A Stone's Throw, a hunger games fanfic

TW: Gore. Mentions of partner, child abuse.

A Stone's Throw

Ataru can't see her.

As the ground rises beneath them and sunshine breaks ahead, Ataru can't see anything.

Ataru's small fingers tap along their armrests. He follows every count as their legs swing restlessly with the music. He's not quite tall enough yet for their feet to reach the floor from the theatre seats. Their mothers' often laugh and say they're thankful for that; when Ataru gets tall enough, they're going to have to put sponges on his feet to muffle the sound. It's hard for him to remember to notice he's doing it at all. Ataru's every bit of attention is held by the dancers on stage.

That is, until a small face several rows ahead turns around.

For the first time since the melody started, Ataru stills in their seat. He watches the girl with a hint of worry in their eyes. Are they being disruptive? Can she hear him from all the way up there? She raises an eyebrow, barely visible behind thick bangs that look too sharp for her young face. Ataru shrinks down apologetically but doesn't take their eyes off her.

She raises a hand and waves, crouching up in her chair to be just that little bit taller.

Part of them wants to jump up and wave back. He's never seen her before, or maybe simply never noticed. They want to know her, even as their first love- the theatre- sings around him in a beautiful chorus.

Instead, nine-year old Ataru sinks down even lower in their seat in embarrassment. When he finally gets the courage to sit up straight again, the girl's mother has already shushed her and turned her around. Their fingers stop tapping, no longer entranced by the dance he's seen and adored a dozen times. They keep glancing over to see if she'll wave again.

During the shows that follow, Ataru always finds himself looking for her. Their eyes strain as the curtain rises each night. Ataru examines the back of every turned head looking for dark hair that might be hers. The nights that he sees her are the ones they sit still in his seat, immune to the beautiful melodies surrounding him with her as his sole focus. More often than not she isn't in the packed audience and Ataru eventually finds themself melting again into the storylines.

Still, they never get tired of looking.

His heart beats in the pit of his stomach. They can hear the start of the timer, can smell the scent of wet rock stagnant in the air, but his eyes are still adjusting. Every other sense is magnified as the brightness dims to reveal figures ahead. The first is a massive shadow of grey, its edges sharp and erratic. Ataru tucks in another breath and humidity coats his lungs. Be patient. You know what's happening.

Except the expected few seconds of blindness in the arena pass like hours. Their head moves stiffly from side to side as shadows melt into objects and hollow people. A tower of knife-like rock stands at the center of the clearing that their platforms circle. Several smaller rock formations litter the sparse terrain around it. Ataru squints, but there's no sign of the promised supplies.

As if answering his trepidation, a bright flash of sunshine cuts across the glade.

In that brief moment, they see all he needs to. Shadows melt behind familiar shapes, forming long cylinders and thick rectangles. The supplies are there; with forty-five seconds remaining, the Gamemakers thought to prove that. Ataru sees the others adjust around him. They saw it too. Nearly three quarters of the tributes that'd been positioned away from the Cornucopia now turn their aim towards it.

He still can't see her. Thirty seconds left and, to them, nothing else matters.

Ataru's hand tightens in his mom's as they walk through the Academy doors. The smile strains on his lips as their eyes widen at the lavish interior. He's never seen a place so beautiful yet at the same time so terrifying. However, if there's going to be a time for second guesses it isn't going to be now.

"You're sure?" His mom whispers and Ataru nods. It's the fourth time she's asked since leaving their house, nevermind how many times his mama asked last night. They're nervous about him accepting the scholarship. The Academy itself makes them nervous.

("You're still young, Ataru," She'd sighed.

He shrugged. "It's just dance, Mama.")

That's all he's there for yet nowhere near all the Academy offers and ten-year old Ataru understands that. They'll be in dance lessons just like they've yearned to do for years. The Academy is able to offer him that; in fact it's their only chance. None of the stand alone studios will even look at him. They know that his family can't afford it.

("That's how they do it." Ataru had heard the whisperings late one night as he'd laid too giddy to sleep. His mom sounded upset. It was the first understanding that Ataru had that his mothers didn't want them to go. "They offer these poor kids things that they can't otherwise get- gifted classes, tutoring, dance lessons- and then they never leave.")

"Good morning." Ataru peers over the counter where an older man waits. He watches them with a small smile that Ataru tries to return. They are excited. He just isn't sure what to do with his hands. "You can join the others in the main gym, champ. Mom and I will fill out your paperwork."

Ataru glances up at their mom who nods. He tries to look in the direction that the man's pointing but the doors are already shut for class. "Okay!"

They only take a step away before he remembers. Ataru pulls their mom into a tight hug and promises to see her later tonight. The Academy hours are longer than a regular school day but he should be home in time for dinner. It's his mothers' night off from the theatre and Mama promised a treat after their first day.

"I love you," his mom whispers quietly enough that only they can hear her.

Ataru kisses her softly on the cheek. "With all my heart."

He lets go and, after weeks of waiting for the Academy year to start up again, they're finally about to see what's inside this massive building. He's heard rumours about high-tech classrooms and holograms that look like real people. They even heard last year about every trainee getting their own tablet and locker. Ataru isn't sure if any of that's true, but it's hard not to be nervously excited anyway. They wonder if the floors of the dance studio will light up like the man in the theatre said they would.

He takes a deep breath, ready to find out once and for all. The doors swing open and Ataru steps into a room that rivals the theatre in size. There are at least a hundred kids mingling around, some his age and many certainly older. All sorts of flags, mats, and trinkets line the walls too far away for Ataru to get a good look at.

But the first thing their eyes land on isn't any of that.

No, the first thing he sees is her.

Ataru swallows down another breath as anxiety continues to claw its way up. Slowly he scans the lineup of tributes, methodically glazing over every face until they're certain. Another deep breath. He counts nineteen including themself; that means that there are five tributes he can't see hiding behind the Cornucopia.

One of them's Elodie. There's no world in which that's not true.

They have to focus.

Fifteen seconds.

It's never been hard to focus with Elodie.

Her hand falls gently on his shoulder as the music crescendos and the smile on her face brightens far past the stage lights. Ataru gives her opposite hand a gentle squeeze and she winks playfully. It doesn't feel like a distraction. She's part of the music and so are they. Their feet move in unison without need for concentration. It's always been like this.

("You're the backseat boy." A young Elodie announced as he approached the mass of trainees. She moved the sides of her dark hair behind her ears. She might have been just as new as the rest of their age-group, but no one would've known by looking at her. She even fooled Ataru, who for weeks assumed she knew her way around the halls even after getting them lost a half-dozen times.

He smiled shyly. "And your name is?"

She raised her eyebrows cautiously as if unsure at first what to make of his response. Then, her face lit up with a bold grin that pushed all of that to the side. "I'm Elodie. Elodie Amaris.")

Ataru closes their eyes for a moment as the song fades into the gentle quiet of the theatre. Sundays are their only true free day from the Academy and from getting up at six in the morning. Except Ataru arrives at the theatre by five with his mothers and Elodie's always here by six.

"My sweet king," Elodie says, taking their hand and bowing dramatically at the waist. When she glances up again, her eyes are the same playful he's come to expect. She exaggerates every syllable and kisses their hand gently."Thank you for this beautiful dance."

Ataru gasps theatrically and pulls her hand to his chest. "My queen, the honour is truly mine."

Elodie pulls her hand away and laughs as they move back to their starting points. His smile only brightens in exchange. This has always been his favourite place in the world, but years ago they had no idea how beautiful it would become. The room lights up in new ferocity every time Elodie steps on stage.

My queen. Ataru ducks his chin to soften their smile. This has been their dance for years, the young queen wandering through the courtyard with a faraway wish that her lover might return. When the queen turns to find him right behind her, Ataru can almost pretend that Elodie's bright smile is truly for them. She's radiant even with a toque where the queen's tiara should lay.

"Again?" Ataru offers. They don't necessarily need the practice but the stage is theirs until it's time to set for the morning's play. It's hard to find time to dance anymore outside of the recitals. No matter how sore their muscles are today, he doesn't want it to end.

Elodie gracelessly brings herself to the floor and flexes her toes in her practice shoes. They look almost brand new, and not at all like the ones the Academy provides. Ataru spares a glance down at his plain black ones. They're not ungrateful, in fact they love the feel of the Academy shoes. They spare no expense on their students and that applies even outside of the main training program. It's been hard to get used to.

She rolls her eyes and juts her chin towards the duffel bag just off stage. "Yours are in there."

Ataru's brows furrow. "I'm sorry?"

"I'd look stupid wearing beige if you're in black," she shrugs. "I asked them to pick up a second pair so we'd match."

He doesn't know what to say so in fact they say nothing. Ataru just stares as she sighs and climbs back to her feet to retrieve them. Her aim is impeccable as always and the shoes hit him square in the chest. They catch both and now they're just staring at those. He recognizes the brand, what dancer wouldn't? They can't believe they're holding a pair of Rarities.

Ataru's eyes snap up to meet hers. A blush spreads across his cheeks as they realize how ungrateful they must look. There's no point in going through the assurances that gifts aren't necessary. Ataru has more than enough. He has his mothers and the theatre and now the Academy which provided them with so much that he's never had. Yet, Elodie always shrugs them off when he says that. "Thank you, El."

"A king needs his glass slippers," she says with a dramatic flip of her hair.

He rolls his eyes. She's always been like this, from their first real meeting and now years later. Elodie is the most frustrating person to argue with. She has a sharp tongue and eyes that no one can hide from. Her ability to read beyond her opponent's expressions has made her one of most dangerous in their year to spar against. Yet, she's so kind; above and beyond everything else Elodie has a heart that refuses to see darkness.

And he'll never stop feeling lucky to call her their best friend.

The plan isn't going to work.

There are too many entrances.

It's difficult to know for sure from this distance, but Ataru can see one opening to the Cornucopia from here and the shadow of at least two others. It's not the usual metal structure, or at least it doesn't look like it. The walls are made of stone that cut in every direction. It looks too heavy to still be standing, especially if the inside is hollow. When the tributes start pulling the pieces stuck to its exterior, no doubt camouflaged weapons and backpacks, it could all come crumbling down.

Even if it holds they can't protect upwards of three entrances, perhaps as many as six or seven. There are only six of them total and four are supposed to be hunting. The best supplies and weapons always sit in the heart of the Cornucopia. Ataru and Varun won't be able to maintain the perimeter. The Cornucopia is simply too massive. There will be too many ways for tributes to get around them.

Ataru scans down the line of tributes. There's no time to make another plan. There's no way they can execute the one they already have. He wants to find Elodie, to see her eyes roll at his nervousness because of course their plan will work. The only person that meets Ataru's gaze is the District 2 tribute, Matis.

His lips curl up, but not in a smile. Ataru quickly looks away.

Ten seconds.

Recitals have never made Ataru nervous. The only one that can seemingly do that is Elodie Amaris.

He taps their beige shoes against the tile and forces their eyes away from the dressing room door. She's going to be here. She's never not been here in time for a performance. Elodie was at the Academy and she didn't say anything about being unable to make it. Ataru reaches down and dusts off the top of their shoe for the dozenth time. He's already fully dressed and the makeup artist will be here any moment for the pre-stage touchup.

What if something happened?

She said she was stopping by Myran's on the way to the theatre and that always opens a pit in their stomach. He's been one of their classmates since the beginning, though in fact Myran's known Elodie far longer than they have. They both did the after-school preparatory course beside the Academy before reaching the minimum enrollment age. Ataru knows their families have been close since before either was even born.

Yet, while someone looking at Elodie might never realize, Myran emulates every bit of wealth his last name came with. He's also one of the most talented trainees at the Academy, and Elodie's boyfriend of nearly three months.

It all makes perfect sense. They live practically next door to each other in mansions that look like two parts of a matching set. Their parents own shares of the same company. He can provide everything that Elodie's used to and probably more by the way he brags in the change rooms. If there's anyone that's perfect for Elodie, on paper it's Myran Spyros.

And Ataru is doing their best to be happy for her.

Myran doesn't like him, that's been clear cut from the moment they met. They're not exactly sure what he did, but there's always been tension. No matter what Ataru did, whether it be in lessons or during free time, the one thing they could be sure of was Myran scoffing from the sidelines. Ataru's used to some of the confused stares. They're right, he doesn't belong there and that's just fine with him. Ataru isn't there for the fighting or the Hunger Games or the notoriety of simply being an Academy trainee.

They're there for dance, for a future that used to be so out of reach it was laughable, and only because someone else decided he was good enough.

Ataru's heart sinks when the door peels slowly open. Simply by the timidness of the act, he knows it must be the makeup artist and not her. Elodie wouldn't be shy. Elodie would burst straight in without care for who might be behind it. She would laugh as Ataru jumped with surprise and berate them for daring to believe she would miss a performance.

Except when the door finally opens, it is her. Yet the longer Ataru looks at her the less he recognizes.

Elodie's eyes are rimmed with red though the skin beneath has already been coated in a fresh layer of makeup. She's still wearing street clothes, but not the ones she had been when he saw her earlier. Her sunset-coloured dance bag dangles from her shoulder but it's not even fully zipped. It's small details that are off- her posture, her downcast eyes, her narrowed lips- but Ataru notices every single one.

That is until their eyes fall to her wrist and the circumferential bruise that wraps around it. At that moment, Ataru can see nothing else.

"I'll be ready quick," Elodie says as she steps into the dressing room. "Sorry I'm late."

Ataru doesn't even hear her. His expression feels numb, like none of their muscles know how to react. That bruise hadn't been there that afternoon."El?"

She starts for the closet where her costume hangs, pressed and ready as it always is. As she reaches for the hanger, Ataru stops her. His hand intertwines with hers, at the last second deviating from grabbing her wrist outright. It's not Elodie's fingers that are trembling. Ataru can't think of a single word to say, all they can do is stare.

"It doesn't hurt," Elodie says softly. "I can still dance."

"Who?" He asks, the simple act of speaking enough to bring shaking tears to their eyes. They can't help but think that he knows the answer. He's the only person that could have done it.

Elodie's lips part then close again. She shakes her head and looks away. When she finally turns back, she still can't meet his eyes and Ataru doesn't force her. The next words are the softest they've ever heard. "Please, help me cover it."

(Ataru never looked at Myran the same way. His gaze never lingered. For all the comments that Myran made both to Ataru directly and to others, they never answered a single one. Elodie had made him promise not to tell anyone. Ataru knew if he so much as looked at Myran, they wouldn't have been able to keep that promise.)

The fear that pulses in his chest isn't for themself.

It should be.

They stand here on a platform with death surrounding him. He can feel it weighing down the humid air and waiting still on the tufts of grass by their feet. It wedges itself between the sharp curves of rock ahead and deep into the clay below. It tests the shoulders of every tribute and searches for the ones it will very soon claim. Death doesn't shy from the Victor. It doesn't know who will manage to fight it off while the others rot in mud coffins. For now, it threatens them all as equals; tributes, nothing more.

Ataru can sense the weight of death on their own back. He can feel its cool shadows that lace up his shoes and keep them locked to the platform while the countdown blares on. They can hear its echoed whispers that declare he won't face another breeze that isn't also locked within the arena confines.

Ataru believes them; yet, they're not afraid.

Ataru chose this.

And even now, with death's promise breathing down his neck and gong blaring in his ears, they know they would choose it all over again.

"I volunteer!"

Ataru's declaration rings through the silence of the district square. To most, nothing would seem out of place. It's another year with two volunteers, the other already on stage with her chin held high. It's another trainee with their head in the clouds so that the name that's been called can remain irrelevant. The words are as intertwined with the reaping ceremony as cake to birthdays or stones to paths. Still, it doesn't take long for the realization to spread across the once sleepy crowd.

The voice came from the wrong section.

Ataru's steps begin as they'd practiced, slow and confident as they move from the top of the eighteen-year old area. Then, as a figure ahead begins to move as well, he breaks into an all out sprint for the aisle. No one stands in their way. In fact no one seems to know what to do.

He reaches the middle of the aisle at the same time that Myran enters ahead of them from the honours section. Ataru's expression tightens, their hand still holding firm in the air above. It's like he's still trying to convince everyone that the words came from him. Every eye is pointed in their direction but less and less of them hold admiration.

From behind, confused murmurs begin as Ataru continues to the stage.

Up ahead, the stares become downright malevolent. If looks could kill, the district would need another volunteer.

There's no rule against it; there isn't allowed to be. Volunteers are permitted as per the Treaty of Treason but no one can lay claim to the spot in advance of the ceremony. Myran decided to take his time, to let the tension build before valiantly taking his place on stage with Elodie. That's his mistake and the Academy can do nothing about it.

Ataru still bites his cheek as they step past the first rows. Tradition is everything. It's what the Academy was built on - a tradition of unprecedented excellence that came from nothing more than investment and hard work. Every school day began with a reading of that proud oath to honour those that started it all.

There'll be hell to pay for this and he knows it.

"I volunteer." The words don't ring out like they had from Ataru's lips. They slither past Myran's lips between a sandwich of hatred and arrogance. They hang in the air around them as the two trainees stare each other down. Myran's eyes dare them to back up. Ataru knows it's not too late but they don't budge.

He's read every page they could gather from the library's history section.

Myran can do nothing to stop them.

If Ataru was wrong, someone already would have. Each step they take builds more certainty until they're matching the glare that's followed him up the aisle. This might be the first time that Myran isn't getting exactly what he wanted.

The selected trainees have every advantage. They stand at the front with the training staff. They have the backing of the district, the mayor, and most everyone else. In all the years that Ataru's attended the reaping, no one's ever dared to try this. It should have been harder. Myran should have been on that stage already to be whisked away to the arena.

With any luck, Myran will not get another step closer to Elodie ever again.

(Elodie slid the letter across their dressing room table. Ataru didn't need to read it to know what it was. He put down the foundation brush and stared at the base of the mirror just for something else to concentrate on. It'd been weeks since Ataru last saw the official Academy seal. He no longer had a need to go to that part of town.

They called it early graduation. Ataru knew what it was; they were being removed from the program along with all but ten of the students in his year. The volunteers were set to be solidified this week. Ataru wished they could say he'd forgotten, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else. After nearly an hour of dressing in silence, Ataru had hoped for different news.

"I'm going with Myran," she whispered.

Ataru stared still at the mirror. They wanted to be happy, but all he was was terrified. "I'm proud of you, El."

"It'll be okay," Elodie said. Her hand rested on his, but even her skin felt cold. "There's still a month til we leave."

"You don't have to, you know?" Ataru said softly. He couldn't bring himself to look at her lest the tears start. The last thing they want is for her to feel guilty. This is what she wants, after all. She's tried convincing him of that for almost a year.

Yet, they don't believe it. Maybe they would if he heard it from her lips, but Elodie hasn't spoken in almost as long. The person sitting beside him- the one with downcast eyes and quiet words- isn't nearly as compelling. Elodie never thought of the Hunger Games. She worried about dance lessons and what the cafeteria would be serving for lunch. She forgot her shoes in her locker and ran through the gym hallways with a tutu and flip-flops. This voiceless doll wasn't her.

Ataru had their own thoughts about what had changed.

She talked less about her relationship with Myran. Her parents almost never came around the theatre anymore. Ataru knew they didn't approve of him being around their daughter. They knew things were getting serious now that their time at the Academy would be coming to an end. None of them could stay students forever and life would always move on. Elodie used to talk about bringing their dances around the district and travelling after graduation. It felt like it'd been years since that was last brought up.

Do you want to die? Ataru turned the question over and over in their mind. It repeated as they put the finishing touches on their costumes in silence and walked backstage to warm up. By the time the words felt ready on their lips, Ataru had already been snug in bed hours later.

Ataru had tried to go back to the Academy. He showed up the very next day and asked to speak with the trainers. Except the process had already ended for them. The trainers didn't have time to waste on him. The remaining pair of students demanded every bit of their attention. If Ataru wanted to prove he was passionate, they could try and return as a trainer in the next intake. Anything else was out of the question. )

Ataru gives a quick shake of their head and Myran's lips only tighten. He's not going to back down until someone forces him. Myran doesn't have that authority. Ataru swallows and continues up the aisle around him. They tense, it wouldn't go beyond expectations for Myran to grab them right now. He's the slotted volunteer. He's stronger than Ataru.

Yet, just as with near-every trainee or District 1 citizen, image is everything. Myran wouldn't dare make a scene here. They've won and, for now, there's nothing that anyone can do about it.

"I believe we have a volunteer," the escort's voice quells the tension in Ataru's shoulders. It gives them the courage to climb the four steps and face the district that Ataru knows he's already lost. Sure enough, nothing but empty stares greet them. They've now realized what he's done.

The escort takes their hand and silver acrylics bite into his palm. She smiles widely and presents Ataru to the crowd like a beautiful mural. Ataru doesn't know what his expression is conveying; they suppose it doesn't matter. No one in this crowd needs to love him like they love Elodie or like they would have loved Myran. They know that he doesn't represent them.

He's a fluke, a loophole, and very soon an example.

None of that bothers them. They don't plan to return to District 1 ever again.

"Tell us your name," she says boldly, thrusting the microphone beneath his lips.

They swallow. "Ataru."

"Ataru…?" She prods but he doesn't take the hint. Their eyes stare into the crowd, but of course he can't see them. Out there somewhere are his mothers, two of the only people in the world whose opinion can still break their heart. "Do you have a last name?"

He knows they're going to find it. In a matter of minutes once they've left the stage, Ataru Watanabe is going to be plastered across the district in shame. He doesn't know what this will mean for his family. Ataru has every hope that the dishonour will stop with him. His mothers have nothing to do with his choice. In fact, they're the only ones that almost kept him here. "No."

He can only hope that they won't be punished. District 1 is a proud district; it takes care of its people and brings them wealth where hope once lived. That's what Ataru grew up knowing, that single excerpt from their pledge that had always felt like it was written for them. He believes that it will take care of their mothers no matter the dishonour he's brought them.

Truth be told, Ataru will likely never find out.

Their chin drops ever slightly as he's finally moved within reach of Elodie. She doesn't reach for his hand, not that they expect her to. She stares perfectly forward with tears glistening in her eyes, but she refuses to look at them. Ataru isn't surprised though another glass shard quickly falls in his chest.

You can hate me, but only if you make it home.

The door shuts behind them but the air feels no less stifling. The sun beats in through the curtains that Ataru doesn't have the heart to close. The air is still as silent as it had been when Peacekeepers led him from the stage. They've never seen such a quiet end to the reaping ceremony. There'd only been a few scattered bits of applause, each one snuffed out before it could catch flame.

Ataru knows it's their fault. District 1 would have clapped for Elodie; they would have cheered for Myran. Yet amongst the many things that Ataru has to feel bad about this morning, this is the one most easily brushed aside.

The room they've shut him in is small and, by district standards, bare. There's a set of three chairs at the center, one adorned with dark blue sapphires and the other two rather plain. Ataru wonders if Elodie's room will be decorated in orange fire opals. They've always been her favourite.

He traces a hand along the chair's arm but remains standing. It's obvious that this wasn't meant for them.

The door opens slowly, then all at once. The tears are almost immediate as Ataru sees their faces already reddened with more than a few. He can't remember the last time he saw their mothers cry.

Lurra holds one hand tight to her wife as she approaches, the other hand outstretched to cup Ataru's cheek. Their eyes squint as the two of them just stare. He doesn't know what to say. Nothing's going to make any of this better. Not only has Ataru possibly ruined their lives by stealing the volunteer spot, they've also finally realized the biggest lie he's ever told.

"You said you wouldn't." The tremble in Lurra's voice sounds nothing like her. She's the rock of their family, the one to laugh into silences and yank her wife and son inch by inch out of their shells. Even her usually-curious blue eyes appear hollow.

"I know." There's nothing else he can say. They lied to them. Ataru wanted to tell them but how could he? For years they'd made him promise that it was always just dance. Lurra had spent the last three weeks trying to show them around the lighting booth so that he'd have more skills to offer when the job search started.

Lurra pulls them into a tight hug, bringing Ataru as close as she can and then closer still. He feels every sob as it shudders over her body. Seconds later another set of arms come across them both, these gentler than Lurra's but just as familiar. Ataru can't imagine leaving either one of them though in a few minutes he'll have no choice.

"You know what you're doing?" Zaharia's words don't sound so afraid, but they can hear the same hollowness. She's the whisper to Lurra's shout, the most like Ataru in so many ways. Two nights ago he walked into the lighting booth to find Lurra asleep on her lap. He'd come in and leaned on her shoulder, exhausted and with makeup still caked into their pores. The last number had just started; a gentle pat told him it was okay to rest.

"Yes," Ataru whispers. Lurra clings harder to the fist full of fabric she's gathered at their waist. From Zaharia, another gentle pat to tell him that she understands.

Zaharia glances up at them, her chin just barely resting on her wife's shoulder. This time, her voice comes even lower as if hoping that Lurra won't be able to hear. "Are you coming home?"

"I don't know," Ataru whispers back. Zaharia stares at him over her wife, one hand dropping across her back. Lurra might be the center of their family, but it's always been Zaharia that understood without question. If she's asking it's because she already knows.

Slowly so that the movement won't be felt by his mother, Ataru shakes his head. Zaharia closes her eyes for a moment then pulls them both closer. There are a hundred more things they could say; a thousand more ways he could promise that he loved them or that this wasn't their fault. Instead, they stand in near-silence until the door opens again to tear them away.

"I love you," Lurra says desperately as Zaharia grabs her trembling hand that still reaches for them. Their mother repeats the sentiment, her voice softer than Lurra's but just as somber as the Peacekeepers usher them out.

Ataru swallows the dryness in his throat. "With all my heart."

The room feels infinitely emptier when the door closes again without them inside.

Ataru walks the perimeter, stopping once at the window but the only view is out towards the Academy. They watch a moment, but once again it feels like something that wasn't meant for him. They step towards the chairs and settle into the plain one furthest from the door. He doesn't know how long they'll have to stay. Truth be told, Ataru only somewhat knows what the rest of the day will bring.

He doesn't think to stand when the door opens. They're coming for him far faster than they expected. It can't already be time to board, can it? Elodie very likely still has visitors- her family, her neighbors, other friends, and Myran to name a few.

Except that's exactly who walks through the door.

Ataru stands immediately, his posture squaring up with Myran's before they can process the visitor. He stands with a sneer in the door before taking the last step in as if simply being around Ataru might burn him. In that way, Myran might not be wrong.

"Congratulations." The greeting is devoid of emotion. His face is flushed with anger but the word betrays none of that. "You've embarrassed our academy. The nation will think we're a joke for years and it's all your fault. You simply couldn't lose, could you?"

"Why are you here, Myran?" They ask flatly.

He takes a step closer. "To tell you that you fucked up, and to make sure you get the proper send off befitting the snake you are."

"Leave," Ataru says flatly, earlier tears still trembling in his eyes.

They don't move and maybe that's his mistake. Before they can react, a fist comes flying for his face. Ataru dodges, but if they'd been thinking for even a moment he would've moved the other way. Myran always hits twice.

Ataru staggers back as one hand comes up to cradle his jaw. They gasp on the taste of blood, eyes shooting forward in time to see the door slam open. Three Peacekeepers are inside within seconds, two with arms around Myran and the other between him and Ataru.

"Rot in hell, snake," Myran spits as he's pulled from the visitation room. "No one's going to remember you."

They board and take their seats in silence.

Unlike the visitation room, the train car has no lack of decoration. From the curtains draping the windows to the shining table legs everything is perfectly placed. Even the carpet seems to shimmer with tiny beads that catch the sunlight as Ataru walks over it. The walls, ceilings, and baseboards are traced in tactile patterns of white that would betray any hint of dirt. The entire thing is an unequal mix between clinical and elegant.

Ataru looks down, but it's not the smooth button down that makes them feel out of place. It's the fact that he's the only one still standing and the only available chair isn't beside Elodie. Her nor either of their mentors have even snuck a glance in their direction. The only one who seems ignorantly, blissfully unaware of the current tension is the jewel-toned Capitolite beckoning them over.

"Come on over, Ru," she chirps. "I want to hear all about you."

He swallows, staring at the silver nails that look like knives on her fingertips. Their heart skips at the nickname, but just as quickly plummets through the floor. "Ataru."

"Yes, that's what I said," she laughs. She snaps in the air a couple times as if Ataru were an animal she's trying to entice. He immediately decides that they don't like this woman. It's too bad that it doesn't seem like he'll have the choice to sit elsewhere.

They step past Elodie who sits quietly on the window bench and even stretches her legs out as further deterrence. Their mentors, Gracen and Amos, divert their eyes similarly as they join them at the table. Unsurprisingly, the only one still looking in Ataru's direction is the same one that called them over.

"Aren't you interesting?" The way she says the last word makes it feel less like a compliment and more like an observation of a strange bird in a zoo.

The awkward silence doesn't have time to settle in. Gracen stands from her spot at the table, both palms pressed to the tablecloth as if attempting to keep herself in place. She doesn't divert her eyes when Ataru looks over. In fact, the intensity of her glare would have forced his eyes down if not for the element of sheer surprise.

"What's your plan, kid?" She demands.

Ataru is too stunned to speak. All they can do is stare.

"Just what I thought," Gracen sneers. "You take a spot that doesn't belong to you and now what? I hope the three minutes of glory were worth it."

"G," Amos says softly as they move to stand beside her. Their voice is kinder than the older Victor, but maybe just because it's not being directed at him.

"He did this to himself," Gracen says. She's no longer shouting, but acid still drips from every word. "Trainees just can't stand losing. You'll find out soon there are a lot of worse things than staying home."

"I know," Ataru replies. Their voice isn't loud like Gracen's but it's somehow nearly as forceful. He stares between the two Victors but neither stops them. "Focus on her then."

Elodie doesn't even look over.

"She'll be just fine," Amos says. "Myran Spyros would have been just fine. It's only you that we have to worry about now."

"And I don't want you anywhere near her," Gracen adds.

Amos glances at their co-mentor for a moment but it's impossible to read their expression. "We don't know he's out yet."

"You think they'll take them?" Gracen asks. "He's rogue. The Pack is a delicate structure and depends on mutual agreement and respect. They can't even respect his own district. District 2 will see right through any promise to the contrary."

"Six is stronger than five." Ataru glances over, but despite speaking Elodie still hasn't looked in their direction. "They know that."

"Not when that extra piece doesn't fit," Gracen reminds her.

Elodie stares up at the mentor from the window. Even from this distance it's impossible to miss the red around her eyes. "He'll fit. You can make them believe it."

"You take direction from me," Gracen says slowly. "Not the other way around."

Elodie's expression remains neutral, but there's no mistaking the intensity behind it. "It's not direction. It's a sentiment."

"We'll talk to 2 and 4," Amos interjects. "Until then, you're not a pair. You will not speak to each other at the Tribute Parade. You will not hold hands or make any show of solidarity. If this goes south we need Elodie to maintain her position in the Pack. Understood?"

Silence. Ataru watches Elodie for a response, but her eyes don't stray from their mentors. Finally, Amos nods. "Excellent."

The two Victors retake their seats at the table as the far door suddenly opens. A red-clad servant steps through with their expression downcast and a trolley leading the way. It appears that their argument has brought them all the way to lunch. Unsurprisingly, Ataru is not in the least bit hungry.

"Is there somewhere I can lay down?" They ask softly, directing their question to the escort.

She nods and flicks a wrist towards the opposite end of the train car. Ataru thanks her and steps silently in that direction. What he'd thought at first glance was a wall is actually just a large set of drawn curtains. When they pull one side open, a bedroom opens behind it with the same clinical finishes.

He hasn't even sat down before the curtain rips open again. "Why?"

Tears burn down Elodie's cheeks by the time she lands in front of them. He swallows, not knowing what to tell her. It's the first time she's even looked at them since before the reaping. An hour into the Hunger Games and already neither looks like themselves. "I'm sorry, El. I wanted to tell you."

"I wish you would've," she snaps. "Then I would've had the chance to tell you how fucking stupid you are!"

"And you're not stupid for going in with him?" Ataru asks. "El, volunteering with Myran would've been suicide."

"Volunteering is suicide. Full stop, end of sentence." She grabs a pillow and shoves it in his direction, barely missing their sore jaw. Her voice lowers and her anger drops to the floor alongside it. "One of us isn't coming back, Ru."

They nod softly. "I know."

"But you will." Their voices come in unison, neither more than a hopeless whisper in the traveling silence. Ataru bows his head and allows the tears to gather though there'd be no way to stop them. For almost all the years they've known Elodie, he's been her greatest supporter. They usually want her to be right. For every "he'll get better" she spoke for Myran and every "they'll come around" she'd hoped for her parents, Ataru's always wanted her to be right.

Not today.

Today, they know that she has to be wrong.

It's long past the time for sleep, but not one person moves to get ready.

Ataru sits stiff in his tuxedo though the jacket lays discarded behind him and their shoes have been long lost to the foyer. Elodie is in a similar state of half dress, having tossed her elaborate skirt into her bedroom hours ago in preference of sweat pants. The shimmering stones dotted across her eyelids have mostly held on. Meanwhile the majority of both of their lipstick has been eaten alongside the array of picked over treats.

It's as quiet as it's been the past few days but the heaviness has only increased. This won't be their home for much longer, if they ever in fact wanted to call it that. The Hunger Games starts for real tomorrow morning. In a few hours none of what they're currently watching on the television will bear any meaning.

"No one's surprised to see Matis Durante leading the scoreboards. Let's review his highlights from the past few days."

"It'd take less time to show the misses, Caesar!"

"District 2 never does disappoint, folks. Now let's get into it. Matis started off the week strong-"

The sound cuts out as the screen begins to play through the Tribute Parade. Ataru glances over to find Elodie with her hand on the remote's mute button. They can't say he's not glad. He's not sure whether it's the commentary or the patriotic music playing behind it, but they're about one word away from losing his mind.

"If you insist on staying up, we should use this time wisely," Gracen instructs. She's not the same amount of high strung from the train, but that hardly means she's loosened up. The living room's been alive with late hour commentary since the first night. Half the time the remote's hidden in her room so they have no hope of changing channels. Ataru's heard applause and multiple renditions of the Treaty of Treason in every dream he's had here.

"The Tribute Parade doesn't tell us much," Elodie says blankly.

Gracen stares forward with one hand out for the remote. "First impressions are everything."

(It was hard to tell if the vibrations from the chariot or his trembling muscles were to blame. Either way, as the vehicle lurched forward Ataru used every bit of strength under their silk gloves to hold on. He kept his eyes forward and to the right, knowing that Elodie had been instructed to look left. They weren't a pair though they were so clearly dressed like one. Deep violets coated each seam of their gold robes and decorated the jewelled headbands around their ears.

A king, but Ataru hadn't recognized himself in the mirror.

A queen, but from another realm. The robe's sleeves near-covered her hands and its hem danced across the floor. The effect was mesmerizing. There was nowhere to look but her face, where every feature had been brightened and emphasized. Elodie's eyes shimmered with the colour of coins and were lined with long stripes of plum. Her lips were coated in glittering gold that caught every beam of spotlight.

Ataru wasn't permitted to look at her, but they could remember from the stables. They weren't a pair, it was for Elodie's gain that they couldn't be. Still, she was there and that was comforting enough to get them through it.)

"Look," Gracen says, pointing at the District 3 chariot as it emerges behind District 2. "Spot the difference."

"They're afraid," Ataru answers softly. While District 1 and 2 each held their chins high, the District 3 tributes looked around with wide eyes. They don't give the worst impression by any means but Gracen's right. There is a difference.

"The Pack doesn't show fear. Even you." Gracen looks across at Ataru who stiffens with the attention. "It's what makes our districts stand out and why we stick together. We might be each others' greatest competition, but we're also stronger together. Do you understand?"

She's still looking at him, so they nod.

"Why are you telling us this?" Elodie asks stiffly. "We know how the Pack works. We know it's our best chance."

"We've been informed of some concerns," Amos says gently.

Elodie's eyes narrow. "From Matis?"

They shake their head. "From his mentor actually, a dear friend of mine I might add."

"And what would those concerns be," Elodie asks, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

Gracen sighs. "This should not affect your perception of him or his partner. District 2 looks out for the interests of the Pack. I trust that wholeheartedly and I'd advise you to believe the same."

"They fear the pair of you will split too early," Amos says finally. "Particularly Ataru."

"We knew this would be an issue," Gracen adds.

"They accepted him," Elodie retorts. "If they didn't think they could trust him, why did they take us?"

"Apparently you forced his hand."

(Ataru waited at the edge of the mats, just as they'd been instructed that morning. Half-familiar faces moved past but he kept their eyes trained on the cluster at the opposite end. Ataru recognized all four of them having seen their reaping ceremonies a dozen times each. They looked like every other trainee that had been left behind at the Academy.

But they weren't. They were the rest of the Pack and Ataru was still outside of it.

It wasn't a circle at all. Elodie stood against all four of them, her arms crossed and expression stern. The mentors decided it would be up to the rest of the Pack. This morning, Elodie had the job of convincing them to accept him. Judging only by the stiff looks that glanced in their direction, the hope clouding him last night had all but disintegrated.

"We're out." No two words could have hit Ataru harder if they'd tried. For a moment he'd only stared at her, not quite understanding. Then suddenly they did.

"El you can't," they whispered.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped straight past him. Ataru had no choice but to follow. "I just did."

Sareia from District 4 brought them back to the mats maybe an hour later. Ataru was met with unyielding stares from each Pack member. Still, that was nothing compared to the absolute daggers being shot Elodie's way. She watched them with a neutral expression, her shoulder maybe an inch from his. Perhaps she had the courage to hold strong, but Ataru was positively trembling.

"You better be worth all this commotion, 1," Matis said. The way the others stood around him, it was clear that he was their leader. It was even clearer that he expected that fact wouldn't change.)

Elodie sinks back against the loveseat. "He could've said no."

"Matis was thinking of the Pack," Gracen snaps. "You were not."

"He's an asset, I helped them to understand that."

"You challenged him," Amos interjects. "You can't do that tomorrow or ever again until there's absolutely no other choice. Ataru isn't their only concern. Do you understand?"

"He didn't care until the scores came out," she says softly. "Not enough to tattle to his mentor at least."

Amos looks first at Elodie before their gaze settles on Ataru. "You put your neck out for your partner. It showed you have courage, which is intimidating but manageable. Matching his score proved you have more than that. We're only telling you to be careful; both of you."

Ataru is middle of the pack by definition. They're not far behind first place, only one point under Elodie and Matis with a nine. Two of the other Pack members managed the same. Only District 4's Sareia lags behind with an eight. With matching tens, there's no perceivable difference between Matis and Elodie; not in the Capitol's eyes.

For all that District 2 preaches about being for the Pack, Ataru can read between the lines of their mentors' words. In the most high stakes game to exist in the nation, they've both found targets pinned on their backs.

He doesn't have to think long to know what that could mean for tomorrow.

"We will be," Ataru promises.

Elodie is silent, staring at the ground with her arms still crossed. There's an obvious change to her posture. She doesn't look near as headstrong sitting against the cushions. For the first time tonight, the late hour shows in her eyes.

"We should get to sleep," they say softly but Elodie doesn't turn towards them. Her thoughts are elsewhere along with her pensive expression.

Gracen nods solemnly. "I had some sleep aid placed on your nightstands. Rest is important tonight."

Ataru stands and takes a single step towards the bedrooms, but their eyes don't leave his partner. While they can't imagine sleeping now, it's necessary. Between their worries about the Pack and tonight's interview, his sleep has been fractured at best. Tomorrow, he needs to be rested. It's impossible to tell when, if ever, their next chance will come.

"Go ahead," Elodie says finally.

Amos shakes their head. "You too."

"I will in a few minutes," she replies. Ataru watches her as their mentors begin to gather themselves towards their rooms. He doesn't know whether to let her stay out here alone. Every part of that feels wrong, but she won't even look at him. They stand silently at the edge of the couch for several minutes after the others are gone. He wonders if Elodie even realizes they're still here.

"I'm okay," she whispers. "Go to bed, Ru."

Ataru's mouth feels dry. They don't want to walk away. "El?"

"Please."

He nods though she won't be able to see it. Another moment of hesitation because instinct tells them to just be with her. Then, he does as she asks.

Their room is no more silent than the living room, but a dozen times emptier. Ataru sits at the edge of the bed staring out at the sea of white. It's decorated almost identically to the train, though every surface begs to swallow him with comfort. The mattress beneath them is the closest thing he can think to a cloud and the pillows are somehow softer. Even the rug beneath their socks encompass his feet away from leaving.

Ataru feels no amount of ease. None of this is theirs even if the bed has taken to the shape of his body and the closet is strewn with clothes that fit them perfectly. It's all temporary; just like he is. Except the room won't disappear when they do. Next year, it'll be home to a new tribute awaiting the same fate while no doubt praying for something different.

They turn to the mirrored closet doors, seeing a person that looks almost like him just as the one outside looks almost like Elodie. It feels as though these past days have changed them, though on the inside he knows they're really no different. Ataru has the same goal in coming here and the same acceptance of what that will mean.

He watches longer and the reflection does the same. There's less fear in their darkened eyes, more calm than has any reason to be there. Tomorrow could be the last time they touch ground, see sky, or feel air stroke their skin.

By tomorrow night, he could already be dead.

They've made peace with that, or as much peace as is possible without knowing what will happen. Elodie has made it no secret that she wishes he wasn't here. At the same time the rage-fueled screaming from the train is long past. She fought to keep them by her side in the Pack and elsewhere. They might still stand at arm's length, but Ataru has made peace with that as well.

As Gracen promised, a bottle of deep purple liquid sits on their nightstand when the makeup has been finally scrubbed from his face. Ataru picks it up, turning it over in their hand for several seconds before putting it back down. Sleep doesn't feel so far away now, but they know as soon as he lays down the thoughts will return.

Tomorrow's real. They've been given a job by the Pack and taken on a second of his own.

Elodie can handle herself; that's been proven by her score and in every other way. She's a better fighter than Ataru. She did better in survival classes and was the top female student by every metric. Still, there'll never be too much assurance. There can't be too many eyes watching her back or hands ready to defend against anything Matis might be willing to do. Their mentors might be right; Matis might have the best interests of the Pack at heart and only be worried for their cohesion at the Bloodbath.

In a game where only one can live, however, that's hard to believe.

Ataru downs the entirety of the medicine and slides into bed. The plush blankets are needless in the perfectly tempered room, but they sink under them anyways. He flicks the light off and plunges the sparkling room into darkness. No sooner have they rolled over than do his eyelids fall shut in sleep, only waking as the bed creaks with new weight.

It's just as dark inside the room as they struggle to keep their eyes open. A warm touch comes across his shoulder and he can barely make out the silhouette kneeling beside them. "Ru?"

He's not sure if they speak or simply groan in response.

"Did you take the medicine?"

Their eyes close, maybe for just a second or several hours. Elodie shakes his shoulder again. "Did it help?"

They can hear the tears in her voice though can see nothing in the pitch black of the bedroom. Ataru tries to nod, but all his mind craves is to fall back into dreamless sleep. They fight against it for a moment, reaching out and grabbing hold of her hand. Elodie places the second one on top.

She pulls away again and Ataru extends their hands into the darkness, unable to find her for a moment. He hears a glass bottle clink on the nightstand and then feels her weight fall against them. There's little that could convince him that the trembling beside them isn't coming from her.

I'm here. Ataru tries to say the words but they're lost in a drowsy mumble. Instead, they lay an arm over her and squeeze her into his side. They tell himself to stay awake as she hugs him back, but every second quickly melts into the next until it's impossible to hold onto consciousness.

"Please win." They hear her whisper but can't respond nor hear the soft words that follow. An instant later, they've already slipped back into an empty sleep.

Ataru wakes to the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut and the comforter bunched against his side. It's surprisingly easy to open their eyes as light pours in from the windows and for better or worse they feel awake. It doesn't take long to realize what morning means. When that happens, Ataru has every wish to close their eyes back into the sheets.

As their mind starts up again, staying in bed quickly becomes impossible. They slide out from under the covers and find the room as always to be the perfect temperature. He has no memory of last night past the medicinal flavour that sits in his cheek. Ataru steps past the two empty sleep aid bottles on the nightstand without noticing and jumps in the shower.

"We can order anything you'd like."

Gracen greets him in the dining room with red-rimmed eyes and soft words. Ataru almost doesn't recognize her, but there's no one else to expect. Her normally neatly plaited hair hangs well below her shoulders and she's wearing clothes that look suspiciously similar to last night's. Ataru says nothing of it, taking a quiet seat at the table beside Elodie.

"I'm not hungry," they say gently.

Amos nods. "Toast and fruits then."

Gracen moves around the dining table, straightening unused placemats and replacing a dropped knife before it can even hit the ground. Ataru stares down at the empty space in front of them and takes small sips of water from a sparkling glass that's lost all of its magic. Elodie pushes chunks of melon and citrus around her plate, taking in maybe every fourth piece she touches.

Gracen silently places the full plate in front of them. Despite earlier feeling no appetite, Ataru finds that taking small bites of bread is at the very least something to pull focus. Their mentors leave briefly and Amos returns without Gracen. Neither tribute asks nor says a word as she comes back changed and with her usual braid. The rest of the meal goes on in silence.

Every second that ticks by feels quicker than the last. By the time Amos finally stands from the table, it feels like Ataru's heart has done eight miles on the Academy track. They've stolen several glances at Elodie, but she hasn't looked up from her empty plate long enough to notice. Just like everyone else, she's off in her mind far away from this apartment.

"Chins up," Amos instructs as the elevator stops at the roof. "You're not afraid."

They sound so sure, but Ataru's turning stomach wants to protest. The doors slide open to reveal two other similar groups already walking ahead. They're both headed for the same place - a hovercraft waiting with one destination in mind.

Ataru pauses for a single step as they start towards it and Amos' palm lands firmly at his back. He sucks in a fast breath, unable to stop the rush of fear that grips their stomach. It's happening too quickly. It feels like there should be more time.

Their panicked eyes snap towards his mentor whose expression is unmoving from neutral. Amos tilts their chin ever slightly up and holds eye contact for a second longer before once again staring forward. Ataru forces themself to follow. He doubts they look half as confident as they fall away from their mentors and into line behind Elodie. She doesn't look back. Ataru forces himself to do the same.

The boy in front of Elodie is easily a head shorter than her and trembling from head to toe. Unlike the Careers standing behind him, his head swivels around in every direction as if desperately searching for escape. His dark eyes turn on Ataru and widen. Ataru can't imagine him even being of reaping age, but there'd be no other reason for his presence.

Try as they might, he can't remember the boy's name. They can't even think of what district he might belong to.

It hadn't seemed important.

Ataru swallows as they sit and cuffs come automatically around his wrists and ankles. They're not tight, but there's no slipping out of them either. The cool metal just glazing their skin tells him there'd be no point in trying. Others around them struggle, some with tears on their cheeks or sobs in their throats. That's the only thing that Ataru can hear as technicians move down the aisle of tributes.

The woman who stops in front of him says nothing as she presses firmly on their elbow to keep them still. Ataru closes his eyes as the needle pushes under their skin. It stings far past the time that the same woman's already moving on to Elodie. Ataru swears he can feel the tiny device pulsating in their forearm or is that just his own racing pulse? There are too many thoughts racing through their mind to figure that out.

By the time Ataru's lead down a dimmed hallway with Peacekeepers flanking each side, he can barely breathe.

They sit stiff in the stylist's chair, wide eyes pointed at the mirror but seeing nothing. Cid moves around them silently with the same turned down lips that have greeted them near every day in the Capitol. He runs his manicured fingers through Ataru's hair, no doubt coating each strand in a mix of products that will be useless hours from now.

"Are you finished?" Cid asks impatiently and they turn slowly to meet his critical gaze.

His voice is barely a whisper. "Sorry?"

"Your tears will ruin the makeup, dear," the stylist smiles, his teeth too white against already pale skin. Ataru reaches up, finding their fingertips wet as they wipe beneath his eyes. He doesn't know what to say. They want to apologize but he's certain that will only bring more tears. Instead, Ataru simply nods and closes his eyes as brushes slide over their cheeks.

"Thirty seconds."

Ataru straightens as the voice cuts through the room's stale silence. Cid still stands in the corner, his face unmoving from the signature frown since the moment he finished worked. They look to him for a moment- perhaps asking if he'd heard correctly, maybe begging for an inch of comfort that they've yet to get here. More untouched food lays on a table by the stylist's chair, but that has only made them more nauseous.

"It's time to go, dear." Ataru can imagine that there's some regret in his tone, but the illusion only lasts so long.

They nod. Words feel impossible as he stares at the platform they've been trying to ignore since he got here. They know where it leads; it'd be impossible to pretend he doesn't.

More likely than not, this will be the last room outside of the arena that Ataru will ever see.

"Twenty seconds."

They take another slow glance around. For a moment he wants to take it all back. They want to run back to District 1, to his mothers' theatre and the life they'll never see again. He wants to hug them because the one in the visitation room will never be close to enough. They want to break through whatever wall will take him home and pretend that they never volunteered.

Except Elodie would still be here.

And there's no way out for either of them right now.

"Ten seconds."

Cid steps forward and straightens the harness that hangs tight around Ataru's hips. It's the only piece of the uniform that stands out, the rest being a thick pair of dark cargo pants and a blue-grey sweatshirt that hides a similarly coloured t-shirt. Ataru stares behind the stylist to the door that he knows will be guarded and locked.

"Stand at the center of the platform and keep your hands at your sides."

Ataru has no choice but to do just that. The sturdy-soled shoes feel like weights on his feet, but it only takes a few steps before they're dead center on the platform. He stares down at the circle on the floor, its surface barely raised from the concrete beneath it. They count down the remaining seconds in his head.

While the earlier ones sped by, each one now seems to stretch across several minutes. Then suddenly, a rush of glass comes up to seal them inside.

Ataru expects to feel the rush of claustrophobia that their instructors always spoke about. He waits for the breath to leave their lungs and for their body to press against the glass in panic. It's expected. It's unavoidable. Five seconds to panic while no one can see you. Deep breaths. Then, you have to be ready.

Except they feel none of this. The glass closes over them and the only thing Ataru feels is finality.

There's no running. There's no wishing for home or the people still waiting there. He can be afraid, he can feel every beat as it thunders against their ribcage, but they're here. Nothing he can do now will change that fact.

And that in itself is a comfort.

Ataru stands with numb arms at his sides as thick darkness encapsulates him. They feel a rush of must-coated air as the arena gets closer, but when they open his eyes they still can't see her.

As the ground rises beneath them and sunshine breaks ahead, Ataru can't see anything.

Dozens of shoes take off running in every direction.

Ataru sprints for the Cornucopia, their eyes refusing to see any of the desperate others headed in the same direction. There's no thought paid to the action. It's the only place to go. He's part of the Pack and, at this moment, they move together.

The mountain of grey towers above them and its shadow covers Ataru completely as they duck inside. Every step is automatic. No attention is given to the racing in their chest or the instructions that scream through their mind. The center is where the best weapons will be and that's where Ataru finds himself.

The inner walls of the Cornucopia shine with blades that have settled deep into the stone. On the furthest wall, like a beacon, lay six weapons in queue. Ataru recognizes each one of them, the first being their own- a thin gauntlet sword with a heavy handle coated in grey leather. He reaches for it and it comes out easily in their hand. The handle fits perfectly in his palm; every measurement is exact to fit. No doubt that's no accident.

Beside it, a matching sword though slightly longer with a thinner handle. Elodie.

Going down the line, they can name each one. A wide machete for Matis. Aure's bow and a quiver of long-shafted arrows. A tall spear with Varun's perfect height and a dual-headed axe for Sareia. Each lays untouched save for his own, but that won't last long.

Matis grabs the wall of the Cornucopia as he ducks inside with heavy breaths. He glances at Ataru for only a second as the outside sounds start to creep in. They grab the machete from the wall and toss it handle first to the tribute. Matis snatches it out of the air and is gone a second later.

Ataru hopes it's a peace offering.

Varun and Aure are at his back, each ripping their own weapon from the wall. There's no sign of Sareia or Elodie but they have no concept of how long it's been. Varun and Ataru were supposed to reach the Cornucopia first. They're to set up the others and protect their supplies from anyone that ventures too close. That's not going to be quite so straight forward.

"Too many exits," Ataru shouts as Aure sprints out the opposite way of Matis. They can already see a number of shadows running across the entrances. It's impossible to tell which are theirs and which to watch.

Varun glances around the structure. It's easily a dozen feet across with six holes of varying sizes, all of them large enough for a tribute to squeeze through. "I'm here, you're there."

He's pointing to either side of the Cornucopia, but that leaves the other sides unguarded. The most they can each reasonably watch is two entrances. Ataru is about to say so, but Varun's already gone. They let out a sharp breath and head out the opposite way.

Focus. He scans the area, ignoring the scream that cuts through the air on the other side. The majority of the weapons are locked in cutouts around the main structure with survival supplies occupying the smaller rock walls. That, at least, should work in their favour.

Ataru's feet move along their half of the perimeter. No one ventures close except Aure who maintains a steady route around the three closest structures. She doesn't look their way. Ataru sees Matis for a split second before he disappears around the other side. He loses count of how many other tributes they spot. It feels like there could be hundreds of them.

The next time Ataru rounds back, one of them lays just outside one of the Cornucopia's entrances. He's crumpled around himself with one small hand reaching for the stone. Ataru can only see one eye, the other buried into the bloodstained mud beneath him. It's open, but it doesn't see them.

When Ataru looks away, he sees more of them. One, two more bodies that can't run like the others have. Another trembles against one of the further rock walls with blood coated down the front of her body. Her eyes look nearly as empty. She can't run, even if she's not gone yet. Still, she's no threat.

An almost-casualty. There'll be time to finish her once the others have fled.

Ataru remembers learning about those from their instructors.

He flings out his weapon as a shadow flies from their right. The flash of blonde makes him think of Aure, but the dark eyes are not hers. She pauses with a knife locked between her fingers, but makes no move towards them. Ataru arcs his sword towards her wrist, instincts making them move when their mind feels locked in uncertainty. She moves and the blade rips across her forearm.

The knife clatters to the ground and she turns to flee.

Ataru doesn't follow.

A moment later the tribute screams and lurches backward, but it's not her doing. Aure stands on the other side of her, barely holding the girl up by the fabric of her sweatshirt as the other twists an arrow further into her chest. The bow is slung over her shoulder but unused. It seems that Aure doesn't need it for this one.

She stares at Ataru as she yanks the arrow clean from the tribute's skin. He can see the disdain on her face by the curl of her lip. She thinks they've failed. Maybe he has.

The last thing Aure does is push the tribute back towards him. Her back lands at their feet and he doesn't move out of the way. Ataru stands shocked, eyes pinned to the girl that had been alive and desperate only moments ago. She stiffens, her eyelids fluttering as she grasps for the weapon that's already gone from her chest.

He doesn't help her. They don't think nor even realistically want to.

But he can't look away.

By the time the tribute stills on the ground, it's over. Ataru counts four bodies in view of their post- the one that'd been hugging stone now with a new slash across her throat. He can see Aure standing at the edge of the clearing with only the platforms separating her from the rest of the arena. Slowly, the others begin to come into view. Almost all of them carry splatters of bloodstains that hadn't been there minutes before.

Ataru looks down and finds that they're no different. A red spray of blood arcs across the legs of his pants from the girl that'd been thrown in front of them.

The one he should have killed.

Matis steps around the Cornucopia. The first thing Ataru sees is the blood soaking his hand. It doesn't look like he's even tried to wipe it away. "How many?"

"Eight."

Ataru's head snaps up as Elodie follows Matis to join the rest of the Pack. Every part of her looks different from the morning. She's dressed in the same colours as him, but they make her look stoic and strong. No part of her calm expression betrays that.

"Make sure," Matis says flatly. "Then collect a supply pack each."

The first step away is the hardest. Ataru circles every stone alongside the others, watching every body for signs that they could still be alive. It's silent, not the mourning quiet that comes with a funeral procession through district streets but silent all the same. No one smiles, not even Matis. To some degree, they all crawl inside themselves for those few minutes.

Not one of the bodies moves. Not one of them breathes.

"Your arm," Ataru whispers, gently touching Elodie's elbow as she begins to gather supplies beside them. There's a long cut down her tricep though layers of blood have already been wiped away. It doesn't look deep, but it's on her favoured side. Elodie pulls away quickly, looking down for only a moment before glancing back at the stone structure.

"It's fine," she replies. Her eyes wander to where Matis stands just a few meters away. They stay there for way too long to be a coincidence.

Ataru doesn't know what happened but he understands not to ask. At least for now.

"Equal split down the middle," Matis instructs. "Elodie with Varun and Sareia." He turns to Atartu. "You're with us."

"No," Elodie says, immediately stepping forward.

Aure tilts her chin up. "It's a fair split by scores."

"It's either district pairs or no pairs," Elodie says bluntly. "That's the only fair way."

Matis eyes her for a moment but she doesn't back down. "No district pairs."

"Suit yourself," Elodie nods.

His eyes narrow. "Aure and Ataru. Me and Sareia. Elodie and Varun will stay within sight of camp."

"Understood," she replies and the others nod. Ataru glances at Aure but she doesn't return the look. She's the last person they want to be alone with, but that's not an argument they can make right now. He trusts that Elodie will be alright with Varun.

The rest doesn't matter.

The hunt starts to the tune of eight cannons.

Ataru walks behind Aure and to the left. Most steps they take tread towards the sparse tufts of grass that crop up every few feet. The rest have no choice but to indent the mud. If someone wants to follow them, they'll have no trouble. Ataru isn't sure how many tributes remaining would venture that far. He doesn't know how many of the outer district threats are already dead.

Ziva, the girl from District 3 that cried at her reaping but managed a training score of eight.

The boy from District 9 that wielded a scythe in training and rivals Matis in height.

Alette, the girl from District 8 that watched their every move with eyes that were too calm for a reaped child.

There were others. Their mentors drilled in faces above names because that's what they would see in the arena. Even the ones that didn't stand out, that sobbed on stage or threw up after the Tribute Parade, can't be discounted. A trapped animal will do brave things when cornered and a weapon in an untrained hand can be deadly.

Ataru remembers all of this as they step between the boulders. In the spaces where trees should be, that's what they find instead. Each one is a different shape; some are wide and flat while others reach far into the sky with jagged edges. Besides the odd sprout of half-dead grass, they're the only things that occupy the arena around them.

They reach the edge of an even larger rock wall and Aure pauses. They look to either side but it doesn't end. Not only that, but it extends higher up than any before it. Ataru swallows as he stares up its surface. They've never seen anything like it.

"Did you see any rope at the Cornucopia?" Aure asks.

Ataru glances down at the harness still fitted around their hips. "Yes."

She nods. The silence returns but neither moves away from it. It's different from any stillness he could find in District 1. There's no bird calls, no rustling leaves as the wind blows by the perfectly manicured trees. There are no shoes shuffling towards town or back into the neighborhood. When they don't speak, there's simply… nothing.

Their heads snap in sync to the right. There's no mistaking the movement no matter how small. They're not alone.

Aure stares intensely as Ataru brings their sword out in front of them. Their actions are slow but deliberate. They're aware that every step can echo for hundreds of meters. While before there was little care paid to that fact, now it all but encompasses his mind.

Mutts are rare on the first day.

Odds tell them that this is another tribute.

Aure creeps a step forward but there's no way to know where they might be. There are three more rock walls in that direction nevermind the ones that could be behind them. Ataru keeps his eyes on her until her eyes snap up to find them. Then, he mouths a single word. Ready?

Her eyes narrow but she nods.

"I know you're there," Ataru shouts. Their voice echoes against the stone but still he hears it. In an instant they're off and Aure doesn't miss a step. Their footfalls aren't silent; they don't mean them to be.

The next corner they turn, Ataru sees him. He doesn't have to get close, in fact neither of them do. Within view is enough. Aure disappears from their side as she notches an arrow. Ataru doesn't even see it fly past them. He only hears the scream.

There's no Bloodbath to distract them from it. There are no supplies to look over or bodies to track so that he doesn't have to look. Ataru sees every frame as the tribute crumples to the ground and the arrow sticks straight up in the air, its point still lodged firmly in his skin.

Ataru slows to a jog as they approach. The first thing he notes is that the arrow only hit his hip. The boy tries to stand, crumpling around the joint before his foot can flatten on the dirt. He sobs and pulls an already dusty backpack to his chest. It doesn't take much convincing to believe that he's alone.

"Go on," Aure says as she approaches, stopping a couple meters back.

Ataru turns to face her and shakes their head. "He's yours."

"I've more than proven myself."

He swallows, feeling the colour drain from their face as thoughts of the Bloodbath return. "I was doing what Matis asked."

"Letting more tributes go so that we'll have to risk ourselves to hunt them down later?" She asks.

"Protecting the Cornucopia."

Her features don't soften. "There's no Cornucopia here."

Ataru nods. She's right, there isn't. He turns back to the tribute, his sobs still filling the air around them. He's only drawing more attention to them. The hip injury has already taken away any chance he had at winning.

They make the mistake of looking at him.

Time stills. This isn't a moment that Ataru ever wanted to imagine. Part of them expected it to come in the heat of battle, when a flick of his sword was the only thing that could save them and his opponent was still capable of trading blows. They didn't imagine this; never this. Ataru looks down at the tribute, but it's hard to call him that. He's not likely much younger than Ataru, maybe 16 or 17. The glare in his eyes tells them that he knows.

It tells Ataru that he hates them. They could have shared a classroom in another life but there's no mistaking the power imbalance. Ataru has a weapon. He has a partner that could help trap the tribute even if he could run. They have training that's prepared him for this very moment.

From the moment the escort called this boy's name, all he's had is a death sentence.

Ataru forces their eyes just above the boy's head and angles their sword down towards his neck. The tribute doesn't move. Ataru feels the moment the blade meets flesh and slices again, this time angling the sword tip until it points downward. He doesn't look. They can't bring himself to. The only reason they stop pressing is when the ground beneath the boy's neck stops him.

Then, they twist until even from the periphery all he sees is blood.

Ataru pulls the blade from the boy's throat and turns before they have to see what he's done. They keep their expression even, unwilling to let the nausea that trembles in his stomach show on their face. Aure watches every inch of his posture, no doubt looking for weakness to report to Matis.

No doubt hoping that they've been right about him all along.

"Nine," Ataru says evenly as the cannon echoes between the rock walls.

She nods. "Fourteen to go."

Sunset doesn't come soon enough.

Ataru eases against the Cornucopia and stares up at the darkening sky. They'd returned with Aure nearly an hour ago but Matis and Sareia still aren't back yet. It's getting too dark to watch for them, but that worry sits easily at the back of their mind. There've been no new cannons; they're probably just finding their way.

Elodie passes him half a protein bar. It's not until that moment that they realize how hungry he is. Ataru swallows it down easily despite the crumbling texture. If it tastes like anything at all, he doesn't notice.

She's been quiet since they got back, but everyone has been. There's little to say when the remnants of blood is still mixed with the dirt beneath their feet. The Capitol might have removed the bodies, but there's no removing the memory of them. The Pack might be trained for this, but being ready is another beast entirely. None of them will admit it, but the day's shaken them.

It's hard not to see themselves in the tributes' empty eyes. Training is no guarantee of survival and that's never been more clear in their minds. In a few days' time, five of them will be just as dead as the ones the hovercrafts removed today.

"What happened?" Ataru asks, keeping his voice low as they nod towards her arm. Elodie scans the surrounding area but they're both well out of ear shot.

She sighs. "The Rider."

"What?"

She shakes her head. "That's what Varun calls him, the District 9 boy. It's from some legend back in District 4, kind of like the Grim Reaper."

"Not sure I want to be in the arena with the Grim Reaper," Ataru laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Elodie pushes them and he pretends to fall over. "It's just a nickname, because of the scythe."

"And he did that?" They ask, nodding again to her arm.

"He tried to kill Matis."

Ataru's forehead wrinkles and she continues. "Matis went after his partner, the one with short, dark hair and freckles."

"Didn't she almost push him off their chariot?"

Elodie chuckles. "I wish I'd had the foresight to push you."

"That wouldn't have been an almost," he retorts.

"She took his machete."

Ataru's eyes widen. "So she has a death wish."

"Sounds like someone I know," Elodie shoots back. "She took his machete and ran. Matis cornered her and her partner fought back. I was close and got involved. Matis ran the second I did."

"And 9 got you?"

She shakes her head and glances around again. "Matis pushed me at them before he left. They didn't touch me. I got cut by one of the stones."

Ataru opens their mouth but no words feel strong enough. She grabs hold of his wrist before they even think about moving, but the moment their skin touches Ataru wants to get up and scream on her behalf. For the Pack? Did that expire when the gong went off?

"He's a coward," she says before they can. "We both know it but there's nothing we can do right now."

"We need to leave."

Elodie stares at him for a moment but shakes her head. "Don't even say it."

"Why not?"

"Not yet."

Ataru meets her eyes. "When?"

"I don't know."

The sound of footsteps cut their conversation short. He hears Matis greet the others as he enters the Cornucopia from the other side and the vague whispers that follow. No one comes to check on them, or at least no one that they can hear. Ataru isn't confident enough to believe that no one's watching at this point.

Not after training. Not after what Gracen told them. And not after what Elodie now knows.

They're a flight risk and not without reason.

Ataru silently traces circles in the mud and tries to listen, but the others are too far away to hear. Instead they count the voices and find four. The others are together while he and Elodie sit separate. Ataru can't help the way their stomach turns with that understanding. He doesn't trust them. He understands that most Careers will choose their district partnership over any alliance. The hierarchy of districts has been clear in the Pack since the moment Ataru was allowed to join.

Until now, that never felt so dangerous.

The anthem begins and Ataru lets out a breath as music fills the space between them and the others. He leans forward, taking Elodie's hand and squeezing it tightly to get her attention. Then, they ask again. "When?"

Elodie looks back towards the rest of the Pack. "Not yet."

"I'm worried," he admits.

"Me too."

He swallows and looks up to find the image of the young boy from the hovercraft line staring back at them. His eyes are empty in comparison to that morning when pure panic had occupied every millimeter. Still, there's no mistaking him.

Ataru's memory flashes back to the Cornucopia and to the half-face staring at them from death's shadow.

It'd been him.

They close his eyes for a moment as the anthem occupies their every thought. There's no room for mourning, in fact there's no logical reason for it. Ataru didn't know the boy, he'd never even spoken to him. Yet the realization that the tributes whose bodies littered the ground this morning are the same as the ones from the Capitol hits harder than it should.

"Be ready," they say, leaning in close so his lips nearly touch her cheek. "On watch tonight, gather what you can."

She stares at him but nods a moment later. As the anthem begins to fade out, that's the only recognition they'll get. It's too dangerous to speak outside of it. They've already said too much that the others could have easily overheard.

"I think Matis and Sareia are back," Elodie says, raising her voice ever so slightly so the others will hear her.

Ataru nods their understanding. They should join the others even if sitting out here feels safer than any moment with Aure felt this afternoon. For now, they have to make the effort. The others have to believe that they're here to stay for however long this has to last. As much as Ataru wishes Elodie were wrong about this, she isn't.

The Pack is their best chance.

For now.

Ataru rubs the sleep from their eyes for the hundredth time. Not a drop of it rubs away.

It's early, the sun barely rising above the rock walls tells him that. The air feels as old as it had when they fell asleep last night and as weighted as it did during their hours of watch. It's hard to describe the temperature as anything but stagnant. The air isn't too hot nor too cold, but it rests heavily above his shoulders and emphasizes every sore muscle in their neck.

"We could use this?"

Ataru turns to see Varun wielding a large hammer and raises an eyebrow. "Did you lose your spear?"

"Funny," Varun says as he rolls his eyes. "I meant for those."

He points towards one of the stone structures that speckles the area outside of the Cornucopia. There's no way he can be serious. "I think we'd need something bigger."

Varun scrunches his nose. "It's worth a try. Matis said they're obstructing our field of view."

"I don't know if he expected us to do anything about it."

"What else are we going to do?"

Ataru's gaze lowers to the ground and Varun takes this as a go ahead. They think about following him, but decide it's safest not to get in the way. He's right of course, there's nothing to do as they wait for the others to get back. It still bothers them that Varun is only thinking about this to please Matis.

He hears a heavy grunt and the clang of metal, first against rock and then what's more than likely mud. When nothing else follows, Ataru suspects it's safe to approach. Sure enough, the first thing they find as they step up to the large stone is the head part of Varun's hammer laying discarded on the ground.

"We might need something bigger," Varun sighs.

"We might need to stop thinking about what Matis wants." The words come out more bitter than he'd wanted but there's no way to take them back now.

Varun turns and the look on his face tells Ataru all they need to know. "Look, nobody expected this place. He's trying to make it work for all of us."

"I know," he nods. "Forget I said anything."

The air settles around them as Varun dips to pick up the hammer head. Before he can even stand up fully, they both hear it. Footsteps.

And by the sounds of it, not slow ones.

Ataru breaks into a sprint without waiting to see if he'll follow. Whoever they are, they're coming from behind him and that means the Cornucopia. They run straight for the center without bothering to look for the intruder. All of the good equipment has already been moved to the core. If they can keep them away from it, nothing else will matter.

"Left!"

Ataru doesn't consider the instruction, he just follows. They take a sharp left around the next wall and his body slams into them. It's at that moment that they realize their sword is nowhere near within reach. He grabs out instinctively and finds the collar of a girl that's only somewhat familiar.

She gasps, wide eyes staring at them with stiff limbs. Her hands are as empty as his and her uniform far dustier. For an instant, neither of them move.

"Please," she whispers, the word barely a shudder of a breath.

Ataru can hear Varun approaching. Another second and he'll be there, giving them no choice about what to do. The tribute is hardly a threat, likely only drawn to the Cornucopia in search of food or survival gear. She hasn't even managed to grab anything.

They shove her hard into the rock wall, not with enough force to break anything but with more than enough to get her out of his reach. She scrambles back, catching herself on the structure for a moment before taking off. She makes no effort to look back and that's the smartest thing she's done. By the time Varun turns around the rock wall, Ataru is standing there alone.

"Where?" He shouts.

Ataru swallows. "I don't know."

Varun's lips curl down in a snarl and he pauses to listen for footsteps. He mutters something under his breath before taking off in the same direction. Ataru picks up speed behind him but it's more than likely too late. She's gone.

"What's wrong with you?" Varun huffs as he finally skids to a stop past the platforms. He stomps quickly towards Ataru but they don't make the mistake of backing up. He stands tall with a clenched expression as Varun gets in their face.

He raises an eyebrow. "She wasn't to the left."

"Bullshit," Varun spits.

"Why would I lie to you?"

Because I'm scared of what you'll think, Ataru answers before he gets the chance. There was no point in killing the tribute though Varun would argue there was no point in letting her live either. She's not going to win, not with the six of them still held strong. Another day of mercy isn't going to change the outcome.

That's what he tells themself at least.

The truth is that, once again, he knows they messed up.

Their eyes lock for another long moment before Varun pushes past him back towards the Cornucopia. He doesn't look impressed and Ataru doesn't expect him to. This will surely be something to deal with when the others get back but, for now, this conversation is over.

The sun has barely started its descent when Aure and Sareia come back. Ataru waits at the front of the Cornucopia, alone just like the others. Aure watches the far rock walls just as they do, no doubt looking for Matis as he does Elodie. Sareia and Varun don't speak which has come to be expected. They'll join in when Matis comes back, but with Aure distracted they seem to have nothing to say to one another.

It's dark by the time Elodie and Matis return. When he sees the dual silhouettes at the edge of the clearing, Ataru can't help but sigh with relief. There'd been only one cannon today, but Sareia briefly mentioned that they'd seen no one all day.

Part of his mind shouted in the anticipatory silence. It could've been Elodie. Matis could be biding his time until he can come up with a story for how it happened. Ataru could be alone and not even realize it.

They're glad to be able to silence that voice.

"Just one today," Elodie whispers as she greets him. They nod, trying his best not to wrap her in the tightest possible hug.

They head inside with the others and both Elodie and Matis pull food from their supply packs. The rest of them have already eaten but sip on the water Sareia brought back. Apparently there's a river not too far below them. She'd offered to show them and Varun once the others came back.

"There's mutts," Aure says flatly as they settle inside. "We saw them this morning."

Sareia pales and nods softly. It's at that point that Ataru notices the extra dust across both girls' uniforms and through their hair. "They seem docile, at least the ones we met."

"For now, at least," Aure nods.

Sareia swallows. "Of course."

"What were they?" Varun asks, directing his question at his district partner specifically. Ataru can remember her saying she'd done muttation studies as part of a school project. It seemed to be an interest of hers in training but she shakes her head.

"The size of an elephant but the form of a rhinoceros," she says softly and gazes wearily out the side of the Cornucopia where dozens of rock walls stand in their view. "Not all of those rocks are rocks."

Ataru shivers and Sareia looks away. It's possible she's hiding something but instincts say that what they saw today scared her. He might not know a lot about the District 4 tribute, but she doesn't seem the type. Ataru glances at Varun, who returns the glance for a moment before looking away. Anyone that looks at him will know he's holding back. Ataru just hopes no one's looking.

The last thing Matis needs is another reason not to trust them.

The night is uneventful. Matis and Aure wait back at camp while the rest of them go off to collect water in as many jugs as they can carry. Varun sits silently by the filtration system waiting for it all to trickle through. Sareia spends a bit of time with Aure and Matis but eventually reclines against one of the stone walls. Elodie and Ataru sit at one of the entrances and wait for the cover of the anthem.

The distance feels impossible. Since the agreement yesterday, none of the hunting pairs have been district partners. Every second that Elodie's out of his sight makes his chest tighten with worry but there's nothing they can do about it. Another argument will only bring more suspicion when there's already enough pointed at them.

As far as they know, Varun hasn't said anything about the intruder.

Still, the divide is clear enough without that. Matis doesn't address Ataru, and Elodie only when he has to. District 4 seems far more comfortable with him and Aure than either of them. It worries them, not because they want to trust Varun or Sareia but because it feels like a game of numbers.

A game that they're currently losing.

It's impossible to hide the sigh of relief when the anthem begins. Ataru drifts quickly closer to Elodie. This feels like the only time they can talk and not worry about being overheard. "Did anything happen?"

She shakes her head. "I moved supplies last night."

"Me too," he admits. Their throat dries, knowing the answer to the question but unable to keep it from the air. "Tonight?"

"No," she says softly.

He nods. "I'm worried."

"I know," Elodie replies. "But this is still safe."

"Is it?"

"What are we going to do out there, Ru?" She asks. "There's nothing."

They know what she means. The arena outside this clearing is desolate, full of mud and stone except for the odd patch of browned grass. The river the girls found is the closest thing to life Ataru's seen, but even it was hardly a foot deep and stagnant as the air around them. If they run out of food out there, he's not confident there'll be any to find.

That explains why the girl this morning was so desperate to steal some. They're all probably starving.

"We'll take supplies."

Ataru knows it's a losing battle as the anthem fades. He waits a moment before shuffling a few feet away, giving Elodie a chance to agree when they know she won't. Her hands return to her lap and Ataru takes back their spot against the harsh rock bench. As usual, the silence creeps in quickly between them and fear keeps them both from breaking through it.

Regret crawls over him. For another twenty-four hours, that's it.

Ataru's head snaps past the Cornucopia as voices rise above the anthem's remnants. He only catches a few words, but the tone is unmistakable. District 2 is arguing, but they don't know about what. Ataru cranes his neck to try and see them, but Aure is already storming off towards where they're sitting. Matis rolls his eyes and makes no effort to follow.

Aure doesn't even seem to see them as she steps quickly towards the Cornucopia entrance. Elodie looks up and they see Aure flinch. When she turns to face them, there is no mistaking the tears in her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

Aure pauses. She looks between him and Elodie with a look that Ataru can only describe as envy. "Of course."

The last thing Ataru sees before she turns inside is the red mark that wraps tightly around her wrist.

"I'll be back," Elodie mumbles.

And before Ataru can ask or offer to come, she's already gone.

The third day starts like clockwork. Aure and Elodie are the ones to guard the Cornucopia while the others pair up to hunt. Ataru gathers another handful of food from their stash and two backup weapons as Sareia waits outside. He's not particularly worried about spending the day with her, but leaving Elodie behind is much harder than watching her walk away.

"Look," Sareia whispers just minutes after they leave the Cornucopia behind. They follow her voice behind a smaller rock wall and immediately see the disturbed ground. There are two wide prints in the mud. It looks like someone must have slept here last night.

There are no footprints leading from either one. It looks like whoever was here must have flown away.

Sareia bends to press into the mud and Ataru does the same. It's hard, but most of the ground has been. The trails of footprints don't last long and get broken when tributes hit stiffer patches, but they exist. Ataru does a wide circle around the large prints but finds nothing.

"Strange," Sareia says finally.

Ataru nods. "Strange."

Neither of them state the obvious; there's no need. Two tributes spent at least part of the night within sight of the Cornucopia. The thought in itself is unsettling. It almost doesn't matter who it was.

For the rest of the day, they find nothing.

Once in a while they come across two of three prints in a row, but not enough to follow. Sareia spots a much larger footprint trail, but neither of them are eager to follow whatever mutt might have made it. For hours they trail along without a sound besides their own breaths and footfalls. Occasionally, Sareia tries to start up a conversation but those don't tend to last more than a few exchanges.

They return to the Cornucopia just as the sun dips low in the sky. Matis and Varun are already there in a soft discussion that ends almost immediately upon seeing them. Ataru glances around briefly for Elodie, but she's nowhere to be found.

Matis stares directly at them as he takes a seat alongside Sareia. It's as if he knows what Ataru wants to ask, but they won't give him the satisfaction.

There've been no cannons. She's fine. Those words repeat over in his head, but offer no comfort. She should be here.

"We'll use the same groups as this morning," Matis states and the others nod along. This was already decided, but if it makes him better to give the order than so be it. Matis thinks that hunting into the night will breed better results. "Be back by sunrise or when you can't stay awake."

"There were people here last night," Sareia interjects. She glances at Ataru briefly for support and he nods. "We think we saw a camp, no supplies though."

Matis stares at her as if she's interrupted. It only takes a few seconds for her gaze to shrink to the ground. "Let me know when you find them. That's more important than a camp."

She nods. Ataru doesn't feel the words on their tongue until they've already left it. "She means they might come back tonight. Elodie and Aure can watch for them."

Matis gives them the same look. Ataru doesn't allow his eyes away. If possible, the air thickens even further until they're sure it's going to crush one of them. As long as it's Matis, he won't complain. It seems like neither of them are willing to be the one to cave first.

That is, until they have no choice.

Ataru's never heard anything like it. The loud bang fills their ears alongside a half dozen screams and the arena folds around him. He covers their ears, immediately searching for something to hold onto as dust rains down. They catch hold of one of the rock walls. He's not sure when they started moving. They don't know when they reached the ground.

Silence.

Ataru raises their head, hearing the ring in his ears as the air starts to clear. It feels like his head's been suspended in space, unable to find which direction is the sky and seeing it all through fogged lenses. Nothing hurts. That's easy to check out quickly. There are a few spots of soreness dotted around their body, but that's it. No cannons.

"Ataru?" He turns to see Sareia just beside them, dust coating her dark features and eyes wide behind that. Tears begin to streak through the grime, but it's hard to know if they're from fear or pain."What was that?"

He shakes their head and grabs hold of the wall. By the sound that came moments ago, he's surprised it doesn't crumble into even more dust. Ataru crouches low to the ground as they move around the wall. He expects at any moment another bang, a cannon fire, anything but the silence that stiffens around them.

Matis is already on his feet. Him and Varun are even more covered in grey soot, but beneath that speckles of red can be seen on their left sides. They don't look badly injured, but Matis looks like he might be the next thing to explode. "Who did that?"

Ataru's gaze finds ground zero easily. Shards of rock lay broken at a new entrance to the Cornucopia with new pieces falling from the exposed archway. At the center lies a clean patch of ground no larger than a fist with the mud distorted around it. Someone planted a bomb in their camp.

Someone else walks from the other side, their face just as coated as everyone else's. It takes much longer to recognize Elodie, but they have every instinct to run to her. She's alright. Besides the dust covering, the next thing he sees is the blood running from both hands.

"We need a tourniquet," Elodie says softly but in the stillness no one misses it. She looks between them, her hands beginning to violently shake as no one moves. "Now!"

Sareia jumps to her feet first and Ataru runs right behind her. They know where the medical supplies are but his hands can't move fast enough. All he can see is the blood on Elodie's hands. They can't even think to ask any questions. Ataru tears through the crate but it's Sareia who finds one first.

Ataru sprints after her. They find Elodie crouched over a ground far bloodier than her hands. He can't move. They can't even recognize the person below her as Aure for several seconds. By the time Sareia's tightening the tourniquet around Aure's humerus, he's still yet to move.

"We were headed back," Elodie stammers. There are tears built in her eyes but she hasn't let a single one fall. Her gaze doesn't move from Aure, who grimaces with the bandaging but otherwise seems incapable of words. "We didn't know what it was."

"Who was it?" Matis hisses as he crouches beside his district partner. There are stripes of blood over the rest of her body but it's impossible to tell where it came from. There could be more injuries. By the sound of the explosion, it's unthinkable that there won't be.

Still, Aure moves. She looks around at the semi-circle of people as if understanding none of what happened. She glances down at her arm, the mangled mess of tissues that fade into the mud. It's hard to tell where her fingers even start. But she's not dead.

Not yet.

"I heard it when I picked it up," Aure says plainly, now staring more towards the sky than any of them. "There was a click."

"She dropped it and we ran," Elodie adds.

Aure nods and closes her eyes briefly. "We made it."

"Almost," Elodie whispers but she doesn't elaborate. She doesn't need to.

"Who was it?" Matis repeats, his voice louder as he looks between them. The anger in his eyes is obvious, but the pain even more so. Does he care about Aure? Matis doesn't look injured and they are district partners. Still, it's not something Ataru believed him capable of.

Aure grabs his hand for help to sit up and Matis' entire body tenses. He stares at Ataru, but this time it's hard to push it away. Part of them knows that he's right even if he doesn't realize that he is.

"Yesterday," Varun says stiffly. His eyes glare right through Ataru and they know what he's about to say. He can't help their step backwards, no matter that it's as good as an admission of guilt. "The girl yesterday. Did you know?"

"No," Ataru says. "I didn't see her."

"What?" Matis demands.

Varun's jaw tightens. "They let a girl go. She would've been right here when you found her. Oh, but you didn't, right? You didn't see her even though you were right on top of her."

"She wasn't a threat," Ataru swallows. "I didn't see her plant anything. Neither did you."

"Then who did?" Varun shouts. "Why else would she come here?"

Food. Ataru thinks but the more he turns it over in their mind the less believable it sounds. It'd only been the second day. No one should have been that desperate yet, especially not a low district tribute. Every second that the others stare at him, the more they realize they're right.

Matis tears his hand from his district partner and steps closer. "You're really that fucking stupid aren't you?"

Ataru glances at Aure. Her eyes don't have the same accusing glare, but how long will that last? Varun watches him with a look of betrayal; Sareia won't even meet their gaze. By the time their eyes land on Elodie, he's all but begging her. They want to help her. He wants to be with her. He's ruined any chance of this place being safe for them.

"Now," Elodie says softly. The word hangs in the air around them all for a moment, but only Ataru understands. They watch her another moment, waiting for confirmation because there's no going back. He knows there's also no staying here, not for him.

And they won't leave her behind. No matter how dangerous he's made this camp for themself.

She nods.

He waits for a moment until she's on her feet.

Matis turns to her, but Ataru's already behind him. They push him straight down to give them another second to swing their bag over his shoulder. Matis lands on his knees but it's clear he wasn't expecting this.

Then, District 1 takes off running.

They can barely see Elodie in front of them as he moves through the rock walls. The entire area outside of the Cornucopia feels like an obstacle course, with one wrong move being enough to bring Matis straight to them. They're not delusional. All he did was slow him down in hopes of getting enough of a head start.

The fact that Elodie's in front makes them feel a lot better, but they're nowhere near safe.

Varun is the first one they see. Elodie takes a fast right that Ataru barely matches and they circle back towards the Cornucopia. Another right. A left. They can hear shouts and each time they move away from them. It's hard to tell if that's Matis' tactic. It's hard to tell if anyone's had time to think of a tactic at this point.

Ataru grabs Elodie and they stop behind one of the closer rock walls. This isn't taking them far enough away. Someone runs past them but it's unclear whether they've been spotted. The walls are too high and there are too many corners. All over again it feels like the Bloodbath but the pounding in his chest is even louder. They're not playing offense this time. Not entirely.

Elodie leaps forward with her sword extended and Matis shouts his location. Ataru can only distinguish one other pair of footsteps, this one much slower than the ones from earlier. If he had to guess, Matis has sent District 4 to guard the clearing beyond the rock walls. They'll be able to at the very least see where Elodie and them head off too. More likely, they'd be able to stop them before they ever got there.

That means the other set of footsteps is Aure. He's almost sure of it.

She's the first one they see. The familiar bow is gone from her shoulder and replaced by a short dagger in her free hand. She looks pale, but the earlier fog is gone from her eyes. Aure arcs the weapon in a half-circle and Ataru counters with his sword. She's not balanced, but she's not stupid. She adapts with every parry and they can hear Elodie dealing with Matis behind him.

He needs to get to her. They don't trust Matis with her for a single second.

Ataru uses his free hand and their knuckles find Aure's jaw. She gasps, responding with a sharp thrust of her dagger that catches their side. It stings, but barely lasts for a moment in his mind. Their next blow sends Aure's back into the rock beside her. Ataru hears the crack as her head knocks against it, but she doesn't stop fighting.

Aure grabs their hands and kicks out, landing one foot on his shin. They can hear the fight behind him but a glance back is too dangerous. Ataru looks down at Aure, blood streaked across both of them from her mangled arm. He doesn't want to kill her. They don't know if they have a choice.

Ataru lunges forward and knocks the dagger from her grip but doesn't stop there. They spin her around until she stands in front of him. They grab her only good wrist and pin it to her side while his bladed hand brings their sword against her throat.

"Matis!" Ataru shouts. "Stop!"

He sees Aure held in their grip but the surprise only lasts a second. Matis grabs for Elodie who replaces her hand with the end of her sword. He stumbles back as his eyes rest on his district partner. Ataru warns themself not to let go.

I don't want to kill her. Ataru doesn't know at this point if that matters.

Matis' head snaps to look behind him. Elodie sees their plan and her sword returns to point at their ex-ally. "Go ahead, call them. She'll be dead before they get here."

It's hard to say if Matis hears the waver in her voice, but Ataru does. She doesn't like this. He doesn't either. It feels more than a step shy of humanity, but this could be their best chance. They can't fight all of them, not now. If Ataru puts their numbers at further risk, Matis might just let them go. It's his choice.

It's your choice.

It's not.

Ataru stares at Matis, but his face is impossible to read. They know that cares about his district partner; Elodie found out as much last night. They grew up together, practically siblings since they started training. He's not always been kind to her. They argue, Aure admitted that much. Ataru saw the red indent on her wrist after the anthem.

But he cares; at least about this.

They know it.

"We just want to leave," Ataru says slowly. He tightens their grip on Aure but can't bring himself to look down at her. They can feel every heavy breath. He knows that she's in pain. They can't afford to think about any of that. "That's all."

"Yeah right," Matis says, the tension clear in each word. "Let her go then."

"Walk away," Elodie counters. "When we get to the edge, we will."

"Kill her, I don't care," Matis spits. "You're not leaving."

Ataru swallows but his mouth has gone dry. "We are."

"We don't need them," Aure snaps, the tears clear even in her voice.

Matis glares at them. "You think I'm weak? You think she's my weakness?"

Matis takes a step forward and Elodie backs towards them. His grasp tightens on Aure's wrist almost automatically, but this time they make the mistake of looking down. Aure glares up at him but that only lasts a moment. Ataru doesn't see the moment that Matis' hand reaches for his belt and the barely visible knife that's hidden beneath it.

They only see blood as it lodges at the top of Aure's throat.

Elodie screams and Ataru instinctively pushes her away. The choking cough that emits from Aure's lips is one of the worst he's ever heard. Aure grabs for the knife, nearly plucking it from her skin before no doubt thinking better of it. The panic in her eyes tells them all they need to. It's cut through her airway, if not also her external carotid.

The only reason her cannon holds is that the blade's still in place.

"I have no weaknesses!" Matis bellows.

Elodie grabs him, pulling them those first few steps before his legs decide to work again. Matis shouts for Varun and Sareia. They hear the footsteps that follow but all come from behind them. If they just keep going, they might make it. Ataru feels sick to his stomach. They look down and see blood drip from his forearm but they don't stop.

The darkness gives all the cover they need, but it doesn't hide the footfalls that follow far past the Cornucopia.

If anything, it magnifies them.

As the sun peeks through their eyelids, Ataru has only a vague memory of falling asleep. His neck cracks as they right themself and look around, finding a thick pillow of rock to be the cause of their discomfort. An instant later, it all floods back and he shakes Elodie awake.

She gasps. "What?"

They just stare at her a moment, then the oddest thing happens as his lips curl into a smile. She stares up at him, likely wondering if they've gone insane, but the wider the grin grows the less capable he becomes of stopping it. They grab her hands, squeezing them tightly and letting out a breath that feels a hundred years old. "You're okay."

Elodie makes a face but it doesn't last long. She chuckles and shakes her head before working both hands out of his grip. "And you're awake."

"You're okay, right?" Ataru asks, their face falling to worry for a second.

She nods then points to a spot of red on her hip. "Don't worry, this is yours."

He scans their own body and finds the slice from last night neatly taped over with gauze. It bled through and the tape is barely holding on, but it's better than they expected. Elodie always used to joke that bandaging to her was like painting - a skill she'll never learn. It seems that's held true.

"It looks great," Ataru says as they carefully peel the tip of the gauze from the wound. Thankfully it's not deep and probably doesn't need much of a wrapping anymore. Most of the blood looks to be dried.

Elodie scoffs. "Liar."

He laughs, and they mean really laugh. The open air around them might feel vulnerable. He might remember exactly where they are and what they're facing, but Ataru hasn't even smiled in what feels like decades. The weight in the air is still there but it's a thousand pounds lighter.

"Where are we?"

Ataru scans the area but that gives him few answers. The rock walls out here are larger than the ones dotting the Cornucopia, and dozens of meters taller. Right now they're tangled in a space that's about ten meters in diameter. The mud underneath them has the same hardness as in the clearing, but every so often it's broken up by smaller rock faces or sprouts of dried greenery.

And the sky.

Ataru never stopped to stare before, only glancing with the anthem because that felt proper. It's beautiful, the clearest they've ever seen with sparse clouds speckling the summery blues. The sun warms his cheeks and the air around them with a gentle touch. The tallest of rock walls reach up towards it, but not as an obstacle like the buildings of District 1. They seem to belong, it all does.

"You're gonna burn your retinas," Elodie says.

They place his hand over their eyes. "Is this better?"

She rolls her eyes. "Only because your face is half-covered."

Their laughter mingles in the air before falling around them. It's only a brief moment and it melts away easily, but still they feel so much clearer. The events of the night haven't left, merely danced to the back of his mind for a moment of peace. Sooner or later they were bound to skip back and by the gloss in Elodie's eyes they've reached her too.

"We're far from them," Elodie says softly.

Ataru nods and peels themself further from her for a moment. He sighs and tries to keep eye contact so she knows it's genuine. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't know she was planting anything," they continue. "I didn't want Aure or you to get hurt. It just seemed like the right thing but it wasn't."

She cracks a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You're too good for this place, Ru."

He swallows. "So are you."

"It's not looking good for us then." They know she means it as a joke, but he can't help finding the regret in her words. She's right of course, regardless of how good or bad either of them are, they're here now. And no amount of sunlight or sparkling clouds is going to change what that means.

She stares at her lap and they both rest in the silence. He wishes that they knew what to say, but no words seem powerful enough to keep the weight off.

"Well, let's go," Elodie says finally as she stands and wipes her hands on the front of her pants. Her palms come back just as dusty but they decide not to mention it.

He climbs to their feet beside her. "Where?"

She shrugs. It's as good an answer as any and the exact one that brought them here last night. It doesn't matter where they're going anymore. The plans are over. The leader barking instructions each morning is gone. They're free agents with an entire arena to explore.

And maybe that's just a little bit exciting.

The silence is different now.

Ataru walks beside her, his eyes climbing every rock wall they pass. It feels like they've been walking forever, that they should've reached some sort of end by now, but the arena stretches on. They haven't passed the river and didn't last night either. That likely means they're headed in the other direction.

"Look," he whispers and gently stops Elodie by the shoulder. They point at a far rock wall, one of the largest they've seen with its jagged top stretching far into the sky. It looks like it's … moving. Pieces ruffle at its summit and shards of sunlight bounce around them.

"What is it?" Elodie whispers. They shake his head.

He jumps as a piece of the structure leaps from the edge. Elode throws her arm out in front of them and he grabs it automatically. They can't take their eyes from the figure as it descends, then quickly gains height again. It arches above them, coming just close enough to see the grey pattern of feathered wings as they glide beneath the clouds.

Elodie lets out a relieved sigh. "It's the same colour."

"I didn't even see it up there," he whispers. They watch together as two more birds hop from the stone into the air. The three creatures circle together above the tributes without a single call between them. Even when they dip closer, Ataru can't even hear the wind beneath their outstretched wings.

They're some of the most beautiful creatures he's ever seen. Elodie slides closer in caution but her eyes tell the same story. There's nothing like them back in District 1; not even close.

"I didn't think it would be like this," Elodie says softly.

He shakes their head. "Me neither."

As if on cue, a cannon booms in the distance.

A place like this shouldn't be beautiful. He knows what's out here, not only Matis but the other tributes, muttations, and who knows what else. Unspeakable things have already happened. The girls from the Bloodbath. The boy only hours later. Aure just last night. There's no shortage of memories to bring Ataru back to the reality of today.

But they feel so far away.

Even as the cannon leaves more weight in the air below it, they feel like they're on another side of the planet. The sun sits perfectly above them. The sky is alive with unnatural creatures that soar in perfect arcs. The ground is warm as they lay against it, staring up at the beauty that shouldn't be there but is just so encompassing. It feels like they're the only two people for kilometers.

Just like those young nights in the theatre where they'd yell along to songs and jump across the armrests, it's just Elodie and Ataru.

One more time.

On the morning of the fifth day, they reach the edge.

For the past days, Ataru had believed the wall they'd found with Aure on the first day was the end. However, as Elodie and him moved further from the Cornucopia, they began to doubt that. The next wall was the end, or maybe the next one. Each reached further into the sky than the one before it, but there was always a way around. It took them the better part of an hour to walk around some, but there was always an end.

They continue along the stone path until it finally disappears down a steep canyon. Elodie is the first to bring her hand up near it, waving her palm across the point where the earth drops off. They listen carefully. As her hand ventures closer, they hear it - the faint buzzing of the forcefield that confirms both of their suspicions.

Elodie moves to stand beside them. "Now what?"

He glances up the side of the rock wall. It's massive, the side seeming to extend up as far as the clouds or maybe even further. To think that they believed any of the other walls were the end is almost laughable. Standing here now, nothing he's ever seen comes close to comparing.

Ataru swings their pack off of his shoulder and digs through the main pocket. They can feel Elodie watching but decides to wait until he's sure. They remember grabbing it on the second night, but he was more than half-asleep at the time.

"Here," they say, pulling a coil of rope from the bottom of the pack. He smiles at the ground as they search for the second, knowing the confused expression no doubt crossing her face.

Sure enough, when he stands up again to face her she's holding the rope out like it's infectious. "No."

"Why not?" They smile.

It doesn't take near as much convincing as he'd expected; afterall, there is some logic to the endeavor. They don't have a camp. There's been nowhere near secure enough that the two of them could settle on. It all feels too exposed, too enclosed, too large, too small. It's those moments that they finally have to stop and rest that it's obvious again where they are. It no longer feels like just them when anyone could stumble by.

The climb isn't as difficult as it looked from the ground. The stones create enough handholds that they're able to move up rather quickly, but that doesn't mean it's comfortable. By the time they reach their target, the skin of his palms feels like it's been through a paper shredder.

Ataru pulls themself over the edge and lets out a loud sigh as they collapse on solid ground. Elodie shakes her head and kicks him not so gently in the hip.

"That was awful," she complains and raises one hand up to prove it. There are long scratches down the insides of her fingers from holding on.

They hold up his own hands in response. "We made it, though."

She rolls her eyes but her smile says more. "This is insane."

"Look," they say, pointing behind her. They'd been able to spot the cutout from the ground but had little idea whether it would be big enough. The cave has been carved out of the side of the stone just behind the short ledge they're resting on. In the daylight, Ataru can see that it's perfect.

Elodie whirls around and glances inside, considering the cave for a few seconds before turning around with a pretend scowl. "Fine. You were right."

They smile and her expression doesn't last another second. Ataru pulls his rope up first then Elodie's as she ventures to explore. It won't be as safe of a descent if they pull them now, but it's necessary. Anyone else could use them to reach the ledge and they're confident that both will be able to make it down without if they have to.

Besides, they have options even if something does reach them, but Ataru is hopeful. Few of the other tributes will have rope and even fewer are likely confident enough in climbing to do without. Matis or District 4 don't have a reason to come up here; they still have the Cornucopia.

If they stay out of sight, they'll be safe. At least for now.

Ataru finishes putting a coil of rope into each of their bags and just looks over the ledge. The arena looks different from up here, even larger somehow. They can't see past many of the taller rock walls without going higher, but they can see much farther than before. Looking up, all they see is sky and tips of rock no different than before. Looking down, they can see so much more.

"Look," Ataru says softly as something catches his eye on the ground. They listen as Elodie's quiet steps fall beside them followed by a gentle sigh of astonishment.

It's the creature that Sareia described. He never imagined seeing anything like it. "What did Sareia call it?"

"A rhinoceros," Elodie replies. "But bigger."

Ataru nods. "Like an elephant."

Those words mean very little to them, having come from seemingly a different lifetime. They learn about extinct animals in lower grades, but it's been years. Still, the creatures winding around the rock walls look like nothing he's seen in any textbook. Even from this high up, Ataru can see the large buttons of black eyes set between coarse folds of grey skin. Just like the birds from yesterday, these creatures look like moving stones.

She folds her arms around them and Ataru stiffens for just a moment before relaxing into the embrace. He leans their head against her shoulder, looking out at the arena and knowing that she's doing the same. It feels safe, not just Elodie's arms around them but the cave and the creatures and the sky that's never ending above their heads.

They've found their perch on top of the world. He can keep Elodie safe here for a little while longer even if they're two steps shy of the edge.

The cannons boom louder so far above ground.

The first comes just hours after climbing up, forcing Elodie to grab out for his arm in half-sleep. They stiffen as the eruption shakes the air around them and watch the stone walls for signs of weakness. Too quickly, however, it's gone from the air again. Elodie curls back into semi-consciousness and Ataru watches over her.

The next interrupts the first notes of the anthem. They're less afraid this time, but there's no keeping his jaw from clenching or her eyes from snapping up to the cave ceiling. Ataru replaces their head on her lap and her fingers fall gently to his hair again. The anthem continues as the air still shakes with the newest announcement.

Both times Ataru can't help but be shaken back into the arena. The cannons are reminders of the tributes that walk beneath their haven and the game that ticks by uninterrupted. Each time they're forced to remember that it all continues and that someday it will come back for them.

It's become harder to forget even between the cannons.

Ataru knows that they can't stay, no matter how badly he wishes they could. Their goal hasn't changed; he needs to support Elodie and she needs to return to District 1. In the same strand, Ataru has to die. They understand that even if he doesn't want to think about it yet. It doesn't feel like too much to ask for this day to just be. He doesn't likely have many left.

Yet, they both know this is dangerous.

Players that don't play, don't win.

They're relaxing on borrowed time while the Capitol holds fate in their hands. The tributes are dangerous, but there are so many other gears in play. It's how the Gamemakers ensure a desirable Victor, it's why scores and impressions and sponsors matter. Neither of them have killed anyone since the first day. They haven't received any sponsor gifts since climbing up here.

It's only been a few hours, Ataru tells themself but the whisper is weak. Some viewers might believe that yesterday's meandering was them searching for victims. They're not sure how long that narrative can last.

We can't stay.

The anthem blares on. The first face that appears is not quite a surprise, but Ataru shakes their head nonetheless. It's one of the few outer district tributes that caught the Pack's eye, though none of them could quite pinpoint why. Even projected across the stars, the District 8 tribute's eyes are as wide and knowing as he remembers.

She doesn't look dead. They suppose that's the point.

Still it's so easy to pretend that she's not.

"What?" Elodie's voice speaks the word that echoes through his brain as the next image appears. They sit upright and slide closer to the edge, not quite willing to believe his eyes. This new angle changes nothing. It's still her face staring down at them.

Sareia?

Their throat dries up with any possible response. They both sit in stunned silence until the moment her eyes disappear from the stars. The anthem ends and neither has moved. Ataru doesn't think he's capable. There are a hundred explanations and a dozen reasons that they shouldn't be upset. This is the Hunger Games. They're all going to die whether he knows their names or not.

Yet, just like the night Aure's image brought Elodie to sobbing tears, their eyes begin to blur.

He feels her reach for them but for the first time it's hard to seek that comfort. They peel back but Elodie just pulls him in closer until they're sitting in front of her. She leans her chin on his shoulder and every tear that's built up comes crashing down.

They weren't close, not by a long shot. Yet the knowledge that Sareia's gone hits them harder than any of the others.

"It's okay," Elodie whispers. "You can cry."

He does, for what feels like hours. She keeps her arms wrapped tightly around their chest until the sound of her even breaths emerges past his sobs. Ataru's fingers dig deep into her skin, as if Elodie is the only thing holding him firm to the ground. There's no smart joke about them getting tears on her sleeves. There's just them.

"I don't even know her last name," Ataru finally laughs, though the sound just brings another wave of tears.

He expects her to laugh but she just pulls them closer. "She was kind."

They nod. While the others had treated him with suspicion and distance, Sareia had been just that little bit more accepting. She didn't flinch around them like he was some explosive or ignore them altogether. He might not have really known her, but they suppose that was the point. She didn't know him and she still treated them like a person.

"Four then," Elodie says finally and they nod.

When he looks up, they see glistening tears have slipped over her eyes too. "Aure?"

She attempts a smile but her face just scrunches up again as she nods. They've yet to speak about her, but it was clear from the split that what happened hit Elodie hard. They hadn't known the two to be close, but they'd spent almost a full day together. Not to mention the night before, which Elodie has yet to tell them about.

He doesn't want to push. Yet, they want to understand.

"It's hard," he says gently, cupping her cheek. "You can cry."

The sad smile comes again. "I just said that."

"And then I said it," they shrug. "Now what happened with Aure?"

She pauses and glances down, but Ataru can see that he's right about something happening. "Nothing, we just talked. We had a lot in common."

"Yeah?" They ask.

She nods. "Matis and her were together."

"What?"

She just nods again. "They broke up because of training. Neither wanted to give up on going, so they didn't. Aure still loved him, but I don't know if he did. Not after what she told me."

"Someone who loves you wouldn't do that." He replies, remembering the print of red around Aure's wrist.

She pauses. "I think she realized that."

"It's hard to tell," he offers.

"I know."

It's impossible to say whether they're still talking about Aure, but there's something they want her to know. She'll be going home in a few weeks, maybe even sooner. He wants her to see what it took Aure too long to.

"He doesn't love you, El."

I do.

The rest of the statement gets caught in their throat. He doesn't want it to be a choice of them or him because that's no choice at all. They want her to be happy even if it's too late for that to be with him. Myran isn't the right person for her no matter what her parents say. Ataru hadn't wanted to step on toes. He should have.

She nods, slowly and then again. "I know."

They swallow. He doesn't know if they believe her. Over the years that they've been friends so much changed because of Myran. She didn't stop by every day at the theatre like she used to. She wore the fine fabrics that her parents had always bought but she'd always ignored. She got quiet, the jokes all dried up when they used to come in plentiful waves.

"I missed you," he whispers.

She glances up, her forehead scrunched in confusion. "I never left."

"You tried to."

Elodie just stares at him and they can feel the tears welling back up. His next words are even softer, but the hurt behind them is palpable. This is one question they've still yet to get an answer for. "Why'd you volunteer?"

"The Academy chose me," she says simply, ducking her eyes away.

They shake his head. "That's not why."

She glances at the back of the cave, no doubt wanting to move away from this. It's often been like this. Elodie is a private person as much as he loves her. There's a lot more in her mind than she tells anyone about including them. Ataru picks up on a lot; they know her better than many others. He knows how her parents' expectations weigh on her and at least partially the things Myran's done to her. Still, he doesn't know everything.

They gently place his hand over hers. They won't force her to stay and talk to him, but he hopes that she will. Elodie turns her palm up so it faces theirs and then looks up. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

Ataru squeezes her hand as tears crawl down both their faces. The emptiness in her words is so obvious, but he hadn't known it was there before right now. "I'm sorry."

"Myran was exactly what they wanted," she continues in a harsh whisper. "But I hate him. Two more years and we should've been married but he wanted to go to the Hunger Games. I was excited and I thought I was awful because I wanted him to die. But the more we trained, the more I realized. He could win. He could come back. And if he was going to-"

She pauses, allowing the unspoken end to hover in the air between them. Ataru holds her hand tighter, not recognizing all the pain that runs thick through each word. If she's never told him this, she's never told anyone. She's been holding onto all of this alone for months if not longer.

"And if he was going to," she whispers finally. "I didn't want to."

Elodie collapses into sobs and they pull her in close to his chest. Her breaths come quickly along with choking tears that fall down their arm. This doesn't feel like his friend, but it's her. She's changed in more ways than they've ever realized but not because she was pulling away. She was in so much pain she hadn't had a choice.

He wants to send her home, but how?

They're not going to be there beside her on that train. Ataru won't be there to hug her when she steps off or remind her that she's safe. If Elodie goes home, he won't. This past week has been spent with that being their only goal in mind. He would let her go home no matter what that meant for them. She would live her life as beautifully as she was meant to.

And he still wants to believe they can do that.

Her eyes shine too bright to stay in the stars.

Ataru closes his eyes when the morning sun crawls through the cave entrance. They knew it couldn't be too far away, but he'd hoped for a few more hours. Their arms tighten ever so slightly around Elodie's waist, at the same time being careful not to wake her. He lowers their head against her shoulder, opening his eyes again to an even wider strip of light creeping closer.

They watch her stomach rise and fall in sleep, his own breaths following the slow pattern. The air is still just as silent as it was through the night - not an animal or tribute to be heard. The morning sun feels empty without the accompanying bird song but Ataru thinks they're finally getting used to the stony quiet.

Elodie's breaths quicken as she begins to wake and he prays for time to slow down.

"Morning," she whispers, turning on their chest until her groggy eyes meet his.

Ataru smiles. "Good morning."

Neither says more. They remember their agreement from the night before but if they don't say it maybe it doesn't have to exist. They can't stay here. The games have gone on without them for almost an entire day but they have to return to it. It's not safe to hide no matter the still air that conflicts that sentiment.

The sunlight steps further, now reaching the tips of their shoes. Ataru sighs and lifts their head from her shoulder. "It's daylight."

Elodie pulls his cheek back to rest against her. "Not yet."

"El," they say softly.

She turns and her eyes lock with theirs. "A little longer."

All sense of urgency leaves with her gentle plea. He nods and Elodie wriggles out of their grasp to guide his head onto her lap. Her fingers trace through their hair and he closes his eyes. They want to stay, more than anything he wants this to be their forever especially knowing how fleeting these moments are. It's the sixth day; halfway through if not more. They don't know how much time he'll have left to feel her skin against theirs.

Besides, they're tired. Sleep was hard to fall into knowing that no one would be watching over her. The more her gentle touch trails across his skin, the more cognizant they are of that simple fact. Each second of silence pulls him deeper towards sleep.

"Do you remember what I told you in the Capitol?" She asks, her words echoing in the space between his dream and the arena. He tries to open their eyes, to answer her question because he doesn't remember. The most they can offer is a light squeeze of the hand that lays across him.

Elodie's fingers tighten around theirs when he doesn't reply and she laughs softly. They've drifted too far away to hear the words, but part of him knows.

The gentle "I love you" that they can only answer in his dream.

But there, Ataru says it a dozen times back.

Ataru awakens to rumbling thunder from every direction.

Elodie pulls him up to sit and shoves them towards the cave entrance. The walls tremble around them, every centimeter of the cave seeming to move in multiple directions as the noise gets louder. They grab her wrist behind him and pull her forward until they're side by side. Without speaking they know it's too dangerous to stand; crawling is slower but still doesn't take long to reach the ledge.

He stares up at the rock wall, its towering height no longer the mass of stillness from yesterday. The entire structure vibrates with the inside of the cave. Dust rains down on them along with near-invisible shards of stone. From the very top, where the clouds seem to graze the summit, a denser fog of debris has begun to descend.

"The rope!" Ataru shouts, their words barely audible in the rattling above.

Elodie shoves one of the bags towards him and digs quickly through the second. They pull the rope from the top and begin to quickly tie it around their waist. The ledge still feels secure enough to hold them, at least for the time being. Elodie already has her rope tied and grabs a stake from the pack. All they have to do is secure each stake and rappel down. It should take less than a minute to set up.

Ataru's hands shake as they join her in pushing their own stake into the ledge. There's already a small divot prepared for each of them, but that won't be enough to support either of their weight. He glances up at the same moment that part of the ledge gives way beneath Elodie's stake.

She gasps and dives towards them. Ataru pulls her closer and points up at the top. The landslide has already reached the top of their cave. There's no time. "Jump."

She doesn't have time to respond. Elodie grabs his hand and runs for the edge of the platform. They don't even get to turn around as his steps scramble backwards and the ground is suddenly gone beneath their feet. Ataru tries to use his feet to launch further from the wall, but they're already falling.

He can see the cloud of dust and rock falling too. When their lips part in a gasp, he can taste it. His thigh catches on another edge of the wall. As they turn in the air from impact, debris rains down on his side. They close his eyes. Dust burns their nose and every part of him feels like it's been electrified. They're still falling, but rubble assaults him from every direction until down could be anywhere.

Ataru clings tight to her hand. It's the only thing they can focus on as the rock wall collapses around them. It only lasts a few seconds- perhaps even less- but in those moments her nails digging into his palm are the only things that exist.

When it suddenly rips free of their grasp, nothing exists.

His eyes fly open no matter the dust that quickly fills them. Their hand flails in search of its missing piece as shards of rock break like glass against his skin. The eternity of falling lasts little more than a second when they can no longer find her.

It's too fast. It's not enough time.

He strikes the ground and all air is knocked free of their lungs. Ataru gasps, taking in another breath of dust as his eyes burn open to search for her. The world is grey around them, with shadows looming but they all appear too blurred to recognize. He lifts their head for a moment before it lulls backwards. Their entire body feels too heavy to lie here let alone stand.

I have to, Ataru tells himself. Elodie!

The afternoon sun shakes at the top of their vision, its light too weak to penetrate the cloud of rock surrounding him. The area they lie in is too dark. The shadows are too plentiful to search. He moves one hand in a pitiful effort to search for anything that isn't broken stone around them. More rock lands over his back, burying them in a heavy grave that makes his breaths run shallow.

They lift their head again before darkness blurs over his vision.

He can almost believe that they see her walking towards him.

And if she's okay, then so is this.

The first thing they notice is a slow exhale that starts from his stomach and runs effortlessly up their throat. His eyes flutter in darkness, the burning from the landslide a stinging memory but a memory nonetheless. Their fingers twitch against cool mud and Ataru starts to feel the chill of the ground spread across his back.

They turn and his body groans in protest, every pore feeling like part of one huge bruise. Their eyes open but daylight doesn't greet him. They stare up at a blurry sky full of blurry stars and air that sits heavy over his limbs.

"You're awake."

The words make him think of Elodie, though the voice isn't hers. Ataru shoots upright and immediately regrets it, their back falling again into the mud as his head spins behind closed eyes. They feel like they're going to be sick but the thought of turning to do that feels almost worse.

Slow footsteps approach and Ataru forces their eyes open. He knows who they're going to see, but no matter the flight instinct in his chest that doesn't matter. They grit his teeth as Varun eases down beside them. If they hadn't heard his voice, he's not sure they'd recognize him.

The first thing he sees is the long patch of dried blood smeared across the bottom of his face. Varun glances away and they can see where his nose has almost been completely halved. A soft rumble plays in the distance, its volume a mere fraction of the one that follows in memory. Ataru swallows and can't help but turn towards it.

Varun follows their gaze. "It's further away than it sounds."

"Where is she?" He asks. There are a hundred more questions that feel appropriate- where are we? How much time has passed? How did he find them? Why is Varun here and why are they not dead? The simple fact is that none of those answers matter.

Varun's gaze drifts further. He doesn't answer.

Ataru shifts himself up on their elbows, closing his eyes when the spinning starts. He doesn't have time to lay here. They need to make sure that she's okay. Ataru gags as he finally manages to get upright, but closing their eyes allows any remaining dinner to stay down. It's hard to tell if the darkness that creeps in his periphery is a product of the arena or a symptom of the concussion they surely have.

"I'm sorry, Ataru," Varun says finally. He dips his head in a low bow as their nails hold the ground for strength. It feels like he's going to lose consciousness, but if they move slow enough he'll manage. All they have to do is stand and head towards the rock wall. She'll be there.

He gets one foot under them and pushes hard against the mud until he's half-crouched. They close his eyes again. Everything spins faster but only for a few seconds this time. The chill that had only blanketed his back now shivers across every centimeter of exposed skin. They don't remember the nights being this cold.

He stumbles and catches themself on a nearby rock. Their head throbs but it's not unbearable, though the dizziness is slowing him down. Still, it's not stopping him. Two steps and Ataru's hand lands again on the wall.

They feel a strong hand grip his shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

He swallows down another wave of nausea and closes their eyes as the rocks circle around him again. It's getting easier; three steps this time. "To find her."

The hand tries to turn him around but Ataru shrugs it off. "Elodie's dead."

They shake his head. They don't believe him.

"I heard the landslide," Varun continues. "There was a cannon almost immediately and another an hour later. She wasn't there when I found you."

He shakes their head again. "You didn't see her then. You don't know whose cannons those were."

"I saw her in the sky, Ru." Varun looks at him with a tremor in his gaze, unable to look at them for more than a few seconds at a time. "I'm sorry. I know you two were close and I wish I was wrong but I'm not. It's hard, it's really fucking hard and I don't understand. Sareia and I weren't close like you and Elodie. I still heard her die and wanted to burn every inch of this place alive."

Ataru just stares at him so he continues. "You were right about Matis. I was stupid to actually believe anything he said. He seemed so sure about you; that you'd leave or betray us or-"

"Don't call me that." The only thing that sticks in their mind is the nickname, pulling his thoughts back to Elodie, back to the cave that no doubt lies in shambles. It sounds wrong on Varun's lips.

Varun ignores them, his eyes falling anywhere but on him. "But Matis had only been talking about himself. He said the Cornucopia was dangerous now that you and Elodie were gone. He made us leave to the river so that you wouldn't be able to come back. I don't even know what he did to her. Sareia went to filter more water and I heard her scream. I know it was him. Matis tried to lie but he had her axe. I only met her at the Reaping. I don't know anything more about her than you do. But I wanted to kill him for it. She didn't deserve that; she probably didn't even realize what was happening."

He takes a few slow breaths, his dark eyes bleeding with more tears. He clutches the spear in his hand, but not towards Ataru. It looks like he's holding onto it for dear life. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd found her. I wish neither of them were dead. I made a mistake; all of this was a mistake."

"I'm sorry about Sareia," Ataru says gently. They're unsurprised that it was Matis, but his mind doesn't fight it. They haven't seen Varun, or any of the other Career tributes, like this. He's seen them somber, playful, angry even. The devastation that plasters Varun's features feels the most real, but Ataru doesn't have time to sink into it. He's already cried for Sareia.

Varun nods, quickly wiping the tears from his vision and smearing the blood that's dried across his nose. "I'm sorry about Elodie."

They shake his head. "I'll find her. There's still time."

Ataru believes this wholeheartedly. Elodie is strong, she's more resilient than they've ever been. A landslide wouldn't be enough to kill her; nothing in this arena will be. If she's hurt, her pack has enough antibiotics and dressings to handle it until he gets to her.

Varun's face softens with confusion. "She's gone."

"You didn't see her," they say stiffly as he straightens with help of the rock wall. They feel more steady than before, the sense of urgency making every ache dull just enough not to bother him. The dizziness isn't gone but it's become bearable. Running won't likely be an option, but as long as they've moving towards her that'll have to be enough.

"She was in the sky," he insists, but they're hardly listening anymore. "You were still in and out, but I saw her. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Why not?" Ataru snaps. The words feel far too bitter on his tongue so it feels good to let them slip off. Varun doesn't know what he's talking about. She's not dead, things wouldn't feel so normal if she were. The moon would fall from the sky and the air would shatter without her. "Matis did. Aren't you just like him? Wasn't I the one that was different? Or did you hate me for some other reason?"

Varun takes a step back as they stomp forward. "I never hated you. I was following him and that's no excuse, but what I'm saying now he wouldn't care to tell you. Elodie's dead. Sareia's dead. You know who isn't? Matis. I trust you and I want you to trust me. Maybe one of us can still do this."

"She's not dead!" They shout. The dusty air quivers with their voice. The longer they look, it does seem different. The air is thick, not just humid like before but full of debris too light to reach the ground. It coats his tongue every time they open his mouth.

But Elodie's not the reason.

There's a pause as Varun watches them, pity growing in his eyes that forces Ataru to look away. There's no reason for pity. There's no reason for the tightness that clenches in his chest because it's not true. Their fists clench and he sees Varun move his spear barely an inch in front of him. Ataru almost instinctively reaches for their side but finds the holster empty.

"Where is it?" They say stiffly.

Varun swallows. "I didn't know how you'd react to me, you have to understand that."

"Where is it?" He repeats.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says slowly. "I know where it is, but you don't need it right now-"

They're not sure what word makes them snap. In fact, he's not even sure that it's a word at all. It's a combination of the lies, the soft words, and the spear that's sitting between them. Ataru can't stop hearing his proclamation. He can't stop wondering what Varun could possibly be looking to gain by saying that Elodie's dead.

Is he hoping that Ataru will be as desperate for an alliance as he is after losing Sareia?

Does he expect this news will make them crack or force his guard to the ground?

Whatever the ploy, it's not going to work.

Ataru launches themself the short distance between them. He pushes the spear hard to the left before Varun can prepare. They might not have his sword but an even playing field is enough. Ataru doesn't have to think through any of the moves; they're not sure he could if they tried. His fist lands square against the side of Varun's nose with an audible tearing noise. They can feel the pop beneath it. Ataru doesn't have to look; he doesn't even think to.

Their blows rain down on Varun one after the other until he finally has to take a breath. This is nowhere close to their usual sparring style and comes from a place much deeper in his chest. Varun only misses blocking the first, after that clenching both arms above his head so Ataru's knuckles only reach his forearms. As they gasp in a breath, Varun sits up quickly and pushes him hard off his torso. Ataru lands backwards but recovers quickly, leaping forward to slam his head into the ground.

"Stop!" Varun shouts. "I don't want to hurt you!"

The hands that flail out to rip Ataru's hands from his scalp disagree. Varun kicks out with one leg as they stumble to the side, his foot landing square in the center of his chest. Ataru's head spins with the contact and they close his eyes for a moment. They hear the footsteps. He knows where he's headed and there's no way that Ataru can let him get there.

They leap in the direction of Varun's spear, his eyes still closed and head feeling like it's filled with gauze. Ataru fights the urge to gag as they slam into Varun. Ataru doesn't see it, their eyes still squeezed shut in an attempt to stop spinning. The hollow sound that Varun's skull makes as it snaps against the stone tells Ataru exactly what happened.

Varun drops to the ground as Ataru releases his grip on him. He groans and rolls slightly onto one side, the only sign that he's even semi-conscious. Ataru grips the sides of their own skull trying fruitlessly to force the fog to lift. His right temple throbs. Everything spins even with their eyes closed.

Ataru opens his eyes and sees Varun lying at their feet, his body tensed inward to protect his core. The image throws him back to the first day, to the tribute that stared up at them with more hatred than Ataru's ever felt. He expects to feel the same pity and devastation staring down at Varun. They don't.

He sees a liar, a puppet for Matis, and someone that Ataru will never be able to trust.

She's not dead.

But you will be. Ataru glares down at Varun but the words burn brighter than before. He's known from the moment they volunteered that Varun and everyone else would die. They'd known that they would die. He's never thought it with such disdain in their heart. It's always just been a fact like the colour of the sky or weight of a diamond.

Except now the statement burns so much deeper.

Ataru staggers over to where the spear lays harmlessly at the edge of the rock wall. It's heavier than most weapons he's carried and probably all of their preferred ones combined. It pulls his arm down unpleasantly; a constant reminder of what they're carrying until he makes it back to Varun.

They watch himself from over their own shoulder, unable to see the tearful squint in his eyes. Varun groans again as his body tenses as if somehow knowing what's to come without seeing the weapon poised above them.

And truth be told, Ataru isn't sure they see it either.

His eyes move quickly from the red bubbles that gurgle from Varun's lips. They leave the spear at the center of his throat and find his own sword tucked neatly in a holster on Varun's back. By the time the sound of cannon fire reaches them, Ataru's steps have already started in the direction of the earlier rumbling.

Elodie will be there.

He's unwilling to believe anything else.

Ataru steps over a taller shard of rock as they make his way through the rubble.

The dust is thicker here and hangs in the air around them like dense smog. They can barely see more than a few meters ahead of him. It's made combing through the cliff's remnants even slower, but they're making progress.

It's hard to know how long he's been here. It was still dark when they reached the edge of the rubble, but it covers more area than the cliff ever had. It's getting lighter out which they thought would make his search easier. The more the light bounces between dust and tiny rock fragments, the less Ataru believes that.

The shadows stretch and wane beside them, but he pays them little attention. Each one is different, but none are human. None are Elodie.

Like a spectre they move through the rock garden, pushing debris aside as he goes but mostly just looking. They don't expect to find her on the ground. It wouldn't make sense to move a patch of rubble and see Elodie. Still, he continues. Whenever their eyes reach up past the rocks, he expects to see Elodie staring back and shaking her head.

"Took you long enough," she'd laugh and Ataru would run straight to her. They'd wrap her in a hug and promise that he'd been looking. She'd hug them back and say that she knew he was.

They smile and press forward. It doesn't matter how long it takes, he's going to find her.

Almost as if something above heard them, a shadow moves to his right. Ataru turns and watches, examining the height and shape until he's certain. "El!"

Their voice is loud and confident but the shadow doesn't move. It stays perfectly still though he can't tell which direction it's facing. They swallow, this time the name coming out more gently. "Elodie?"

He inhales sharply as the silhouette turns and another shape takes place. Ataru recognizes it immediately and takes a step back. The darkness held at the figure's side is almost as recognizable of a shape as the tribute grasping it.

Together and standing inside the cloud of dust, Ataru can see where the nickname came from.

"The Rider," they whisper, carefully unsheathing his sword from its loop. They're under no impression that he's invisible in the smog, but the figure doesn't come closer. They stare at each other though Ataru can't see his face. He knows enough not to look away, not from someone that tried to take on a Career and lived.

The silhouette turns quickly and runs. On little but instinct alone, Ataru darts after it.

He only gets a few steps before realizing that they've lost him. He turns in all directions, finding themself in a similar cloud with just as many rocks beneath his soles. They don't remember which way he ran. They listen carefully, hearing nothing but the odd rumble of settling stone. He knows that sound could just as easily be masked footsteps.

"What did you call me?" Ataru jumps at the gentle whisper. It's not the voice he expected and it's hard to find where it's coming from. They spin another slow circle, but no figure stands up to near his height. They have a suspicion of what that means.

Ataru swallows and stops, forcing his breaths to even. "You're not him."

"My district partner?" The voice sounds almost amused, but nothing like the male from District 9. Ataru watched his interview on the last night in the Capitol. He doesn't remember the boy's district partner, but by the sound this must be her.

Ataru inches away from the words but direction is still hard to pinpoint. She's crouched in the rubble, that's the only way he's unable to see her when by the sounds of it she can see him. It's smart; the strategy gives Ataru only two choices. They can either try and search for her, knowing she has a scythe and a view of him, or back off enough to become invisible again.

They take another step and hear the sliding of the tribute's clothing against stone. She's not going to let him away so easily.

"Yes," Ataru answers.

"His name was Bodhi," the small voice says bitterly.

They nod understandingly. Was- he knows what that means. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Ataru searches for anything he knows about the girl from District 9 but there's very little. In fact, the only description he can remember came from Elodie- short, dark hair and freckles. She was the one that tried to steal Matis' machete at the Bloodbath. He can see that the arena hasn't changed that spirit if she's trying to hold another Career captive.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" She asks, the sad tone gone from her words.

Ataru wrinkles their forehead. He doesn't remember hearing the announcement for it, yet the beginnings of one now burns at their memory. He can remember looking up as words fell around them that he didn't understand. That feels like it happened centuries ago, but judging by the daylight it was just last night.

"I'm looking for someone."

She laughs though it sounds like how an instructor would chuckle at a misbehaving trainee. There's not an ounce of humour in any of it. "They're all at the feast. Except you."

"And you," Ataru says with a nod.

Another empty laugh. "And me."

They back up another inch, trying to keep every step as quiet and controlled as possible. He still doesn't like this, no matter that the girl seems in no rush to hurt them. He needs to get back to looking for Elodie.

"Bodhi didn't like you very much," she says flatly. "Any of you."

"I don't blame him." They swallow, unsure of the next question. "Was it one of us?"

"No," she says immediately. "He drowned when the river rose up yesterday."

Ataru didn't know that'd happened. He'd seen the river only once in person with Sareia and Varun days ago. It'd been as calm as the air around them; as tranquil as the cliff before it'd collapsed beneath him and Elodie.

There's a pause and he takes another step. Once again she doesn't follow. "What was it that you called him?"

"The Rider," Ataru says carefully. "My district partner said it was the name from a legend, sort of like the Grim Reaper if you know of them."

This time when she laughs, it almost sounds like she's crying. The sound is gone before he can really tell, replaced again with the thick silence. They continue moving slowly backward with his eyes locked ahead. Her voice has gotten quieter, but it could be a trick. There were performers in the theatre that could project their voices in different directions.

Something moves in front of them, barely a figure because of how far away he is. Still, it has to be her. "He would have liked that."

This time the tributes' steps are loud as if deliberately trying to tell them where she's going. He stands perfectly still, part of them waiting for her to return even as her steps get further away. As the stale silence settles again, that fear quickly fades. He picks a direction, now turned around from where they'd started hours ago.

The next footsteps will be Elodie's. Ataru tells himself this again and again until they once again start to believe it.

It's light again, though he remembers darkness falling. Sleep and wake feels the same at this point. In both, Ataru walks through the ruins knowing that she can't be far now.

The dust has begun to settle again but every inch of the arena lays in thick grey. He hasn't heard any new rockslides in either hours or minutes, it's hard to tell which. It feels like the arena is returning to normal though the once towering cliff lays in rubble beneath their feet. The only step left is to reunite with his best friend.

They look past the ruins where the mud starts again. It feels like it's been ages since his shoes touched smooth dirt. Their calves burn from walking yesterday over such uneven surfaces. Still, he doesn't head that way.

Not until they see a curled up figure against one of the smaller, still intact, stones.

Ataru starts an all out sprint towards them. He's too far away to tell if it's her, but the body size looks close enough and the fact that they're covered in grey dust is promising. Elodie wouldn't have cared about washing up. She would have been looking for them.

He slows their steps as he gets closer, but the tribute's face is tilted down towards the mud. They look like they're sleeping, but it could still be her. No matter the slight difference in hair texture, the fact that their frame is thinner than Elodie's, and the strips of darker skin peeking through the dust, he still holds some hope.

Their body understands before his mind. There are already defeated tears sliding down their cheeks, but his voice still whispers her name in desperation. "El?"

The tribute sits straight up, scrambling away in a crouch when she sees them. As soon as he sees her round eyes, they know it's not Elodie. The tribute screams but Ataru doesn't move as she backs herself into a crevice of the stone wall. He doesn't even think to.

All they can wonder is how long it's going to be before he finally finds her. The tribute trembling mere meters away doesn't matter. No one does except the one person it's starting to feel like they'll never find. He lets out a sighing breath and looks back to the shattered cliff. She has to be here, but where? That's not a question they have an answer for.

He doesn't realize the girl's staring at him. They've all but forgotten that she's even there. His body is exhausted despite the sleep they can half-remember. This burst of hope followed by crushing reality has only reminded him of that fact.

The thing that reminds Ataru of the tribute in front of them is the weight of a second crashing into him.

They drop his shoulder to the ground and the tribute lands flat in front of them. She shouts and her nails scratch against his face, forcing them back in surprise. Ataru turns to see the first girl launching herself in his direction. They push out hard with both hands and she's redirected into the wall with a thud.

Ataru looks down to the second tribute and recognizes her in an instant. She's the one that planted the bomb at the Cornucopia. The one that he let live.

Their jaw clenches as he glares down at her. They'd almost forgotten, but now it all comes rushing back. The spot where Ataru found her was almost exactly where he'd helped tie a tourniquet around Aure's arm. Varun telling Matis what happened. Matis murdering his district partner. Elodie and him running to the cliff, it collapsing, and them being separated. It had all started with her.

She stares up at him with the same terrified eyes, the same empty hands, but this time he doesn't pause.

Ataru launches himself towards her without a second thought. They grab her by the collar, but the fabric tears away in his hand. She pushes him away but they easily overpower her. His sword is still in its holster but the thought to grab it hardly crosses their mind. All he sees is red. They look at her and, without even knowing her name, he hates her.

She's someone else to blame. Not like the sweat on his hand that caused Elodie's to rip from it or the rocks that are too inanimate to be at fault. All of this can be traced back to her.

His nails dig into her shoulder and their fist shoots across the side of her jaw. She gasps in a terrified cry, her head snapping to one side with impact as a sharp crack gives way to another scream. Something grabs at the back of his shirt but Ataru barely pays that any mind. All their attention is focused on the tribute in front of him as their hands clasp around her throat.

The holster moves at his side and Ataru releases the girl for long enough to look up. She scrambles back, sobs wracking her small frame and her hands cradling her jaw. They turn their attention towards the first girl, the one he'd mistaken for Elodie. She points his sword at them, the tip trembling despite the brave animosity on her face.

"Get away from her," she demands. Ataru barely blinks, nothing about the girl feeling real. She's covered in dust enough to look part-statue, the only human part being the eyes. They have to focus hard on putting his hands up. None of the thoughts that try to crawl from their brain stick for more than a minute.

It feels like a dream, a mix of the Bloodbath and the Cornucopia where he found the girl behind them. Standing in front of him, the girl looks like Aure as she stared at them with discontent. It's easy enough to merge their faces, even easier to forget about the girl still crying behind them. He hates the one with the sword just as much.

Every expression that flickers across girls' faces is another person that's going to die anyway.

It doesn't matter who they are because none of them are Elodie.

She's the only one he can care about. She's the one who's going home. If he can't find her, at least they can do this.

Ataru bets on the tribute not knowing how to use the weapon. He twists around it, using their forearm to knock the handle away once he's close enough. She gasps, tightening her grip on the sword just enough to keep hold of it. He slams a hip into her side, knocking her over by sheer strength. She arcs out with the sword but they move easily out of the way.

He turns back to the other tribute as she gets to her feet. She pauses when she realizes they're watching and the terror is nowhere near gone from her eyes. Ataru fakes an advance before turning back to her friend. She flinches, then yells out. "Ziva!"

Ziva regains her balance and backs up in time to avoid him. She swipes out with the sword and manages a superficial slice of their wrist. Ataru barely flinches; in fact, he hardly notices. Their body feels numb as his mind shouts directions, but their limbs respond. It's nothing more than one of the repetitive training exercises he never enjoyed. These girls, only slightly more difficult to fend off than the mechanical dummies.

Ataru grasps the handle over Ziva's hand and she freezes in front of them as his hand snakes inside the guard. She doesn't know what to do, merely staring at him as their grip tightens against hers. He can see the grimace in her face, the breath that's held as the pressure increases. Still, it barely looks human.

If they could see himself, maybe they wouldn't either.

Her fingers crack under his and she screams. Ziva tries to pull her hand back, no longer keeping any sort of grip on the weapon as tears build in her eyes. The other girl pushes Ataru hard from behind but it doesn't even send them off balance. He can hear her crying too, a soft sniffle that's more like sliding stone.

They release Ziva and she scrambles backwards as her fingers hang limply at the knuckle. She takes several deep breaths, each of them seeming to calm her less and less. Ziva stares at him like one would think to look at the villain in a play as he dances on stage. The tears that burn in her eyes are a mix of pain and anger, her neck as red as the skin of her cheeks.

"Fuck you," she says.

Ataru doesn't respond. The words are gone from the air as he turns around, finding Ziva's friend a mere step out of reach. They grab her by the back of her shirt and throw her to the ground. She doesn't resist, or at least it doesn't feel like she does. He hears her hit the ground, sees her hands come up to cover her face, and hears a fresh round of sobs fall on the dust beneath her.

"Please, please, please," she repeats with both eyes squeezed firmly shut. She shakes her head as if that alone will ward him off. It's the same word from the Cornucopia; the one that stopped them in his tracks and made his stomach turn. They hear it again and again, but it has no effect.

He can't let her go again. In fact, they don't even want to.

Calmly, Ataru fixes his grip inside the handle and comes to kneel beside her. They examine her face as if expecting something more. Her cheeks are wet with tears over reddened skin. There's a thin trail of blood from where she bit her tongue after being struck. Her eyes are closed, refusing to even look at him.

She was never going to live. By allowing her to run the first time, all Ataru did was delay what was always going to happen.

He clasps one hand on her forehead to still her. The girl's hands come up to try and free herself but it's a pitiful attempt if anything. Ataru glances behind them, suddenly remembering Ziva. He shouldn't turn his back. They find it hard to care. Though Ataru's rarely been a top student, these are not Academy tributes. They won't win against him. They won't win against Elodie.

They won't win.

Ziva stares at them, the same hatred burning bright in her eyes though she's only gotten further away. He locks eyes with her for an instant before turning back. Whether she runs now or not, they're not concerned. She has one broken hand and no weapon.

"Please." The single word comes from behind him, but they don't turn around again.

Ataru angles their sword in line with the other girl's throat, its tip barely touching her skin. In one cutting motion, her neck blossoms with red and her hands instead fight to quell it. They inch backwards and watch the girl for another moment as she fights against the growing bloodstain. Then, he walks away.

There's no thought to Ziva or the gurgles behind them. He sees the rocks and returns to them and the dust that kicks up with every step. The people behind him don't feel real, just like the night air that falls too quickly and the anthem that plays behind it. His mind is in one desperate place, their body just two numb legs wading through endless stone.

Have I slept? Ataru asks themself this question, unsure if it's the first or tenth time. The words seem familiar, but does that really mean that they are? He's walked through the rubble, turning around twice now upon reaching edges that feel familiar but can't be. If they've already walked this path, why haven't they found her?

There's one explanation but Ataru fears making it. Elodie could have already left. She could be just as lost several kilometers away and how would he know?

The next time he reaches the edge of the debris, they don't turn around but instead keep walking. The ground feels uncomfortable under his shoes after so long treading over uneven stone. At the same time it's hard to even feel their legs beneath him. Ataru could just as easily be sleepwalking as stepping through the arena. His dreams have held nothing but landslides and searches. They're nearly indistinguishable from reality.

It doesn't take long before the ground starts to slope downward and the mud gives way to a rust-coloured lake. He stands at the edge of it, vaguely remembering talk of a flood. It's impossible to tell whether that conversation was a dream. It's difficult to remember who told them about drowning, but they settle on Elodie. She must have already known about the river.

They turn back towards the cliff. That means she would be there, not here. Elodie would be smart enough to stay away from floodwater. Water in the arena is dangerous.

Is that where I am?

Yes, they decide. I'm still there. I won't be leaving.

He hasn't seen anyone in so long, and the faces that do wane in their mind feel less and less true. He can't place any names and the ones they can don't sound real. When Ataru closes his eyes there are people there. Some of them have eyes that sting hard enough to make him believe they might exist. He hopes that, if they're tributes, none of them are alive.

At this point that's the only thing he can do. Ataru holds every possible strand of hope that he's going to find her, but that's seeming less likely. How many days have passed since they've been separated? How many cannons have fired? Ataru doesn't hold the answers. This could've all been one long day, but wait they remember the sun setting and now it's back in the sky.

If he can't find Elodie, he'll find the others.

If, in fact, there are any others left. It's beginning to feel like there aren't.

A high-pitched tone whistles beside them, cutting his thoughts to pieces that they have no hope of picking up again. He looks to the right and sees the final descent of a grey cylinder no larger than their head. He watches it slowly settle into the mud then flinches as it emits another sharp tone.

They lift it from the ground and examine it for a moment before it pops open in his hand. Ataru drops it back to the ground, jumping back as the memory of an explosion bursts in their mind. His breaths quicken, the click of the cylinder sounding again and again though it lays there motionless. The memory is hard to place. Maybe it's not a memory at all.

Ataru glances over and sees the cylinder's insides facing him. A slip of white is the first thing they see, then a plastic lid. He inches over, both eyes locked on the container in case of movement. They reach carefully for the paper and snatch it as he scrambles back.

She's gone. Focus. 4.

- G & A

They read it again, then a third time but the words don't settle. It takes several minutes to realize that this is a sponsor gift and that the initials at the bottom belong to his mentors. Ataru starts to decipher the pieces one by one. They pause at the first but its meaning is unclear though the words feel familiar.

"She's gone," Ataru whispers, reading again from the note. The images that follow are a torn nose and bloodied throat. He can't remember who said them last, only knows that someone did.

The only 'she' that Gracen and Amos would refer to is Elodie.

Do they mean that he's not going the right way? Perhaps that she'd been here but already moved on before they got there? His stomach turns with discomfort, but at the same time this is something. They're trying to tell him where she is.

Ataru looks upward with eyes clearer than they've felt in days, maybe longer. They hope that his mentors are watching. "Please, tell me where."

They watch the sky, begging another gift to fall with further instructions. He grips the paper so tightly it threatens to tear. For the first time in days, tears start in his eyes but all they manage is to blur the sky. A trio of shadows float lazily across their vision, but he receives no reply.

Ataru glances over what little of the arena they can see. Behind him lies the edge of the flood, barely held back by sinking mud that dives deep beneath it. To either side are the remaining rock structures, though many of them have fallen towards the waters as well or been pulled apart by the slanting ground. Ahead is the part of the arena he's most familiar with and most certain that Elodie isn't in.

It's all so grey. The dust has settled but it's left behind a coating of ash that makes the whole arena look like a bomb site. Even looking down at himself, their skin and clothes match the destruction. Every inch is either weighed down with grit or looks wet with various stains. What little of his body that isn't covered in bruises or torn open is caked with even more dust.

They want to remember when this place was beautiful. Looking out he tries desperately to build the structures back up and to clean the grey shards from the air. They try to think of the beasts he saw from many meters up and their slow walk through the landscape. He stares up at the sky willing the birds to return.

Those broken fragments of memory don't look anything like what they see in front of him.

Maybe they never did.

They wake up without rock beneath his back. Ataru's eyes find the sky, the sun barely risen enough to brighten the grey clouds. He shifts onto their side, finding the ground hard but even under his elbows. They think they should be cold, but his body is still too far away to send that message up to his mind. They search for the stone fragments that feel like they'd just been laying in front of him. It's hard to decide if that was a dream or if this is.

Either way, they ease up to their feet. He could spend hours trying to figure out if walking will take them closer to El or just pass the time until they wake. At this point the best thing to do is move. If in a few hours they wake again on the arena floor, he'll do the same thing.

What else am I supposed to do? As usual, there's no answer. Well, at least none that they can immediately understand.

Ataru swallows and squints towards the rising sun. There's a low rumbling that seems to make the whole area tremble beneath his feet. They extend his arms out, watching for any hint of the vibrations on their own skin. Then, a sudden crack from above catches his attention.

His eyes snap upwards and an instant later they dive as far as possible from the nearby stone. A hunk of rock lands near exactly where he'd just been and they watch with wide eyes as the short structure slides further. Dust kicks up from the pile and Ataru backs quickly away. He steadies their arms as if waiting for the ground to fall beneath them. His breaths quicken.

It all stops again, plunging the arena into familiar silence.

They let out a slow breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. The fresh rubble lies still at their feet and dust settles on its surface. When the air is once again clear, it's hard to believe that the rock wall had ever been there. Ataru swallows and takes one hesitant step towards it. In the distance, so soft that they can almost call it an echo, another low rumble begins.

He swallows again as that too eases from the air. Minutes later, it begins again in the opposite direction. Their skin tenses as the arena seems to thicken around him. The same quiet that he's grown used to now makes every instinct shiver. It feels wrong to have the silence interrupted. It feels just as wrong when it returns.

They look up again, searching for an answer in the sky but it lies apathetic above him. The sun remains on its slow trek to the top of the world though the earth below sits unsteady. It shouldn't be allowed not to care about the place its light reaches.

Ataru takes a second step towards the ruins, then another.

He doesn't hear the third step. To their left, another round of thunder begins and cracks down the center of the rock wall. This one's larger; in seconds his lungs get a sharp breath of ash and they're sent sprinting ten steps back. Ataru's chest heaves with surprise as they watch more rock tumble down, effectively blocking his path in that direction. They manage one more step before another guttural growl starts.

He whirls around, catching only a glimpse of the destruction falling towards them. Cracks burst behind him and to either side. They can feel sharp stings of small fragments rain down on his skin, but the sounds are so much worse. His body is exhausted; fifty steps and they're fighting for breath as his legs burn beneath them.

It feels like his lungs are filled with dust. Perhaps they are. The bruises that litter their body start to throb through the dissociative numbness that had encompassed him in sleep. Their eyes blur again as his head spins towards the ground. Still the pain can't stop him; the fear of being buried is so much stronger.

Ataru gasps for breath as the memory tears through his skull. They feel rocks punch against every inch of skin all over again. He swallows and tastes nothing but dust. They glance up as his vision becomes quickly covered with sharp shadows. His hand is empty as they reach out and find nothing but broken stone. They lift his head against the pain that explodes again and again.

They hit the ground and his body tenses to catch them. His eyes open expecting darkness but flimsy sunlight falls across them. He stands and brings their shirt up as a loose filter against the sinking dust. Their feet are still pointed in the same direction. He can still hear thunder descending at their back. There's nowhere to go but forward; it's protected him so far.

Ataru coughs as he staggers in that direction. The ground beneath their feet becomes quickly unsteady, making running next to impossible. They don't believe he would have been capable of it either way. At this point, they're moving on little but fear. Elodie wouldn't stay back there. She'll be headed this way too. That realization makes his next steps easier.

They emerge from the thick of the dust cloud and suck in several deep breaths. Ataru makes a circle, staring and waiting for the next round of thunder but it doesn't come. The loud rumble that'd followed him here falls silent. Then, as if in promise that it's over, a distant drumming takes its place.

He sinks down against the broken cliff, hugging their arms in closer with each shuddering sigh. Their legs shake even without his weight; it's impossible to tell if that's from fear or exhaustion.

When they finally look up, he jumps back in surprise. Though he's never really seen more than her shadow, the tribute's tall scythe gives her away. Ataru swallows and puts their feet to the ground in preparation. The tribute just watches, her dark eyes set on him but she doesn't venture closer. Ataru doesn't either.

She turns suddenly, her jaw clenching with his as the sound of footsteps enters the ruins. They hold his breath as they try to place the exact direction they're coming from. When Ataru looks back, the girl is gone. He doesn't hear a second set of steps or see a shred of movement where she'd just been. Like a phantom, she's simply vanished.

They clamour to his feet and search quickly for something large enough to hide behind. Instincts tell them to search for the girl, but there's no telling where she went. Meanwhile, whoever's running towards them is making no effort to be silent. In the dense quiet of the arena, their steps are like a battle cry.

Ataru thinks briefly of Elodie, but for the first time he's certain it won't be her. She's far too careful, far too smart, to run head first into a fight that she can't see. They can't even make out a shadow from the direction of the footsteps, only the thick dust cloud that surrounds the ruins' edge. Whoever this is, it's not El.

So even though they reach cover in time, Ataru doesn't crouch behind it. He draws their sword from its holster and curls his fingers securely around its base. This is just one less tribute that she'll have to go through.

Their expression stiffens when he finally emerges. He wishes that they could say he doesn't recognize him, but that would be a lie. He looks exactly as Ataru remembers.

Matis pauses at the edge of the ruins, his eyes tracing the area before landing on them. He looks just as the rest of them do, with dust coating his clothing and soaked into his hair. His machete has a jagged crack where the tip's been clipped off. The uniform droops around his broad shoulders as if it's been drenched and dried twice over. He would almost look pitiful except for the intensity burning bright in his eyes.

And they stare unmovingly at Ataru.

Matis moves first, his steps in a straight line towards them. Ataru meets him at the centre and their weapons clash immediately, neither willing to waste time with greetings. Their hand moves automatically before his eyes can decide Matis' next move. For several swings neither makes a strike on the other. Their weapons are as different as they are, but for those few seconds it doesn't matter.

Then, another crack rips through the air between them. Ataru looks down just in time to see his sword clatter to the ground. They pause as air curls around his skin making their hand go cold. He doesn't see the smile on Matis' face; they don't need to.

Ataru's first thought is to recover the weapon, but that's not what his body does. Instead, they rush immediately at Matis with his shoulder tucked towards him. Surprise allows Ataru to slam into Matis before he can get his blade in front of him. Ataru takes them both to the ground and grabs for the machete with both hands.

Matis' shock doesn't last long. The moment Ataru's hands start to unravel his from the handle, Matis uses both elbows to shove them hard off his chest. Ataru catches themself just in time to prevent landing on his back, but Matis is already climbing back to his feet. Ataru scrambles back several steps, their hands desperately hoping to come across the dropped sword.

No such luck. Ataru's heel hits a particularly big slab of rock and sends him off balance. Matis closes the distance quickly between them and lands just a meter from him. Ataru stares up in silence, the hatred burning deep in their stomach but no weapon to use alongside it.

"Maybe I was wrong about you."

Matis' voice is cracked with inhaled dust and a choking cough follows his words. The smile breaks from his face as he wipes his mouth, only managing to smear the white chalk on his lips. Ataru can see the pain on his face before it too is wiped away. His breaths seem more laboured than they had the last time they'd seen him. Ataru can't remember how long ago that was.

He'd all but forgotten that Matis was here at all. Somewhere in the long stretches of days, nights, and dreams, Matis and Myran had become like one entity. Ataru had almost convinced themself that he'd left both behind in District 1.

Or that they'd both been part of the nightly show of faces that Ataru never remembers.

"I was never wrong about you," Ataru whispers, his voice nearly as raspy from disuse.

Matis cracks a smirk, swallowing down another cough. "I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?"

Ataru's fist clenches into the rubble beside them. He doesn't nod though they can't help but believe the sentiment. As if mocking them, he spots the glint of their sword a mere meter from Matis' feet and more than out of reach. Meanwhile, the machete is only inching closer.

He closes their eyes for a brief moment, half-believing that they'll be alone again when he opens them. Maybe it doesn't matter if he's not. Truth be told that Ataru is tired. They've been more lost in these last days, hours, or weeks than he's ever been. Still, they're not done; not until he's dead.

They don't have to kill Matis, but he's not going to give in either.

Any injury will mean he's weaker for when Elodie finds him. The more damage that Ataru can do, the better her chance. That's what matters right now.

She's the only thing that matters.

Ataru grabs hold of the most solid thing they can find. Then, without warning, he launches it as hard as they can straight at Matis. Without waiting to see if it hits, he grabs a second and then a third. Ataru hears each thud but is uncertain whether it's come from Matis or the ground. At a certain point it almost doesn't matter.

He grabs two more and leaps towards their dropped weapon. He hurls both stones and throws themself to the ground beside it. They hear Matis lumber in his direction, but that sound is lost to the relief of holding the sword tight in their grasp. Ataru shoots up to his feet and arcs the weapon out to greet him.

The blade doesn't hit, instead a stinging pain slices across their shoulder. Ataru takes a hurried step back, swiping out defensively but once again striking only air. Their weapons clash again, but his breaths start to get more forceful each time. The gauntlet sword is effective in both close and short distances, but it takes more energy. Ataru has to move his entire arm at the shoulder for every flick of Matis' wrist. In sparring that's never mattered.

Now, when every breath feels like it's being taken through a thin straw, it's slowing them down.

Ataru sucks in as much air as his lungs can take, earning a superficial hit to their upper arm. He counters with a close slice to his wrist but Matis hardly flinches. They look to his right and it only takes a moment to make the choice. Ataru arcs their weapon out in one long swipe and dashes for the end of the ruins.

He hears Matis following suit for the first several steps. Ataru takes a deep inhale as they near the edge, his eyes already buried far into the surrounding dust cloud. Instinctively they close his eyes as they burst through the wall and familiar stings of fragmented stone surround him.

They hold his breath as long as they can as he runs deep into the smog. They're careful not to change directions or even look anywhere that isn't straight ahead. It would be so easy to get lost or turned around from where the ruins lie. That's not the goal. Ataru's not certain what exactly the goal is at this point.

They pause and bring his shirt up over their nose and mouth. Dust has already infiltrated far into his uniform but they can almost pretend that it's helping. Ataru takes in several slow breaths and tries to ignore the coughs that itch at the back of his throat. They glance around, of course seeing nothing but low shadows of broken stone. He turns back towards the ruins, but there's no way to see inside.

Matis might not be able to find them, but that goes both ways.

Ataru creeps ahead, taking care to avoid moving the debris out of fear that Matis will hear him. Inside the dust cloud their every sense dulls in favour of hearing. Yet, the only sound that reaches him is their own muffled breaths.

He doesn't see the shadow approach until it's one heartbeat away from crushing them.

Ataru's hands fly out in defense, ripping the figure away as they both topple to the ground. He lands with a grunt as stone digs into their side but that new bruise is quickly forgotten in his panic. The shadow lunges at him again, this time pinning an arm at their side. Ataru rips his wrist free and grabs the side of the tribute's neck. They slam them down beside him.

Only then does he get even a glance at her face.

The name comes easily a second later.

Ataru clasps a hand over her mouth to stop any scream from emerging. Ziva thrashes under their grip and uses both hands in an attempt to push him away. Ataru throws their weight across her and hisses a warning into her ear.

"He'll hear you."

Ziva manages to tear his hand away just long enough to answer. "Fuck you."

They replace his hand and glance around, though the only thing he sees is reflective white dancing above them. Ziva squirms and it's the only thing they can hear. If Matis is on his way, Ataru wouldn't know. "I'm serious."

In one quick movement her arm shoots up towards his head. Ataru barely manages to miss the brunt of the strike, but the stone still sends their head spinning. He loses their grip on Ziva and she pushes them away far too easily. Ataru rolls out of the way as she moves to stand over him, another rock tight in her grip.

They move before she can strike again, using his body weight to trip Ziva back to the ground. He swipes out with their sword and catches her across both palms as they come up to block. The scream that tears from her throat makes Ataru's blood freeze in their veins. He slices again towards her throat this time, but Ziva catches the blade instead. She holds tight to it despite the blood that drips down onto her face. The screaming doesn't stop.

Ataru drops the blade and it falls from her grip as well. His nails dig into Ziva's cheek as they fight to contain her screaming but she flails against him with new fervour. Blood splatters from her hands and across their faces, but she shows no signs of tiring.

He shoves a knee into her stomach and lurches for the weapon. Ziva blocks them by twisting until the sword's no longer in reach. She grabs for a quickly-reddened stone and Ataru slaps it out of her grip. This is taking too long. He doesn't know which direction they're facing anymore. They're making too much noise.

Ataru glances down bitterly at the tribute, her hands soaked with fresh blood and exposed tendons. She's only a threat because her voice will bring the others. Realistically, this is a fight that Elodie will win.

They stand easily, watching Ziva for only a second before stepping across her to reach his sword. She grabs hold of his pant leg and leaves a distinct print behind as they tear free. Her chest heaves from the ground. Tears stream through the dust and blood that coat her cheeks as hate-filled eyes watch him.

Ataru plucks their weapon from the ground and turns back to her stoically. "I wouldn't scream. He'll do much worse."

"Worse than you? Impossible," she says through gritted teeth.

"You don't know what he's done." He glances further into the dust and listens for a moment. They can hear nothing but the sound of close breaths and the shifting stone beneath his feet. They're not sure the purpose of his warning, but it slips from his tongue anyway. "He's a monster."

Ataru turns to leave, hoping beyond hope that their steps will take them in the right direction. Ziva isn't the one he needs to worry about. She's not someone that Elodie will worry about, especially now. The small district girl with no weapon but shambles of stone won't be able to stop her from going home. Matis is the only one that can even try.

They barely hear the hissed response, but its echo follows until he has no choice but to listen.

"So are you."

Ataru walks stiffly through the storm, using each passing minute to try and prepare themself. There's no fear in his chest as they finally reach the edge of the ruins. He adjusts their grip on his sword and takes a long sip of fresh air. The dust cloud sits flat at their back, unable or unwilling to follow any further.

It doesn't take long to figure out why as the shrill scream fills every crevice of the ruins. Ataru swallows the thick lump that forms in their throat, but he doesn't move. His eyes search the area, trailing over rock and debris before a tall figure stands from within them.

Matis turns towards him, too far away for Ataru to decipher any kind of expression. He moves slowly, crouching again behind leftover stone before emerging tall with another shadow in his grasp. Matis takes a half-step in Ataru's direction and launches something limp and heavy onto the rocks between them.

The first thing they see is red, as bright and recognizable as it'd been on Ziva's hands. He doesn't have to see anything else because a cannon confirms it. Ataru stares for just long enough to recognize the District 9 girl; just long enough to make sure she isn't Elodie. Once he knows, it's like the corpse was never human to begin with. Any memory of the tribute- her voice or her careful eyes- doesn't matter.

Ataru takes two slow steps towards him, their eyes glancing over the body like it's just another hunk of debris. Too quickly, Matis takes the bait. His steps are long, uncaring, as they speed towards him. Ataru has no time to be afraid, or maybe not enough awareness to be.

The air sticks heavily to their skin as they wait just steps from the edge. Shards of a half-thought plan land in his mind though they're almost unaware of it. The only thing Ataru can think of is the same two sentence conversation, its words repeated over and over until they feel like gospel. It should bother him; in any other world the accusation would have.

Am I a monster?

Yes.

Ataru stares as he approaches, but he doesn't see the distorted mix of Myran and Matis that first entered the ruins. Instead, his face is a mirror and the same monster stares both ways with blood in its teeth. Deep down it's revolting, a shock to the system that they could look at the same reflection as Matis. Ataru knows they're not identical, but no one but him will see that.

Ataru's doing this for Elodie. Matis is doing this for himself.

The end result is the same.

They share a face, a hand, and two sets of blood-stained nails, but not a heart. At the end of the day, the only people that need to understand are him and Elodie. Regardless of who she wants to win or how, they know that she'll understand.

He also knows that she would never in a thousand years want Matis to win.

Ataru waits until he's nearly within reach before he slips quickly back to let the dust cover them again. Slow, tempered breaths ease between his lips for one, two, three seconds. Part of him thinks that Matis might follow, that he won't want his prey to sneak away a second time. They listen but hear no sign of that.

Then, he leaps as fast as their legs will allow back towards the ruins.

Ataru slams into Matis, who gives a shout of surprise as both tributes topple backwards. Ataru's eyes narrow in first on the machete still stiff in his hand. One long strike across his wrist is all it takes. Matis screams out as blood spurts from the wound and his hand falls limply to one side. Matis spins quickly to grab the machete with his free hand, but Ataru slams his shoulder back into the ground.

They waste no time. He doesn't think of the surprised look on Matis' face nor the red that coats several layers of dried blood on their sleeves.

He thinks of Elodie.

They know that she'll understand even if Ataru isn't certain that even they do.

They run the sword quickly over Matis' throat, closing his eyes as blood shoots up towards them. Ataru's hands search for his chin, holding it down so that he feels the blade cut again and again into Matis' skin. His legs kick beneath Ataru, fighting for any sort of leverage that will get them off of him. Once again their body is numb, heavy like a block of stone atop Matis' chest.

The cannon sounds like an echo of the last and Ataru doesn't stop. His hands are still warm with blood. They can still feel Matis below them. He won't know without looking if he's dead but they suddenly find it impossible to open his eyes.

The arena goes silent around them. The only thing he can hear is their own gasping breaths and the debris moving beneath his trembling legs. A whisper tells them to stop, but when he opens their eyes there's no one there.

Ataru shifts themself off Matis' chest, eyes locked on the ones that had moments ago rushed towards him. Now they're as still as the ground beneath his severed throat. The air that coats the bloodied stone seems to agree, it too settling around Ataru. The splattered face has returned to its familiar distortion, no longer a mirror to their own.

Myran won't hurt her now.

Matis won't stop her.

He stands as metal brushes their tongue. Red trails behind his every step and leaves prints behind on the shattered stone. The ruins are empty. Ataru glances down at the mangled skin, forgetting in an instant that it was ever capable of standing. As far as they're concerned, it and the one twenty meters further are just an extension of the cliff's debris.

And just as easy to turn away from.

Ataru steps numbly through the dust storm, no longer afraid of the fragments that sting their eyes or burn his skin. It's less dense than they remember and getting thinner the further he steps inside. It doesn't take long before they can drop the stained uniform from his lips. He takes a straight path, not certain where they're headed but when has that mattered?

They're walking towards an end; that much he understands.

For as long as he's been in the arena he's been headed there. All the unspeakable things they've done, the monster he's drawn on their own face, they don't matter. Did Ataru know he'd be unable to recognize themself by the end? Has this heavy numbness always been the goal? He doesn't remember. When did it become impossible to cry? At what point did the skin on his body stop feeling like theirs.

The same time the arena went grey around him; when their hand let go and never found hers again.

That's when everything changed.

Ataru glances up as the dust thins further and a shadow comes into vague focus. They stop, watching its small frame as it disappears once again into the cloud. He swallows, quickening their steps until he sees her again. A halo of light burns behind her and this time they're certain.

He breaks into a sprint, the shattered rocks beneath their feet doing little to slow him down. He trips twice, recovering each time as the figure grows nearer. Ataru swears she glances back, but she doesn't wait up. "El!"

His voice echoes through the arena, the only sound for kilometers apart from two sets of footsteps and the distant sound of humming water. They shout again, this time louder as he starts to catch up. "El! It's me!"

The grey begins to lift along with the waning dust cloud. Ataru can't stop the smile from spreading his lips until they cramp with unfamiliarity. Water comes into view ahead of her and she pauses at its edge. All Ataru can see of her is drenched dark hair that falls past her shoulders and blood that soaks both palms.

He sprints the rest of the distance between them, slowing to a jog as they get closer. He takes a soft breath, relishing in the reunion that they've been waiting days for. He doesn't know what to say, how to apologize and promise that they'd been searching. Ataru can see the slight fear in her shoulders but she needn't have it.

He'll never let anything happen to her again.

This time, they won't let go.

She turns and Ataru all but holds his breath waiting for her to realize it's him. Except, the eyes that stare back at them don't belong to his district partner. The tribute, the girl who fought them within the dust cloud and called him a monster, doesn't watch them with relief or fondness.

El would never look at him with such hatred in her eyes.

"You're not her," Ataru whispers as they stop in front of her.

Ziva glances in either direction, no doubt searching for an exit that doesn't exist. To the left and right lay the likely only remaining rock walls that have yet to be destroyed. To her back, rusted water that stretches for kilometers. There's nowhere for her to go.

Ataru hears a rumble from behind them and turns for a moment as stone grows at his back. There's nowhere for either of them to go.

Ziva tilts her chin up defiantly in contrast to the tears trembling in her eyes. They flicker down to where his sword hangs loosely at their side. "And you're still alive."

His steps approach her near-automatically. The only place for her to go is towards the water which is exactly where Ziva turns. She takes one step into the shallow wave before stopping. She pulls something from her pocket, a sharp shard of rock that fits neatly in her palm. Her fingers squeeze it so tightly that blood drips into the water from the earlier wound.

A solitary tear joins them from Ataru's chin despite no blur in their vision. He stares at Ziva again, waiting for her face to transform into the person that they desperately want to see just one more time. She watches him carefully, the same brazen look in her eyes that almost looks like El but doesn't. It's not her. It never was.

He turns back towards the newly formed wall that locks them in with this tribute who isn't El. He could climb over it. They could keep searching like he's done for however long they've been apart. But he's tired. No matter that they don't want to admit it, every let down burns deeper than the last.

He really believed that they'd found her.

Ataru can believe that the next time he will. For another hour or day or week they can keep walking this dusted shoreline but he's starting to believe that she's galaxies away. Elodie is strong. She has to be to have survived for this long and through the unimaginable trials that the arena has no doubt thrown her way.

Ataru's always wanted to protect her, but she can do this. At this point that's the one thing that he wholeheartedly believes.

He stares again at Ziva, finding every difference between the District 3 girl and the person they've loved for years without holding. He's taken El four steps closer to victory but they were never meant to be here. The arena is built for people who can survive and fight, people like Matis and El who were chosen by the ones who've already won.

He's not strong enough. They never were.

So maybe he won't see her to the end, but six steps closer is going to be enough.

Ataru's expression doesn't change as he drops the weapon far behind them. He starts in a straight line to where Ziva stands and she starts to move further left. She holds the rock tight in her fist, eyes wide as he walks closer. Ataru barely sees her, looking at the tribute like they'd stared at the corpses in the ruins- like they've always belonged there.

If there were a mirror around, he'd look at themself the same way.

He forces her deeper into the water. Ziva is hesitant with every step, glancing wildly for another direction but there are none. There's no exit. There's no walking away from this. Ataru's uniform grows heavier alongside hers until the water reaches her knees. Ziva lurches to the left in a move for the shore but they intercept her easily. He's taller, the water not slowing their limbs as quickly as it has hers. Ataru doesn't feel its chill as they move deeper.

Ziva makes one final dive for safety but he grabs her, forcing both arms to her side as they continue walking now faster into the rust-coloured water. It sinks up to his waist and to Ziva's chest. She sobs with broken breaths though none are yet filled with salt. Ataru knows it won't be long.

Suddenly, the sea floor gives way beneath their feet.

Ziva screams as they both fall deeper into the still water. She thrashes against him with new force, managing to free one arm but Ataru pulls her back towards them. She screams and pushes him away, but they only hold on tighter. Ataru kicks in an effort to get them further from shore.

Ziva's head goes under for a brief second and her nails claw for purchase on his shoulders. He tilts her again into the water but it's too difficult to keep her there. She kicks until Ataru is forced to use their legs to stop them. Calmly, they work his hands onto her shoulders and press. His limbs are tired, but they can do this.

This one last thing.

For El.

Ataru takes in water and his lungs instinctively cough in an effort to expel it. He pushes Ziva back until her hands can no longer grasp them, but she returns to the surface gasping just seconds later. Her fingers find his cheeks and they gasp as her nails take deep purchase at the base of his eye. Ataru turns their head again and again trying to dislodge her but she doesn't let go.

Sharp pain burrows deep beneath his eye as pressure builds behind it. Liquid streams from beneath her nails in a mix of tears and blood but it doesn't matter. Pain doesn't matter. Ataru plunges them both further underwater, his hands pushing hard on her head to keep her under. Bubbles coat their vision as he opens the only eye that will listen; the water streams red beyond them.

They realize he's holding their breath.

He tells himself to inhale.

Their body doesn't listen.

Ataru holds this last breath tight in their lungs as the tribute eventually stills in his grip. He can't let go. She's only unconscious though the water that's filling her lungs won't allow that for long. Ataru can feel their own mind begin to spin, frantic for the surface that he refuses to swim to. Their lungs still won't breathe; it goes against every instinct.

Bubbles burn past his lips and salt finally coats their insides with a desperate inhale. The water goes black or perhaps his unharmed eye has already shut. Maybe, they're already dead. His limbs feel weightless as their mind starts to blur with a final message and the regret that she'll never hear it.

I love you , El.

You'll have to do the rest without me.

His thoughts slip into unconsciousness as their body floats limply through the stilled waters. He doesn't hear the approaching hovercraft as it wastes no time in its descent. Divers leap from its doors, ignoring the thin body that's already surfaced. Instead they plunge deep into the rust-coloured water as the tracker blips in the front screen of their helmets. One grabs hold of the tribute's arm and tugs them towards the surface. The other places a waterproof mask over the boy's parted lips to force oxygen into their lungs.

The third diver waves the hovercraft closer and assists in loading the new Victor inside. As the doors close and the on board medical team gets to work, an announcement plays loud and clear across the nation.

"Citizens of Panem, I am pleased to present the Victor of the 66th Annual Hunger Games - Ataru Watanabe of District 1!"

Ataru straightens in the dressing room chair, a palette of powders laid clean in front of them.

His brush swirls twice around the blush before sliding across their cheeks, leaving behind a thick streak of rose. The scar around his eye seems to deepen as the pigment draws over it. They smile into the mirror and watch the blush rise along with the curl of his lips. A soft hum escapes and they chuckle gently, glancing to the empty stool beside him. Ataru nods to the palette set in front of it, filling in their own words in her silence.

"You always wear too much," Elodie giggles, pointing to the delicate layer that blushes across her nose. "You realize the Capitol doesn't have to see it from here, right?"

Ataru throws his head back in another laugh. "But wouldn't they love to?"

They press the prosthetic to its proper position in his eye socket, the shining brown a near perfect match to the other. The skin around has healed thicker than the rest, but it's unnoticeable on stage. None of his scars can be seen against the lavish cape and glittering makeup. The Capitol has offered more surgeries to further hide them, but he has no desire to leave the theatre again. The weeks they spent in hospital following the games and then travelling across Panem were far too long.

They glance to the closet where their costume lays in wait for the night's performance. Elodie's gown hangs elegantly to its right, the fabric pressed and cleaned from the evening before. He smiles at the glimmering stones, some of the older ones having been replaced by his mother just last weekend. They're some of the only ones permitted inside the theatre apart from the pair of performers. His mothers won't share the news of her victory or cloud the seats with their noise. When they're here Ataru can still hear his queen and, most importantly, she's safe.

They bought the theatre with the money from the Capitol upon arriving back in District 1. It's his favourite place in the world; their home and now Elodie's as well. She followed him here, knowing that no place in the district could be safer.

Few people know it, but theirs is the only year with two Victors.

She didn't join them on the train home or the tour round the other districts. No television has announced her name beside his as the 66th Victor. Yet, when Ataru bought the theatre and sat on stage one night, she came back as he'd known she would.

Elodie wasn't dead like the nation wanted to believe.

She's right here with him, just like they'd always dreamed.

So while the district mourned months ago, Ataru danced with her across the stage that same afternoon in the shoes she'd bought him. They closed his eyes and felt her hands fall gently across his shoulders as they spun together- the king and the queen reunited at last. There was no need for a funeral; there never would be.

("Let them believe it," Elodie had laughed as they danced across the stage to the familiar number, her shoes silent on the floor. "Only you need to know.")

Ataru had closed the doors to the theatre mere days afterwards. The only ones that know that Elodie is here are his mothers and Amos, who visits often upon request of the Capitol. The past year has brought the two of them closer, though Amos rarely stays to watch their dance. To Ataru this doesn't matter. He doesn't dance for spectators or applause.

They turn to the empty stool, a loving gaze in his eye as they stare past it. He dances for her, and she for him.

The clock chimes between them, alerting Ataru to the time. Each night they perform the same number- the queen and her lost king, reunited in the castle's garden as she longs for his return. Every night, Ataru promises to return to her. Each morning he cleans their costumes and tidies the set in preparation. It's their love poem to Elodie, an eternity of dances that were almost taken from them.

Ataru smiles and extends their hand into the empty air beside him.

"It's almost time." He can imagine the words soft on her lips. Elodie takes their hand and slides from the stool, her fingers weightless across his palm.

Ataru leads her to their costumes and lifts the gown's hanger from the rack. He lays it neatly across the dressing table after wiping its surface again with the sleeve of their shirt. They move back to retrieve their bluse and pants, pulling each on quickly after another glance at the clock. Ataru drapes the jewelled cape around his shoulders and watches their reflection tie it neatly at his throat.

A knock on the door brings another smile to their lips. Lurra peeks in with a headset already tight around her ears. She's here; the stage is ready for them.

Ataru closes their eyes and feels a gentle hand cup his shoulder. He rests their cheek against it, revelling in the familiar warmth before turning around. They beam into the empty dressing room, his eyes tracing the shape of his dancer as the gown lays untouched on the table.

Ataru's still turned when a loving hand comes to rest across their back. Lurra's voice comes in a soft whisper that stops behind him. "You look beautiful."

"She's always beautiful," Ataru responds, their voice smitten. The pair stare inwards at the dressing table, the ghost visible to only one though his mother won't speak loud enough for it to disappear. Lurra and Zaharia fear what would happen if they tried.

Their son is happy, no matter that their existence has become a broken shell of one.

Lurra waits silently with her hand still against him until Ataru turns towards the door. His eyes don't meet hers, but she looks up at them anyways. Even almost a year later, she still searches them everyday in hopes of finding him. The doctors don't come around anymore; Lurra has no access to her son's money to pay them to. It all goes to the theatre.

They step together through the backstage area, its many halls empty of stagehands and techs. Ataru holds his hand out the whole way as if waiting for another to land inside. They walk towards stage left; at this point he could make it there without vision. There's little left of the theatre that Ataru hasn't explored with his queen.

"Nervous?" He imagines Elodie whispering as they near the drawn curtains. Ataru rolls their eyes playfully before extending both arms into second position and bowing deeply.

"Of course not," he answers into the dim stillness. There are no shuffling sounds from the theatre seats or interlude music to fill the air. The only thing that follows Ataru and Lurra to the edge of the stage is hollow silence.

They nod at their mother expectedly and transfer Elodie's hand to hers to be led out to center stage. Lurra smiles sadly at her son, mouthing a wish of luck before walking alone to the middle of the pristine floor. The curtains remain drawn, separating the stage's emptiness from the bare seats ahead. Tears build slowly in Lurra's eyes as she gives a soft bow to the phantom dancer.

Ataru watches his mother leave from stage right to join the audience. Zaharia is no doubt already in the sound box, her bitten nails waiting on the starting cue. He watches the empty stage, imagining the first pose where Elodie hugs her arms around herself and looks skyward. Flowers sit at the stage's edges in likeness of the royal gardens. He pictures her face, the soft mock of despair traced on her lips as the curtain rises.

They close his eyes as the melody starts, their arms swaying in remembrance of her every step. His heart leaps as their cue nears, his feet impatiently spinning backstage as the music crescendos. Ataru takes a long inhale and leaps on stage, their arms extended towards his queen as she finds him running towards her.

Ataru's hands grasp her waist as they spin, a smile carved deep into their makeup. He closes his eyes, no need to see where either's feet lands because they know every step. This is their dance and nearly a year ago it became their reality. The music plays strong in his chest and they believe it. Those weeks away, those days without her after they were separated, it brought them both here.

The stage is where they've always belonged.

Together.

Ataru raises her hand in his as the melody fades between the theatre seats. They take a gentle bow in unison, the smile unwavering from his lips as a single set of hands come together in applause. They can't see Lurra's face in the darkness ahead, but he knows she's there watching. Ataru's chin lifts and they wave towards the sound booth where Zaharia is no doubt beaming. Lurra's hands come together again in recognition.

"My sweet king."

He turns and their smile brightens with Elodie's. "My queen."

When Ataru looks at her, nothing else feels real. The arena, the Hunger Games, the Capitol and the districts beyond it cease to exist in her smile. He can forget about every nightmare that fights for their attention. They can believe Elodie's promise that none of it will touch him again. As long as she's here- as long as they have this second chance- Ataru isn't going to let anything ruin it.

He waits for the curtain to descend, but the seat lighting flickers on instead. They glance down at the front row, finding Lurra easily but she's not alone.

His mother's voice trembles as she motions to Amos. "They came for your performance."

"It was wonderful," Amos says gently, giving a nod to them and the space beside him in turn. Ataru's not sure how long it's been since they saw their mentor. It suddenly feels like too long.

"Thank you for coming," Ataru says whimsily. "I'm glad to see you."

Amos nods. "And you."

Ataru smiles a goodbye to them both, reaching again for Elodie's hand as Zaharia joins them on stage. Her expression is stoic, paler than before though she still looks beautifully like herself. Zaharia has a small duffel bag hanging beside her. He recoils in recognition and their head snaps back to face Amos.

"I don't want to," Ataru says quickly.

Amos sighs, closing their eyes before looking up at him again. "I know. We don't have a choice. The Capitol's requested you by name."

"I can't," Ataru retorts. Once the tears start building, it's impossible to stop them. The shaky dam that is only just capable of holding the panic back begins to bend. "Our performances-"

"Will continue when you return," Zaharia interrupts. She crosses the stage with soft footsteps and brings the bag closer until he has no choice but to take it from her. "It'll only be a few weeks. We'll keep everything running here while you're gone."

"But Elodie-"

"She'll be here when you get back," Amos says quickly before anyone else can answer. His mothers look away, unwilling to let their expressions betray them. He truly believes that she's still here; the last doctor wagered it was the only thing keeping his mind from snapping completely. Amos is the one that seems to best understand that; their words coming easily in Ataru's presence.

A few moments pass before Ataru nods regretfully into the empty audience. Amos is right, of course, but that doesn't make the thought of leaving any easier to swallow. Elodie can't follow them to the Capitol. She'll never step past the theatre doors; it's simply not safe.

Yet it feels no safer for him. When Ataru's gone, all they can do is wait to return to her. Every moment he spends outside of these sacral walls is little more than a countdown until he can come back. The nightmares, the panic, the weight of the scars and the cough that's never quite gone away- without her they're all they can focus on.

The Capitol feels so far. When he's here, she's no more than a stone's throw away, within reach of their promise to never let go. Ataru closes their eyes and she's here, her hands gentle in his after so many years of hoping. This place is their sanctuary; their home.

And he'll always find his way back.

For Lindsay (ladyqueerfoot), Ataru's parent and creator, and the SYOT Verses Victor Exchange 2022.