner, she nearly tripped over something, barely catching herself with a hand against the wall.
Bastian was sitting outside the first door, his eyes were closed as if he was sleeping. His head was leaning back against the door, and he'd tucked his knees up to his chest. There were silent tears streaming down his face, as if he was drowning in his own grief.
Silently, Estelle sank down onto the floor beside him. She mimicked his positioning, shuffling just enough that he noticed she was there. Estelle focused her gaze firmly on the floor as she placed a comforting hand on his back. Usually, they were good at supporting each other through these kinds of situations, but Estelle didn't even know how to begin.
What could she say to her friend that had just lost everything?
"Do you think she hated me?"
Her eyes instantly welled up with tears, and Estelle shook her head firmly before remembering that Bastian wasn't looking at her. "Not at all."
"I couldn't do anything," he whispered, hands trembling. "All I could do was watch her heart monitor and wait for it to stop."
He left out the obvious fact, the one they both knew. It had taken minutes. Frantic minutes in which both Bastian and Crush had tried everything in their power to reach her But it was a doomed mission from the start.
"I know," Estelle responded. She'd only been able to watch in mute horror, the same as everyone else. Being a mentor always felt incredibly limiting when someone you truly cared about was on the line.
"I failed her," Bastian choked out, hands clenching into fists. "I should've tried harder to reach her. There had to be- there had to be some way to avoid this."
"You did everything you could." Estelle tried to reassure him, placing one of her hands on his. Her heart shattered as she felt the way he trembled under her touch. "I'm sure she knew-"
"How am I supposed to go back home?" Bastian blurted out, leaning closer to her out of habit. Estelle could feel his shoulders shaking from the force of his sobs that he kept trying to force back, still attempting to get the words out. "How do I look at our parents again? Her friends? I can't-"
He cut himself off sharply, muttering something unintelligible. When Estelle listened more closely, she registered that he was saying, "I miss her."
There was nothing she could really say. Nothing would ease the ache. All she could offer was her presence and a few words here and there in the hopes that she could somehow make a difference.
I know. I'm here. I'm sorry.
Estelle repeated them again and again until she was crying softly too, leaning her head against his shoulder. The only thing she could offer was her presence. Eventually, he fell asleep against the door, the first bit of rest he'd gotten in days. She wished that he could wake up to learn that it was only a dream, but the next morning would bring his new reality with it.
A nightmare would be kinder than this.
10. Imperia Bachmann, d6f. Knife to the chest.
Imperia Bachmann would not be just another number in the Games.
9. Makani Allard, d4f. Crushed under rocks.
Once upon a time, where the sand met the sea, there lived a girl that would do anything for the people she loved.
Kills:
Thay Yukimura: II
Shai Kingston: II
Crush Xing: II
Kano Arledge: II
Phaedra Nikostratos: I
Alila Perwane: I
Lilith Beherit: I
Justus Arculeo: I
Nash Prior: I
Jack Carmichael: I
Arena: II