Please be advised that a trigger warning is in effect for discussion of attempted suicide in the first section of this chapter. If you would like a summary of this section, please reach out through PM and I would be happy to provide you one.

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Mallen's gaze is intrusive and piercing. I keep my eyes locked on my bowl as she twirls her spoon, turning her porridge over in heavy layers. As soon as I look up I know she'll act distracted again, glancing into the corner where the television hums, indicating the Ten boy is back on the move, or to her father, fixing bacon on the stove. I sip orange juice from a faded mug and touch my spoon to my lips.

Hot. Not terrible, but too hot to taste. I stir my porridge more, coaxing steam out of its depths, as Mallen's dad slips two slimy pieces of bacon onto my plate. My stomach curls at the grease oozing off, dark and fatty. But hunger wins out, and I take a bite.

It's good. Better than it should be. "Thank you," I mumble.

He smiles, a man of few words. Fine by me— I'm not really in the mood for talking. When he's left, though, Mallen leans forward. "You're sure you're—"

"Mallen."

"Scout." She matches my tone.

"Thank you for looking out for me. But I can't— I don't— whatever. It caught me off guard."

"He'll be okay. He had to have planned something like that—"

"Mallen. I really don't want to talk about it." Even thinking about what Elias did makes me lightheaded. I take another sip of juice and try to steady my stomach.

"Okay," she gives in.

Being at the Atheneum isn't as easy, where predictably, everyone wants to talk about it. I'm relieved when we're finally shuttled back into side rooms so the conversation's at least more controlled, although it's not as technically straightforward as our first meeting after the start of the Games.

"We can't really know how good or bad of a move it was until we can look at it in its full context," Kova finally concludes. "It depends on how Asherah takes it, how much the others believe it."

"And Elias?" Pike asks, grinning. "How psychotic is he for actually stabbing himself?"

Right after he'd killed Vienna, Elias had cut into his own skin, drawing deep gashes along his arms, chest, collarbone, abdomen. His official, wild-eyed explanation as he stumbled back to Asherah was this: Seven had cut down Vienna before either of the two could react. In the time it took Elias to fight her off to where she eventually fled, Vienna had bled out and Elias had been maimed.

"You're a fucking pathetic excuse for a volunteer," Asherah had snapped, but she let him help her back to camp on her unstable foot. Once she'd calmed down, she'd apologized. But it's heavily debated, here and in the Capitol, whether or not she fully believed him.

The rest of camp hadn't taken it well, namely Regis, but that's pretty standard for district partners who have just found out their ally was slaughtered by an outer-district kid.

"Same situation," Kova says. "As far as thinking on his feet goes, it's brilliant. If he dies from infection, he's an idiot who threw. Guess we'll see."

"That's still a pretty convenient way for Kova to say I have no fucking clue," Mallen comments the next day, as we come up from the Vaults. My back and legs are already sore from the lift to the point where the fatigue from staying up the last two nights seems to be sinking into my spine. No one died, but Cavara had gone out hunting with Asherah and Regis and the gnawing in my stomach, knowing just above them, at any point, were great winged hawks, talons engineered to be even more barbed and deadly than normal, kept me from falling asleep until just after four, when Cavara and Elias were safe back inside the horn. "It's not worth going over unless there's something to actually be learned."

"I mean, you can't plan for everything," I say. "They're just trying to help."

"Thanks, Scout. I'll make sure to come to your sessions next year when you're lecturing us all on the proper way to pretend you didn't just murder your ally."

Next year. The stress rebounds, sudden and suffocating. "You'd better," I say, trying to shake it off. "You're my demo."

Once I've showered and said goodbye to Mallen, I stop back in the training room. There's no real reason for it besides that the only other place to go right now is home, and it's too early for that. Maybe I'll talk to Aspra, see what she thinks of the stunt Elias pulled— the way she reacted to Cavara volunteering was amusing enough. But Aspra's not in. It's Rhodes who waves in the midst of kicking himself from either side of the room to the other in Aspra's rolling chair.

"Hard at work, I see," I say.

"I always am."

The training room's empty. Maybe there were kids in here earlier getting basic treatment for something chronic, but with most of the actual weapons training paused in favor of paying attention to the Games, there's far less traffic in Aspra's office. I prop myself up on one of the empty benches, swinging my feet against the base of the table.

"Where's Aspra?" I ask.

Rhodes lets his chair slow to a stop. "She's taking a few days off, actually. She's not doing well."

I was expecting her to be out for a meeting, not this. "What do you mean? I mean, is she alright?"

"Sort of. It's just been heavy around here, given… everything." He sighs. "The news about Claudia… she took it pretty hard."

"We don't even know what happened to Claudia," I say. "It could have been—" But I see it in his face. "You know. Wait, why is Aspra involved?"

Rhodes glances at the door. It's just the two of us, but he's cautious. "I can't. I can't say."

I'm curious, though, more than I should be. "You don't need to say it. But is Aspra in trouble?"

He considers. There's distant conversation from down the hall, but nobody's coming in who'll hear him. "You can't tell anyone."

"I won't. I wouldn't."

"I'm serious," he says. "I trust you, Scout. This can't get out. Like— I know, I know eventually the whole place will know, but I can't be responsible for that. Not when Claudia— her whole family— deserves privacy. Promise me you won't say anything."

"Promise," I say, caught off-guard by his sobriety.

Rhodes looks at his hands, picking at the worn skin under the base of his fingers. "We're still trying to figure out the exact details, but she overdosed the morning of the Reaping." My mouth opens in disbelief. "Right before the Reaping, she took a bunch of painkillers, hoping to…"

"No way," I breathe, my heart dropping.

He rubs his eyes. "Yeah."

"Do you think—" I consider, trying to be delicate with my words. "I mean, how— why—"

I'm at a loss for words. I thought I'd worked through every possibility— skating delicately around the idea that Cavara had had anything nefarious to do with it. Never did I consider that Claudia might have done something to herself.

"That's awful," I say finally. "Why would she… I mean, did she just change her mind about volunteering? Isn't there a better way around it than that?"

"She'd sworn herself to the Games at that point. For her, at least, she must have seen that as her only way out. Which is absolutely horrible."

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry. That lightheaded feeling from this morning is creeping back and I focus on breathing deeply into my chest. "It is."

"It's lucky she survived, for her sake. But obviously it's not been easy around here. Aspra's been… well, she's gone, obviously. She won't say much about it, but it's eating her alive."

"Because she probably knew her pretty well."

Rhodes pauses.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's… I mean, where do you think Claudia got the painkillers?"

A chill runs through my arms. "Oh, no…"

"Not on purpose. She and Elias had access to this room that morning. Aspra couldn't have planned it. But Claudia knew where to get them all the same."

"So they think…"

"Yeah," he says. "That there's a possibility Aspra somehow gave her the idea for it. And that, coupled with how Valerius and Aspra have gotten along over the last couple of years— well, you know Aspra's always disagreed with the way Valerius runs this place. She's always thought it was too dangerous. He's always thought her preferences would turn you all soft. Neither ever wants to give in."

"I've seen them arguing a few times," I say.

Rhodes nods. "Aspra's never been afraid to be vocal about how much she hates the extent to which training abuses you guys. And I think that's starting to catch up to her."

"Because of Claudia? She didn't know."

"Doesn't matter. Not to Valerius. Not when Aspra's putting his volunteer system at risk."

I tug at the hem of my shirt, loosening and releasing a frayed thread at its base. "So what's happening to her?"

"Nothing, most likely," Rhodes says, kicking his chair back so it begins to roll. "Thankfully. I mean, she can stand up for herself against Valerius. Has for years. But they're not going to get rid of her or anything like that. Not when she practically holds this place together."

"Good." The thought of Aspra— good, selfless, dedicated to protecting us— being punished for something she never intended is too cruel to bear. I still remember how much care she put into making sure I was fully healed before I got back to training last year when I injured my back. It's the type of consideration I haven't gotten much of around here, and I don't expect I'll ever forget it. "Well, if you see her, tell her I said hello. Just— I just figured I'd come by, see what's happening."

"Will do," he says. "Feel free to come back whenever you need— I know it's busy around here, but we'll figure something out."

"Yeah, yeah. Be careful on that chair," I say, as I go.

From behind me, there's the skittering of sticking wheels, rough and rickety along the tiles. "Only if I feel like it."

Day 9, on a surface level, dawns slow and calm. But there's an underlying tension in the Career pack that maintains through the afternoon, the arena cannons having been silent since Vienna's death two days prior. Tasman returns from a hunt with a handful of slaughtered bird mutts, all intact but for their claws removed.

"We need to kill tonight," he says. "I swear. We're not coming back until I've heard cannons."

Cas is around the same time I get to the Atheneum after classes. He offers to spar, and I take him up on it for nothing other than the fact if I keep sitting around waiting for Elias and Cavara to die, I'm going to drive myself even crazier.

It's easy work, just enough to work some of the soreness out of my muscles. He's a comfortable partner, neither too daunting nor the type to take it easy on me. We take a break for water and I sprawl out on the ground, first stretching my back out, then simply rolling over on my stomach.

"Tired?"

"Haven't been sleeping," I say. "The Games have been stressing me out."

"Understood. You know what I think about a lot, regarding that?" Cas nods towards a few of the Seventeens. "The Seventeens and Eighteens, you know, the ones who live here. Do you think they ever sleep?"

"Definitely not," I say.

"How can you? You're in the same room as however many kids who know about fifty different ways to kill you."

"I was thinking more in terms of— I bet Akello wakes them up in the morning, banging pots or something. Just to be a dick."

"Pots? Try a gun."

"You have three seconds to get up when he comes in before he starts throwing knives at you."

"He actually sets the bunks on fire."

I laugh, rolling over on my side. "You think they give them beds?"

"Maybe not. It's not Games-like."

"Instead of a pillow, you get a rock with your name on it."

"Only your last name, though."

"And, like, a tarp. Or a handful of leaves from outside."

"No, no. You have to, like, pay for a toothbrush with sponsor points. Except the only way to earn points is from killing stray dogs."

"Cas," I whine. "Come on. You had to ruin it."

"You realize how screwed up that is, right?" he says. "You'd kill a kid from Eight, no problem. But dogs are off the table."

"Don't make me think about it," I say, sitting back up, propping my hands behind me. "Why are you even thinking about the bunks, anyways? That's still a year off."

"Oh," Cas says. He spins the dulled end of his sparring sword along the mats, twisting it like a top. "Avari was just saying something about Claudia earlier. How there's no way she's coming back, so there's an open bunk, basically. But she can't move in, her parents don't want her to."

"Oh," I say. I can't remember the last time I actually knew what was going on with Avari. "Well, she has next year, probably."

Cas takes another long sip of his water. Sweat clings to his neck, soft like fingerprints. "Are you guys okay?"

"Probably. Who knows," I say truthfully. "Just doing different things these days. You ready to go again?"

He sets up across from me, body bowed in preparation. "I don't know. I've just missed you."

I feel my cheeks flush. I parry his first few swings, but I'm distracted. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says. "I know you've had your own things going on, but this year— it's just felt different."

"It has."

"It's not your fault," he says quickly. "I've been distant, too. I think we all have. Just, it's nothing against you."

"No, I know," I say.

"Okay. Good." He grimaces, blocking my next lunge. "You know, I'm sticking around for a while after this to stay and watch more of the Games. If you want to come."

Right. The Games. His invite is so effortless, it's almost easy to forget what's at stake. Easier still to lose myself in how surprised and, honestly, flattered I am. "Yeah," I say. "Sure. Just let me shower after this. Main room?"

"That's where I've been watching," he says. "Should be open."

Forty minutes later, I'm back in the viewing room where we watched the Bloodbath. There's chairs along the edge and I ease down next to Cas, my hair still dripping down my back.

"What did I miss?" I say.

"Cavara and Regis are out hunting. So are Asherah and Elias. Tasman's waiting at camp. They haven't caught anyone yet, but—" The camera pans to show just how little distance is between the Eleven girl and Asherah and Elias. "Yeah. They're close."

I hug my legs to my chest, locking my fingers around my shins. Elias and Asherah creep forward, following Eleven's markings where they're faint in the dust. They're quiet, though. On the next screen, Cavara and Regis can afford to be louder— they're capable of chasing down anyone getting in their way. But with Asherah's ankle and Elias' self-inflicted gashes still sore and vulnerable, they're forced to move slowly, be less presumptuous in their tracking.

"Cas," I say.

"Hm?"

"Do you think Asherah really buys it? About Vienna?"

"I have no idea," he admits. "If she didn't, I think she would have tried to kill him already."

"Maybe," I say. My jaw is tense as Elias and Asherah close the gap on Eleven. Asherah's been hard to get a good read on, truthfully. She's hot and cold with Cavara— all buddy-buddy on the first day, but suddenly stoic, distant on day two. Sometimes they're on watch together and they'll talk like friends. Other times she's away from her, her back turned— trusting her just enough to leave herself exposed, but not enough to speak.

I don't know what she thinks of Elias, either. It makes me nervous. Lethal tributes are one thing, but it's when they're unpredictable that they become a problem.

There's a shout onscreen. Asherah has spotted Eleven, moving carefully across the expanse with very little cover to hide her.

"You think we can just chase her down from here?"

"Not sure," Asherah says. "Might want to get an arrow in her first."

"Don't kill her, yet. I said I was due."

"I know," she says, drawing her bow back. It's not her primary weapon, but she's dangerous, consistent all the same. "I'm just slowing her down."

Her arrow goes hissing across the landscape, notching itself in Eleven's upper leg. Eleven starts violently, stumbling reflexively. She doesn't bother to turn, just starts running, holding her pack up to protect her neck, her shoulders, her head.

But she's slow. Fatigue and hunger have not been kind to her, not after nine days in the arena. She's got some sort of infection in her arm, too, bites of some sort, scratches from those vicious hawks that descended upon her a few days back, not to mention the arrow piercing her thigh. Even with her ankle wrapped and rigid, Asherah catches up to her just as Elias strikes his sword along Eleven's back, slitting her shirt and cutting deep into her skin.

Eleven gasps out, the pain sharp and sudden. Elias pushes her to her knees. She falls forward, hardly able to breathe from the shock of his cut.

He rolls her onto her back, examining her face, the cuts and bruises marring her skin. It's not enough, he must think. He stows his sword under his knee as he kneels over her, drawing an array of knives from his pack.

Cadets are pressing into the room now— someone must have gone out and told them what was happening here, because they arrive in threes and fours, viciously curious. Khione slips in, dropping down on the floor next to me and Cas. Avari comes in behind him, keeping to herself on the opposite wall— she always did like to watch these things alone.

Eleven is breathing quickly, terror set into her face, rendering her all but speechless. "Please," she begs as Elias brings his first knife towards her right arm. "Please, ple—"

And then she screams as the blade cleaves through layers of skin, muscle fibers, blood coursing down her arm in thick, dark rivulets. His second knife drives right between her ribs and she kicks out, sobs savage and agonized.

"Kill me," she begs. "Kill me, kill me—"

He grabs her jaw and slams her skull back against the rocks. Her eyes unfocus, stunned with the hit.

"Pl—ple—please," she mumbles vacantly.

"Hold her head," Elias says. Asherah pauses but obliges, not that Eleven has much fight to offer back.

Elias grips for the bottom of Eleven's mouth and wrenches it open. Then he's digging a third glinting blade along the base of her mouth. It's clumsy and brutish, blood filling Eleven's mouth until she gags and chokes, trying to thrash against the piercing violence of Elias' knives. She wails, the sound thick and gurgling and punctuated by the carving of his blade along her tongue.

When he draws the blade out with a red-stained flap of muscle, cleaved and shredded, Eleven gasps for breath, tears cutting lines down her dust-stained face. I'm silent even as a groan rises up from somewhere behind me, someone sickened by her severed tongue.

"Enough screaming, I think," Elias says. "This goes a lot more easily if you stay quiet, trust me." He twists the blade in her rib cage until her back curls, the pain unbearable.

"Elias," Asherah says quietly. "That's enough. Stop."

Eleven groans, trying to force her agony down. Her eyes are red but not vacant; she's far too conscious for this. Too conscious not to experience her full torture at Elias' hands.

"Why?" he says, a ragged laugh curling out of his throat, slick as smoke. "She has to die. Her or us."

"Not like this," Asherah says.

"You have no idea," he says. He slides the tip of his knife into the crook of Eleven's elbow and draws it down. Asherah grimaces but doesn't move from where she holds Eleven's head down, even as the girl whimpers, her mouth too bloody and what's left of her tongue too mutilated to scream. "This is what they want. Day fucking nine, Asherah. We've still got half the field to go. Unless you want them to start killing us from the Capitol, you entertain."

He twists the knife into the base of Eleven's hand, blood spraying up from the severed arteries along her forearm. She cries again, that horrible choking groan that can't really be called a scream without her tongue to allow it. "Her or us, Asherah. Your choice. Hold fucking still!"

The Eleven girl's pulled her arm in, a reflexive means to protect it. In an instant, Elias grips her wrist and drives the knife through again, sawing to sever her hand fully.

She sobs, the sound deep and hollow. Her face is pallid, sweat drenching her cheeks amidst the spatters of gore, already dried on her skin.

And then, without warning, her sobs cut off. Asherah draws the knife out of Eleven's chest as quickly as she plunged it down.

A cannon fires.

"Enough," Asherah snarls.

Elias' eyes are sunken, his features unforgiving. Asherah climbs to her feet and he trails her, his stare rigid, unbreaking.

"I wasn't done—"

"I was."

"You don't get to decide when I'm done with her."

"Well," Asherah says, "I just did. Grab her stuff and let's leave her."

But that's not what Elias wants. Still knelt down next to the Eleven girl, he curls his blade into the still skin of her throat, shredding the skin in abrupt, broken flaps.

"Elias—"

"I'm not done!"

"She's already dead, Elias!"

"That's not the— oh, fuck, Asherah! You don't fucking know!"

"I do know," she says, teeth all but bared. "Your point's been made. Get away from the body."

She watches him breathe, strained, her shoulders frozen in forced composure. There's something close to fear in her face— at this point, Elias is dangerous, as unpredictable as she is.

She's met her match.

Elias cranes his neck to look up at her. "One minute."

"No."

"I just want—"

"Stop."

"Who are you to control me?" Cruelty flares in his eyes and his fingers clench. "It was my kill. You took that from me. Now you want to take this, too—"

"It's excessive—"

"It's what they want!" Elias screams. "How many fucking times do I have to say it? Considering we've done fuck-all since day two it's a fucking miracle they haven't sicced a whole army of mutts on us!"

"So, what? Mutilating her corpse is going to prevent that?"

"It's more than you've done," he says coldly.

Asherah's eyes narrow. Elias is still, his knife loose but still balanced in his palm. Asherah watches him, then glances back at Eleven, whose neck is partially flayed.

"You do that to Vienna, too?"

Elias starts. "Vienna?"

"When you killed her. Did you cut her up, too?"

"I didn't—"

"I didn't want to say anything," Asherah says, her voice picking up. "Because there were so many of us left. Thought calling you out in front of everyone was a bit too incendiary until we at least hit top ten. But maybe it's what you deserved before you brutalized Eleven."

"I didn't kill Vienna," Elias says. "Seven got us both. I swear on this whole fucking country—"

"I wouldn't," Asherah says. "God, you really are an idiot. Those fucking cuts she gave you? No way she just missed about every major artery."

Elias scoffs. "You really don't believe me."

"I don't believe a bold-faced liar, no. I considered it when you were helping me back. Figured, hey, if he'd just killed Vienna, what's stopping him from killing me, too? And you didn't." Asherah pauses, laughing dryly. "But then I thought about it more, and thought you'd be even stupider to do that. Because you'd either be killed on sight coming back, or be caught on your own for the rest of the Games. And once they saw our faces in the sky, me and Vienna, no way Tasman and Regis wouldn't connect it to you and immediately slit Cavara's throat before she pulled some shit on them, too. You only kept me alive to save your and your District partner's asses. Which, given the circumstances, is about all you could have asked for once you fucked up so bad with Vienna."

"I'll say it one more time—"

"Save it."

Elias glowers, his eyes cold and narrowed.

"Save it," she repeats.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he says instead. "If you always thought I killed our ally—"

"Because that's exactly the issue I was trying to prevent!"

"Just say you didn't know."

"I did, Elias. I always knew."

I hear my breathing, shallow between thuds of my heartbeat in my ears. There's the pressure of swelling presence, more and more cadets pushing into the room, eager to watch what's going down.

We've long since passed the point of forgiveness. One of the two, Elias or Asherah, isn't getting out of this alive.

Elias inhales slowly, his hand latching more securely around his knife. His sword is locked under his right knee. Asherah's got both hands closed around her axe handle, decidedly at an advantage. "Are you going to let me grab my weapon before you try to axe me, or are you going to fight this battle like a coward?"

Stand up, I will him. He can't reach for his sword and wield it before she can swing at him. He needs to stand up. He has to know that's his only chance.

"Depends," she says. "Did you ever give Vienna that kind of chance?"

Her blade swings forward, cutting into the soft skin on the side of his ribs as Elias tries to turn, rolling over to free his sword from under his leg. My heart skips as he rolls over and just blocks her second strike, blades clashing like the striking of a gong, ringing out in a metallic fervor. He's forced to be defensive as Asherah comes downwards again, again.

"I— didn't—"

"Don't die a liar, Elias."

His sword slips in his hand, the momentum from Asherah's axe vibrating through his grip. On her sixth strike, he loses it completely.

Her seventh lunge cuts straight through his shirt and buries itself in his torso, cracking against his ribs, severing the layers of his liver, stomach, colon. Elias grimaces and stabs at her, but Asherah's already unearthed her blade, anticipating his desperate attack.

His sword cuts weakly at her ankle. Asherah doesn't even give him the benefit of flinching. They watch each other, Asherah keeping her axe raised, Elias wincing against the opening in his abdomen.

"You fucking hypocrite," he spits, gritting his teeth.

She laughs, her eyes mirthless. "Don't start. There wasn't going to be much to salvage of that alliance, anyways. Not with you around."

Her axe comes down again. He rolls just enough to miss an instantly fatal blow, but blood, thick and heavy, begins to seep angrily from the tear in his chest.

Elias groans, his lip curled in rage. Weakly, he gropes behind him for a pocket in his pack.

It's not going to save him, I think, dread growling in the pit of my stomach, my head swirling with anxiety. Even if he had another weapon, a bow or something he could use to hit her at more of a distance, his death is imminent.

Asherah knows that he has nothing that can hurt her; she's seen exactly what's in both of their packs. Basic materials for first aid, some food supplies, miscellaneous trappings. No one would blame her, either, when she assumes that's his intent.

So when he draws the match, igniting the tip and holding it between them, she's caught off-guard.

"You can't kill me," she says. But she's nervous, not really sure. The canyon's dry but rocky here. Their patch of grass might go up, but what about the rest?

"I'm not trying to kill you," he says. "I'm trying to prove a point."

He drops the match.

The grass doesn't ignite instantly. Maybe if Asherah had reacted faster, stepped forward to extinguish it, stomp it out, she might have kept that one, paltry flame from wreaking its inevitable destruction. But she doesn't. She steps back as the fire tastes its fuel, lapping at the yellowed grass it's nestled in.

And then it consumes Elias.

Not all at once, but in layers. It devours his uniform first, ascending to ignite his hair, scald his eyebrows. Reflexively, he tries to turn, convulsing against the fear of the flames that feed on him. But he can't move, can hardly curl in on himself without the agony of his wounds.

Elias holds out for ten seconds before he starts to scream. It takes him much longer than that to die.

Minutes pass. From behind me, a handful of cadets leave the room, one at a time and then in clusters. There's gagging in the far corner. Elias shudders, then twitches, then finally stills. The viewing room is silent, the only sound the snapping of flames against tinder onscreen, smoke curling into the darkening sky. And then, the booming of a cannon in the distance.

Only once the grass around Elias has gone up does Eleven fully begin to burn, her bloodied, fluid-coated flesh an effective flame deterrent until the heat is too much for her skin to bear. The results are grotesque, fat melting out between gaps in her shrunken flesh, flame devouring the oozing material until her skin and clothing are entirely aflame.

When I see Elias again he's practically unrecognizable: hairless, scorched, the wounds on his stomach insignificant now to the damage he's done to himself. Asherah has long since fled, smart enough to recognize that the materials in his pack, the pack itself, are unsalvageable.

Below his devastated body, fire curls and sneaks its way sideways along the rocks.

"Shit," Cas mumbles.

There's the faintest movement from next to me, and my chest jumps again.

Sunken cheeks, heavy eyes. Khione's slack-jawed, staring up at the screen like he can't believe what he's seeing.

Oh, no.

Somewhere buried, I feel my heart crumble.

We move to our viewing rooms as if sleepwalking. I sit next to Khione, trying to absorb some of the grief that's slowly, insidiously, stifling him.

But when I think of Elias, I don't feel any grief. I just feel empty.

Nell's fury won't even break through. Not for me, not for Khione. I see her anger, know she's yelling, and find that I'm indifferent. Khione's hands are trembling where he holds them on the desk in front of him, but I don't know how to help him. "I'm sorry," I whisper, as loud as I dare.

My eyelids pinch near the bridge of my nose as if wilting, my whole back bowing, heavy with languor. I hear Elias' name and all I can think of is Cavara, who won't see Elias again, might not ever learn the truth about him.

Cavara, who's about to die.

"It's not the end," Nell says finally, sounding far more confident than she has any right to be, considering the only shot we have left is a wild card who wasn't even her third choice. The irony of the way she talks about her now is almost laughable. "It's not. Doesn't matter how many are left. Cavara trained here for years, too."

"But Elias was better," someone mumbles from the front.

Khione's eyes are shut, his head bowed forward, balanced along his knitted fingers.

"You have to understand," Nell says. "It's not always about who's better. There'd be no point to the Games if it was that simple. It's a hard blow, for sure. But it's not the end. Believe it or not, there are benefits to this."

"Benefits?"

Nell's eyes lock onto Khione, who's still hunched forward, not even watching her. "Excuse me?"

"What… possible… benefits are there?" Khione looks up, his expression lifeless. "You have two kids, you lose one. Tell me that's not a disadvantage."

"We move forward," Nell says, her voice stony. "We move forward, and everything we have goes to our remaining tribute. All our resources, all our energy, because she's our chance now."

"So you forget him."

"Of course not," Nell says. "We mourn our sacrifices when the Games are done. Not when we still have a fighting chance."

He shakes his head. Hardly noticeable, but still a mistake. Nell flares like a match. "Go ahead, Isunza. Go into the Games, watch your district partner die, and see how shutting down works out for you. If you think for a second that the Games are going to stop for one person, you're a fool."

Khione is silent, smoldering.

"For what it's worth, Elias was a damn good tribute. If he hadn't done what he just did to Eleven—or Vienna, for that matter— these Games would be entirely different. The Gamemakers have let this charade go on so long with so few deaths because last year was so short. But they need action. They need firestarters. This confrontation with Asherah was days in the making and it's not the end of it. But fact is, he was right about mutts, about Gamemaker influence. You always want to control the Games. Not the other way around." She steps towards him. "So don't you dare try to accuse us of forgetting so quickly. We remember his sacrifice. But our priority is ensuring a survivor, no matter which one it is."

Khione doesn't stick around after the session, curling into the restroom as soon as he's out of the viewing room. I wait outside, the pressure stifling me, too, even when Cas hurries over looking for Khione. "In there," I say.

"I can't even imagine. I mean, that was brutal."

"I know."

"Is he…"

"Not good," I say, mirrored by the fact it takes Khione twenty minutes to emerge, his skin waxy and his eyes hollow, haggard.

"Hey," he breathes.

"Khione, I'm so sorry."

Khione just shakes his head, a fragile smile touching at the edge of his lips. "I'm done."

Cas double-takes. "What?"

"Done. It's not worth it. We don't need the money that bad. It's not—" He swallows. "Shit."

"You're quitting?"

Khione rests his face against his palms, pressing into his eyes.

"Think it through," I say. "Come on, it's one thing—"

"It's Elias," he says. "The fact that it's Elias. The fact it could have been Hadrian just as easily. I don't— I mean, they don't even care. He's just a body."

"They do," I plead. "You heard Nell, they're just having to focus on Cavara because they'd be stupid not to right now."

"Oh, you would take her side," Khione says, suddenly cold.

My face drains, shame crawling into my skin. "What? Nell? No, that's what she told us."

"And it's bullshit—"

"Khione, think about it," Cas says. "That was a lot. It was awful. But it doesn't define— you aren't going to quit just because of this."

"Who says I'm not? You?"

"You worked this hard, for this long, and you're going to give up," I say, letting my bitterness creep into my tone from where it's slowly emerged to compete with my care for Khione. "Because one guy died. Because you're afraid."

"I am afraid," Khione says. "Fuck, is that how either of you want to go? How you want to be remembered? As a necessary sacrifice for the girl who didn't even earn her spot? Who probably killed Claudia for it, even if no one's bold enough to say it?"

I bite my tongue just before I spill everything Rhodes told me. I'm furious with Khione for how much he takes this for granted. Like he can just up and leave because he feels like it. "You're making a mistake," I say, my voice low.

"Maybe to you," he says. "But this isn't what I want. I'm leaving."

"Khione—"

He turns on Cas, tears just distinguishable under his voice. "Not you, too. Stop eating up all their bullshit. That's exactly what it is. And it's going to get one of you killed eventually."

Khione pushes past Cas back down the hallway. He doesn't even turn around.

"He'll come back," Cas says. "He has to. He's just… he's upset."

But unlike Cas, I don't feel so forgiving. It's something cruel and unwarranted that's kindling inside me. I try to swallow it down, but I can practically feel myself smoldering.

"Scout?" Cas asks.

"He's actually stupid," I say. "He has no idea what he's throwing away."

"He'll come around—"

"No, I'm serious. How— how disrespectful, how pathetic, to just walk away because something happened to one of the volunteers— which, surprise, happens every single year—"

"What are you talking about?"

It's eating me alive, the same way Claudia's consuming Aspra, only for me it's rage that results, not despondency. "You put everything into this— for three years— and you walk away because suddenly it's harder than you thought. Like, tell me that's not the most privileged garbage you've ever seen."

Cas doesn't say anything. He watches me, confused, concerned, even. I can feel my eyes swell, burning with fury and grief.

"He doesn't get it," I say softly, right before my voice cracks. I swallow, looking away.

"You're upset, too," he says. "Just try to breathe."

But all I can think of is Elias and the way he howled as the fire consumed him, that same pleading tone Cavara used when she begged Akello to tell her why, and how, with Elias dead, it's over. Might as well be.

And on top of that… I don't think I can face what my mother's going to say when I get back.

"I don't want to go home yet," I say.

The full truth is that I don't want to go home yet because as soon as I leave, I have to face the reality of Elias being dead, and my mother saying something about it, and then sooner or later I'm going to have to start coming up with a pretty damn good explanation for why I don't go to training anymore, and I don't want to, and I don't know how. But that's a lot to lay on one person. So I give him the summary. Which, in its brevity, is also the whole truth.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I'd stay here all night if I could," I say. "Live here forever. Take that bunk."

"If it's even a bunk."

"You know what, you're right. That rock, then." I sigh, fatigue pressing into my forehead. "I don't know. I just— I like it here. I know Khione was attached to Elias, but I don't think I would have done the same thing if Cavara were to have just died there, instead."

"Maybe not," Cas says. "But you're not Khione."

"I guess not."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow. I don't think he'd really walk away that quickly. I mean, for what it's worth, that was— that was brutal. All of it. I'm not saying he's wrong to be upset."

"Neither was I," I say quickly.

"It's just been a long couple of weeks. Think the stress finally got to him."

I nod. "Yeah. Understandably."

"Get some sleep tonight," he says, stepping away. "If you can. I think we'll all feel a bit better tomorrow with a bit more rest."

"Maybe," I say, noncommittal. Not like it's up to me.

"Well, consider it. If you can."

I raise my hand as he goes, giving him a soft smile in farewell. But after he's gone, the hallway is far too desolate.

I find myself thinking how desolate the hallway at home will be, with nowhere to escape it. And for once, I don't know how to distract myself.

Cavara's subdued— visibly, at the very least— when she learns what happened to Elias. She's composed enough not to fully explode on Asherah for it; she'd be outnumbered, three to one. But when Asherah takes over her watch on night nine, Cavara refuses to go to sleep.

"Think I'll stay up a few more hours," she says quietly. "I mean, you did kill my District partner."

Asherah doesn't spill about Elias' role in Vienna's death, though, neither that night or in the morning of day ten, which is for the best: Cavara's already tense up to her ears. On morning watch, she's jumpy, scattered. On her afternoon hunt with Tasman, she's intensely quiet.

"Sorry about Elias," Tasman says eventually.

"Nice of you to say," Cavara acknowledges. "Be nicer if it were true. But, you know. Still nice."

An hour later, the two of them come across the Three boy, his abdomen mauled and his eyes destroyed by mutts. Cavara stabs him forty-seven times before she lets the hovercraft take him away.

I don't sleep on night ten. I watch my ceiling until static swirls in my eyes, then drag my covers off my bed and curl up on the couch downstairs, keeping the volume low. But the night is quiet, too. When I wake up, my head foggy, there's still nine left: Regis, Cavara, Tasman, Asherah. Five male. Seven female. Nine female. Ten male. Twelve male.

It's not low enough for interviews, but it's low enough for a feast.

At midday the announcement comes in, halting classes for the day. Instead of going home, I take the train straight to the Atheneum, where even comparatively quiet, there's a sense of palpating energy, taking the form of excitement or eagerness for most. By three hours later, a knife pressed into my palm, any contagious semblance of anticipation has entirely burned off into dread.

I'm unremarkable at my session with Rhodes. I don't know if he can tell, honestly. He seems as unfocused as I am.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" I ask.

"Sort of," he admits.

"Me, too."

"She's smart, though. I want to trust her. There's just a lot we can't plan for."

I nod, trying to swallow, but my mouth is dry. I step and throw the next knife— left-handed. Because of course, today was the day he wanted to teach me lefty.

Like it matters. Like any of this matters anymore.

It hits the target sideways. Alright, maybe that's bad enough for Rhodes to notice. "Good thing you're right-handed," he says. "Seriously. Only thing you're killing with that is a kid who's already dead."

He means no harm, but it upsets me anyways. My fingers flare around the next knife handle, but I don't throw it.

"What's the point?" I mutter.

"Too much?" he says. "I'm joking. It's supposed to be impossible. Scout," he says, as I turn around.

What does it matter? When he'll find out tonight or tomorrow or whenever Cavara dies and I'm thrown to the curb. At least this way, I have some illusion of control.

"I mean, I'm done, aren't I?" I laugh, my eyes burning. "Not like I'm training anymore after this."

He double-takes. "What? You're quitting?"

"Not… no," I say. "But I'm not…"

Rhodes watches me, silent.

"It's Akello," I say finally. "Akello. He told me I couldn't train anymore unless we got a Victor."

It's not as hard to admit as I thought it would be. Probably because I'm so frazzled at this point that I don't have any anxiety left for this. But I turn the knife over in my hands as Rhodes processes.

"What?" he finally says. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Like— like, he's kicking me out. Unless Cavara wins, at this point. Kicking me out of the Atheneum," I clarify, at the look on Rhodes' face.

"When did he tell you that?"

"Last year," I say. "The day Jasira died."

Rhodes doesn't say anything.

"I know. I know."

"Hold on," Rhodes says, his voice low. "He said he was kicking you out?"

"Unless we got a Victor."

"He can't—" He looks confused. "He can't do that."

"Well, he did."

"No, I mean Akello can't do that. He doesn't have the power to do that."

I stare at him, tears frozen in my eyes. "No, Rhodes, he told me—"

"Unless you did something damning or dangerous… you didn't—"

"No," I shake my head. "No, I just— I just, he said I was wasting his time, I wasn't going to be good enough. I—"

"Scout, stay here," Rhodes says. "I need to find Akello."

"He's just going to tell you what he told me."

"No, he's not. Because he can't do that. I know he can't." Rhodes turns around. "And you know what? He knows it, too. Stay here."

My mouth agape, I watch Rhodes push his way out towards the foyer. My knife is still curled in my fist, my fingers rigid and sore around its hilt.

I'm shaking, not with tears but with fury, flaring along my skin. It takes every ounce of self-control I have left to place the knife down, gently, instead of trying to fling it towards the target in my state.

What if he can't? What if he never had that power?

What kind of fool does that make me, to let him play me for more than twelve months, control me with empty threats?

I can't take this. I run, eyes still burning, darting around empty stations and out through those same doors. I step quickly around the girls hovering by the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time to the second floor.

Rhodes has already found Akello. I can feel my hair come tugging out of its ponytail and I freeze, watching the pair of them in the middle of the hallway. It's strange to see Rhodes and Akello in the same context, stranger still to hear Rhodes arguing.

"You let her think she wasn't getting a fair shot at Sixteens like everyone else."

"If it were up to me, she wouldn't be. Not after the injuries—"

"Injuries that were out of her control."

"Like you have any idea. That back thing? Poor form. A mistake we tried to fix with her countless times, except she never learned. Wasting my time, wasting her time—"

"I'm not," I say, fighting to keep my voice from wavering.

Rhodes turns. Akello's eyes lock on me. "Caverley."

The moment extends. A chill crawls along my back. In the impossibility of the situation, I have no idea what to say to him.

My chest aches, my face still warm with shame. There's so much to ask, like why? But I know better than to think he'd give me a proper answer. "I'm not wasting my time," I repeat.

"I'm not arguing with you again today."

"I don't want to argue with you," I say. "But I'm not wasting my time here. I'm going to get that spot."

He watches me from afar, his gaze distant like I'm insignificant. I can tell my words have no effect on him. "Just trying to save you the heartache while I can, Caverley. That's all it is."

My jaw locks, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"Akello—"

"That's my honest opinion," Akello says, cutting Rhodes off. "Take away any grievances we may have with each other, Caverley, and that doesn't change. Nothing's changed since then."

My lips feel numb, mouth frozen around words I can hardly control. "I've gotten better."

"It doesn't matter," he says. "Until you can beat every single one of those girls it doesn't matter how much better you've gotten. And if you think that's cruel, reality's going to crush you come Trials. Believe me."

"Leave her alone," Rhodes says.

"Stay out of shit that isn't your business," Akello counters. "Caverley had all year to come to this realization. If she can't do that on her own—"

"She gets it," Rhodes says. "Enough."

"Stay out of it." Akello turns on me. "It's your battle. Tell me you've had it."

My throat is frozen, caught in the intersection of vocal emotions. If I slip too far one way, I'll cry. The other way, I'll scream.

I'm hovering within in-betweens, caught in the space between ascension and despair. I'm fourteen again, desperate and fractured, terrified of everyone and everything. Terrified of myself. Terrified of who I am without this. Unwilling to even imagine it.

And then, in a second, a year lapses. Akello's in front of me, his expression vacant. He remembers, too. Only where my memory's clouded with emotion, his is indifferent.

I take a breath, ragged and wavering, and keep my balance in the middle. "I'm done with this, Akello."

He nods, expressionless. "Then I am, too." Akello turns back to Rhodes, stepping back towards his office. "I've got a meeting, anyways. And frankly, this wasn't how I wanted to spend the first few minutes of it."

He unprops the door from where it's been held open since Rhodes' arrival. "I'm sorry for all of that, Dabral," Akello says, his voice fading as the door closes behind him. "Anyways, let's chat."

Avari. I can feel the blood drain from my face, shock taking over. Rhodes' face is flushed, his brow knitted in residual frustration.

"I'm so sorry," he says, finally.

I shake my head, still stunned. Silence seems to be the natural reaction. If Akello came back out, I don't think I'd know what else to say to him. Fatigue presses into my neck, the back of my skull, so stark and heavy that it's debilitating. I lean back against the wall, my face still frozen in shock.

"How long did he make you think…"

My shoulders slump. "All year. The entire… the entire year."

"You trained the whole year thinking you were probably going to be out at the end."

I swallow. My throat is thick with tears.

"That's…"

"I know," I say. "I didn't say anything. I know I should have, but I didn't tell anyone, and it just got harder the longer it went on."

"Scout, don't worry about that. Please. I'm just—" He, too, is stunned. "I'm— I need to talk to Valerius. Unless you want to…"

I can't even think of trying to go back to training right now. Ironically, while the gym should feel as though it's opened up to me, I don't want anything to do with it. "No, I think we're done for the day."

What I really want is to go lie down, lie down and curl up in something warm, something comforting. Embarrassingly, I find myself wanting to be consoled, of all things.

I'm so tired, though, that it's not even worth fighting that craving.

"I think so, too," Rhodes says. He seems at a loss. "I'm sorry. I really am."

I wave him off. "Wasn't your fault. I should have told you. Or anyone. I just thought…"

"You had no way of knowing for sure."

I nod, swallow again. My eyes ache from fighting back tears, and yet I think if I were to try and release them now, I'd have nothing to give.

Which is probably a good thing. Akello has caused me enough tears to last a lifetime.

"Listen," Rhodes says, looking down the hallway at Akello's office, the door still closed. "I'm going to go call Valerius, try to help figure this out. I— I don't know what else to do. I mean, is there anything else I can do for you? Besides that?"

Like a reflex, the word no comes to my tongue. It's so easy, so tempting. But right before it slips, the gravity of the situation begins to set in, faint and delicate but just perceptible: I'm here. I'm still here.

Which means there's room for me, if I know where to look for it.

"Yes," I say, suddenly. My numbness still smothers me, deadens some of the shock of hearing Avari's name. But it's her presence that evokes the realization that dawns on me, sudden and strong. "After you call him. It just— it might still be time-sensitive. I just don't know who else might be able to help."

"Yeah. Of course," he says. "What do you need?"

My shoulders seem to unlock, some of the pressure releasing from the base of my neck. It's not going to fix everything, but it's a start. "Who would I talk to about moving into the Atheneum?"

agreatleap. weebly. com

Lmao hey what's good. Went to the library to do schoolwork a few times and ended up binge-writing this instead. 9k words? Hot girl shit.

We are SO close to the end of Part II. Thoughts? Predictions? I'd say I want to have it out by the end of the week next week, but last time I said that it took me like a month. I think when I complain I have no time to write I actually end up writing more. On that note: I'm literally booked for the next three weeks.

I always think I have something to say here and then I don't. Somehow I still BS'ed three paragraphs worth of an AN anyways. My power.

See you next time with our last chapter of Part II!