Training, Day 2, Part 3


Mati wound the gauze mechanically around the mannequin's arm, yet his gaze kept drifting over to Thomas, who'd now wandered to the far side of the room, quiet and alone… and in need of companionship? He couldn't believe he was actually considering it. Talking to new people wasn't his forte; it usually ended in an awkward disaster. It'd still be safer to just ignore the boy, especially here in the Hunger Games, just to save himself from further shame.

Yet as Iggy had pointed out, Thomas looked lonely, and Mati hated the idea of the poor boy being ignored like that. Though he couldn't figure out why in the world Thomas might be interested in him of all people, it seemed that fate had tied them together since the Chariot Rides.

"Woah—be careful," the trainer said. Mati snapped up, his hands frozen. What had he done wrong? "You'll cut off circulation if you wrap it that tightly."

Mati hadn't realized his hands were clenched. Below him, the wad of gauze started to strain under the tension of over-tautness. He didn't remember doing that either. He glanced at Iggy, who smiled at him with concern before glancing away shyly. She hadn't spoken since lunch; he wished she would.

Had he scared her somehow? He hoped not. Her words from lunch still covered his thoughts like a healing salve.

"Hey, Iggy… You know I'm not mad, right?"

"Really? I thought I was too loud or too pushy or…"

"Oh no, please. I really appreciated it. Really."

She beamed at him. Her soft brown eyes shone with relief. "That makes me happy."

That was that. The atmosphere seemed to instantly clear up with the simple acknowledgment; all was right with the world again. When she shuffled over just a bit closer, it took all his self-control not to wrap protectively around her, as he used to do with the younger kids out in the fields, way back in an era long gone, before the tornado passed through and he moved to the city. The sensation was oddly nostalgic, stirring within him an instinct he hadn't felt for years. But he didn't know Iggy well enough, and he didn't want to freak her out, and maybe she didn't love hugs from people she barely knew, and…

He'd play it safe.

Iggy broke eye contact, looking past him to the opposite side of the room. "What's Thomas doing over there?"

Thomas—on the other side of the room? Mati pursed his lips. The other boy had stayed nearby for the past day and a half. Or had he imagined that?

"I don't know… Maybe he overheard us talking."

"Oh no!" Her face fell. "That's all my fault…"

"Don't worry about it; I'll go talk to him."

"I thought you thought…"

"I guess I think differently now." He patted her on the back and set the gauze down on the floor, rising to his feet. "You're awesome, Iggy."

"Have fun!" she said with a giggle.

He sighed. She put too much confidence in him.

When he arrived at the shelter station, Thomas just happened to duck behind his hut, a crude construction of logs and tarp, the latter of which was usually obtainable round the outer edges of the Cornucopia. Mati paused for a moment, looking away as not to stare. Should he wait for Thomas to appear, or should he go seek him out? He looked back and found Iggy silently cheering him on from the other side of the room, beaming her positive vibes his way.

He took a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, he could speak first this time.

"Thomas, right?" He winced when his voice came out choked out of nowhere, as if the walk over had sucked the energy from his vocal cords. He cleared his throat. "Sorry…"

The Six boy peeked out, eyes wide as a deer in floodlights. "Me?"

"If you don't mind…"

"Oh, I don't mind!" Thomas chuckled tensely. "I was just a little surprised that… never mind."

"I'm surprised too, honestly."

"Yeah."

Thomas looked away, red creeping up his face. Mati smiled on instinct, the way he did walking down the road so that no one would ever have a reason to ask him what was wrong. Suddenly, he found himself oddly interested in Thomas' lean-to. His eyes scoured it all over, from its unstable support beam in the corner to the white wildflowers poking out where the tarp draped over the rope. Anything was better than to look the guy in the face and sit in the nerve-racking silence of wordlessness.

Mati reached to adjust the log. Thomas flinched. "Don't worry," Mati assured, smiling non-threateningly. "If you rotate the log just a bit, it'll be a lot more stable."

"I see…" Thomas slowly nodded, though Mati suspected that the technical elements flew over the boy's head.

"I love the flowers, by the way."

He brightened. "Really? I was passing by the edible plants station and they were too pretty to pass up, but I think something pink would match the tarp better…"

"They're a nice touch!" Mati smiled when the wooden pieces of the shelter clunked snugly in place. "Do you want to… work on this together? I mean, if you don't mind… I hope I'm not intruding…"

"Oh, please don't worry about it! You're not intruding at all."

"No pressure, though."

"You're fine!"

Mati smiled, a little flustered, but this one was real and left happiness rolling through his veins. Maybe Iggy was right. Maybe Thomas just needed someone to talk to him. Wasn't that where Mati himself had been on the first day of training? It'd been pure luck that he'd found Iggy.

He poked around on a nearby screen, which displayed a few basic design principles of makeshift shelters, rapidly taking in bits on balance and security. Even so, being busy at work couldn't shake the awkward cloud that seemed to hand overhead. What could he fill the silence with? A few old songs from the fields came to mind, but he wasn't sure if those would be appropriate here…

When he glanced over, he noticed Thomas staring. He froze. "What?"

"Please, keep humming."

Not this again. It happened far too often back home for his liking, and now the habit had followed him here. "I didn't know I was humming…"

"What song was it?"

"I don't know." He laughed, face turning red. "I was humming?"

Thomas chuckled. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make it awkward…"

"Oh no, it was me."

"You're valid. Just wanted to say that it sounded nice."

As their laughter dissipated into the air, Mati could already feel the cloak of stilted conversation floating down, falling as gently but surely as a feather on a windless—or wordless—day, headed towards them with gentle inevitability. If only Iggy had come over with him. She'd have something to say.

"Say, I've been working with Iggy—her name's Yggdrasil, but she goes by Iggy—from District Eleven. We're not officially allies, but I hope we'll stick together. Do you want to come with?"

"Are you sure?"

"You betcha." He glanced at Iggy, who waved back with a satisfied grin. "C'mon. She'd be happy to have you too."

For a brief moment, it seemed like Thomas hesitated, and he immediately worried that he'd been too pushy. What if the boy didn't want allies? Now Mati had put him in such an awkward position. But then Thomas gingerly plucked the flowers out from the shelter and returned with a resolute bounce in his step, ready to go.

Mati couldn't help but grin. It all felt unreal, as if the relatively smooth conversation had been his imagination and reality was about to kick him in the gut with another wince-inducing rejection—but this was real. Iggy had made the right call.

What else could she be right about?


Adair was bored.

'Twas a wonderful day. He'd waltzed out on the balcony first thing in the morning and enjoyed his share of mornin' sunshine—the mountain air begged to be drunk to the bottom of the bottle. On a day like this back home, he'd forgo the cards and take an easy morning out on his apartment's porch before headin' to town for a bit of fun.

But no. Ever since he stepped onto the Reaping stage, the Capitol had dictated his every moment. Now he sat in this oversized gymnasium, and he couldn't wait for the day to end. The ceiling, while at least a good three stories up from the floor, settled in pitch black, much lower than the infinite skies. No number of fancy Capitol doohickeys could replace the thrill of being up and about, wandering without a worry. Sure, it might've been dangerous sometimes out in District Seven's inter-settlement wilds, but he ain't ever found anyone that could best him.

Furthermore, unlike most of his allies (except Liat, but she was bound to leave soon), he wouldn't even get the luxury of a free day out to explore the Capitol, as that was only granted to Districts One, Two, and Ten, the districts cleared for Capitol tourism.

He absentmindedly spun a bark sample round and round on the smooth tabletop of the edible plants station. Across from him, Adora studied a screen with perfect poise. He wouldn't've stopped by if she hadn't wanted to. Basic survival knowledge came easier than a slice of rhubarb pie for a man that had spent weeks on his own in the wilderness.

What to do? He leaned back in a chair and placed his hands behind his head tilted back, crossing his legs ankle-on-knee. The clock high up the wall ticked down the final ten minutes of the day.

Across the table from him, Adora smiled sweetly. "Bored already?"

"Maybe. Findin' them plants interesting?"

"I think it could be useful." She tapped the screen below her twice. It earned a bright green glow—she'd finally answered all the questions correctly after a long afternoon of studying. "Finally!"

"Such a good student, eh?"

She blushed. Rich kids. He'd despise 'em if he hadn't made good money off of 'em, but they were simply too easy to play for him to despise. "Thank you! I try."

Across the room, he noticed the boy from Four strutting along the edge of the room alone with his head held high. The kid had been this way since he shoved the boy from Eleven off the top of the climbing wall. It'd been about as impressive as a caterwaulin' desert canary—that was to say, not impressive in the slightest.

"Whaddya make of him?" he said. "The Four kid."

She tilted her head and observed with a certain coldness to her delicate, moisturized cheeks. As smiley as she could be, she was a careful one; he'd give her that.

"Where did his district partner go?" she said.

"Beats me. Maybe she found him insufferable and left."

The two of 'em watched as the Four boy pulled a coiled rope out of the weapon racks with a grappling hook attached to one end. Though a trainer approached him, he waved the man away, giving the hook a few good swings before he sent the hook flying towards the walls, where it tipped the edge of the target and clattered on the floor, turning more than a few heads.

"That's… one option, I suppose," Adora said, mind clearly running some kind of calculation. "It doesn't seem too scary though once it misses."

"Maybe he'd have better luck with a mace? Or maybe he's after the style points," he said. A flying grappling hook was exactly the type of content the Capitol audience loved to see. "It'll look mighty cool on screen, but it ain't gonna do much work for him."

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Are you annoyed?"

He chuckled, dismissing her question with a wave. "Nah. Just amused, that's all."

"Whatever you say."

No, it wasn't the grappling hook that bothered him. The District Four guy was a nobody with no real weapon skills and no combat experience, yet he seemed so confident, so smug, as if that little flashy show could actually take him anywhere—and all because he'd shoved an unsuspecting tribute off the climbing wall. Adair knew exactly what he wanted to do with the last few minutes of training.

When he rose, Adora looked at him with surprise. "Where are you going?"

"Don't mind me." He grinned. "Just giving this kid some advice."

Suspicion flickered beneath her wide eyes. Maybe this was a bit of a rash move on his part, but he'd find a way to ease her concerns later—things always worked out for him, and they would this time too.

He ambled up beside the Four boy, with a brief detour to pluck a knife off the weapon racks. "Nice thing you got goin', huh?"

"Of course." Four grinned like a Cheshire cat and pulled the hook back, lazily looping the rope around his arm in preparation for another shot. "Any deckhand back in Four can pull that one off, no sweat."

He wanted nothing more than to wipe that grin off the guy's face with a well-timed punch, but that would have to wait for the Games. "Cool, cool. Such a pity that we don't usually get to see grappling hooks in the Games," Adair said, raising his knife. "I wonder why."

"Maybe they can't find a capable person to use them."

"Could be." Adair shrugged. "Or maybe it's because it won't do jack when this—" Without breaking eye contact, he let the knife fly. By the thud in the wall and Four's gaping mouth, he knew he hit his mark. "—comes flyin' right at you."

Four blinked, unnerved. "What do you want?"

"Just thought I'd meet the competition."

"I've seen a hook knock someone out before." Four pulled in the last bit of rope. He gripped the hook in his hand until his knuckles turned white. "I could do it to you."

"You wanna try?"

"They won't let us fight."

"That didn't stop you from fighting Eleven," Adair said. Four flinched, and he smirked. "Just scared you'd lose, huh?"

Four's lip twitched. "No."

"And Eleven wasn't even a fair fight. I reckon he'd win in a clean match."

The boy's voice trembled, right on the edge of caving in. "Shut up."

"Then why'd you pull a dirty one on him?"

The boy's voice rose, swelling like the rumbles of a rising wave. "I could take you on."

Adair narrowed his eyes, cocked his head, and raised an eyebrow, posture relaxed yet every muscle ready for a good tussle.

"Then prove it."

Just as he'd expected, Four lunged, and with it, Adair knew he'd already won.


Five minutes of training left.

It wasn't much, but Virginia wasn't about to waste a second of it. She stared resolutely at the combat trainer across the floor from her, who had a rubber knife in hand. Her hand tightened around one of her own as she mentally ran through the steps they'd practiced all afternoon.

Deflect. Render useless. Go in for the kill. It wasn't too different from the lab procedures she learned in chemistry class, if she could get over the fact that the ideal end here would leave someone dead instead of a pretty chemical reaction.

Her body ached but she refused to slump; she couldn't remember the last time she physically exerted herself so much in one day. She brushed a few beads of sweat off her forehead. She'd better get used to it. It'd only get worse.

She clenched her jaw. "I'm ready."

The trainer came at her with the knife angled at her chest. Though the sight of it sent her nerves into overdrive, she forced herself to breathe, to keep things under control. Her one advantage would be smarts, so she needed her mind at the top of its game. Just like he'd taught her, she waited for him to make the first move. She clutched her own knife close to her body. Her eyes darted all over him to track his every movement.

When he finally jabbed at her, she parried his knife. A hand clamped around her other arm. Panic shot through her—oh no, oh no, oh no—she had to remember to breathe, even as she executed the steps to breaking grips. Finally, she shoved his arm off to the side, opening his chest just long enough for her to bring her own knife up.

Its tip poked the trainer's abdomen. Her hand froze instinctively at the first sign of resistance.

"There," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Like that?"

A grin barely graced his face, but she welcomed any sign of approval, as tiny as it may be. "You got the flow down. Just remember to bring it up hard so they can't come back with another shot of their own."

"Keep up the flow; s-stab hard." She gulped. "How else can I improve?"

"Well, there's always room for everyone to improve." He chuckled. "But that's the best we'll get today."

Virginia bit her lip. She didn't want to stop, not when she had three days until the Games and anything she picked up here might be the key to her survival. Still, the trainer was right. All her training in the Capitol wouldn't bring her up to par with a single one of the Star Alliance; at best, it'd only bring her odds from impossible to improbable. And that made her mad—everything was so unfair! It was almost as if they expected non-trained tributes to give up and leave the spotlight for their beloved trained tributes.

Well, she had no intention of doing so. She had to live, even if—no, especially because every last one of them expected the contrary. Jakob. Her district. The Capitol. She'd prove them all wrong.

Even if it meant killing? She hadn't quite figured that out. She hoped she would soon.

She smiled at the trainer. None of this was his fault; he'd been so patient with her despite her being… not cut for combat. "Thank you for your help," she said with a polite nod. "I really appreciate it."

"Just doing my job. May the odds be ever in your favor."

As she stepped off the sparring ring, most of the other tributes waited around the room for the bell to end the day, some alone, others in a group, like found Ellis, who'd paused by the first-aid station to chat with the girl from Eleven and the boys from Nine and Six. The girl's name was Iggy, if she remembered correctly. Why did she remember it so clearly? Ellis had mentioned it at dinner last night, and she hadn't been able to forget it since. That would be another name to the list of people she didn't want to run into during the Games. Laforza would undoubtedly try to kill them, and Virginia wasn't sure how she'd react to that.

On the topic of her ally, she found Laforza trying to twirl a knife by the weapon racks. The two made eye contact for a moment as the knife spun off her finger and clattered to the ground, after which Laforza grinned so twistedly Virginia did a double take. This was the ally she'd chosen? Virginia was convinced this girl didn't give a light towards respecting a single person in the whole universe; all lunch period, she'd felt uncomfortable with the other girl's belligerent gaze and she'd felt a visceral need to spend some time away from her.

But she'd wanted someone that could kill, and Laforza had been the only one of those that would've reasonably accepted her. The fact that she'd been looking for a murderer in itself was bothering enough, but what else could she do? Roll over and die? That's exactly what everyone watching expected of her, and it caused a spiteful boil to bubble up in her gut, one that left her feeling icky.

She told herself it was better this way because she wouldn't get that attached to the girl. It'd be easier if it came down to the two of them in the end, not that it wouldn't still be astronomically hard.

Off to the side, she caught the boy from Twelve hanging around, watching her with his shoulder against the wall. When they made eye contact, he didn't shy away; rather, he gave her a good-natured grin.

"Nice goin' there," he said. "District Eight, right?"

She smiled back, hands folded politely. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't hurt to make a good first impression. "That's right. You're from District Twelve?"

"Yeah. I'm Zeph. My friend Zirconia would usually say something right about now about me being the boring one, but she's off with the Nine girl right now."

She followed his gaze and found the girls laughing together near the elevators. "I see."

He shrugged. "And you?"

"I'm Virginia," she said. She supposed she should distrust the guy, yet she couldn't catch the faintest hint of malice in his good-natured grin. "What brings you over here?"

"I'm just scoutin' out the competition, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, of course." That seemed like a smart thing to do. Maybe she should've paid more attention to the other tributes; it hadn't crossed her mind. "Have you found anything interesting yet?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?"

She laughed along, face turning slightly red. Of course Zeph wouldn't tell her; that wouldn't have been very smart of him. Though if she were honest with herself, she would've spilled without a second thought.

"It's nuthin' against you. Just the way to play the Game, y'know?"

"I guess so…" She didn't want to contradict, but her agreement settled uncomfortably in her stomach. If it was so wrong, why did the Games still go on, year after year? "This isn't a fun Game."

"Yeah, it's rough. You gotta do whatever it takes to survive… but it kills you in the process, don't it?" He raised an eyebrow, his deep brown eyes flickering with a new softness. Had her inner rumbling been that obvious?

As she looked back in silence, she felt as if she'd corrode from the inside out, an existing reaction suddenly catalyzed. She didn't want to kill. Her body knew it; her stomach churned. Her emotions knew it; was it guilt that hung over her like the smog over Eight? Though she wished with every fiber of her body that she could stop knowing it, she couldn't deny the universal truth embedded in every cell that this killing was all so wrong. It only made her feel worse that she wished to forget it.

She'd been silent too long. How rude of her! "I-I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "It's only human."

Human.

That was the exact word Ellis had used. She wanted nothing but to tell him that she was sorry, that she really didn't believe everything she was trying to convince herself, that she really didn't know if she could kill.

But she wouldn't do that. She had to survive.

A yell burst out across the room, instantaneously snapping Virginia back to reality. She whipped around. At the weapon stations, the Seven boy had the Four boy pinned to the ground. It'd happened so fast—she hadn't even seen them fight.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" A little whiles away, Zeph's district partner rushed over, adding her voice to the commotion.

"Oh, Zirconia…" Zeph mumbled under his breath. "Nice talkin' to you, but I gotta go."


"I could take you on."

Azolla knew something was wrong the moment she heard his voice in the distance. Its growl-like undertones unsettled her; she set the book in her hands down and searched for its source. Where was Navarro? Maybe she shouldn't have left him alone all afternoon. Of course his stupidly arrogant rear end would get himself in trouble.

She spotted him over at the weapons with a grappling hook in hand, circled by the boy from Seven, who hovered around him like a shark, playing with its prey. Or maybe "snake" would be more apt, with his gleaming blue eyes. Though she couldn't hear a word from Seven, she could see a mockingly calm smile, one that sent chills down her back. Navarro's entire body looked stiff and unnerved.

Why did she care so much about Navarro? He was a total douche—and that was understating it. She'd heard his own mentor Avisa use much choicer words in reference to him. No one would blame her for ditching him and teaming up with someone nicer or even going solo rather than put up with him. In some way, she had ditched him, or at least refused to hang around him after he attacked the boy from Eleven.

But knowing herself, she'd end up working with Navarro again sooner or later in this unsaid pseudo-alliance they had. She couldn't bring herself to fully ditch someone that still had a chance to be saved, someone that she could help.

She watched as Seven continued to laze about Navarro, undoubtedly taunting him. She hoped Navarro would resist the other boy—the day was nearly over; just a little while longer.

But he lunged.

Immediately, all Azolla knew was that she had to be there—what she would do, she didn't know. Never mind that Seven was trained or that Navarro's performance today had been far from even passable. She leaped to her feet and sprinted over, heart leaping in her chest, desperately hoping that Navarro was okay, that he hadn't made a game-ending mistake. Trainers gathered in a ring around the two fighting boys; they blocked her view! Not being able to see only spurred her heartbeat faster.

The fight was over before she got close. Through shifting cracks in the ring, she saw that Seven had pinned Navarro to the floor seemingly as effortlessly as the wind. After a few questions from trainers, he got off him, dismissing their concerns with a wave and a smile.

Was Navarro okay? Azolla wanted to get right up to see; there were still too many people in the way to tell for sure. But while she poked her head around to see, the girl from Twelve suddenly burst into the ring, her long dark hair waving wildly.

"Hey!" The other girl got in Seven's face, or at least tried, since Seven had at least half a foot on her. What she lacked in height she made up with pure indignation. "What do you think you're doing?"

Seven chuckled. "Twelve, mind your own business."

Though he tried to leave, Twelve girl circled back in front of him, jabbing a finger at his chest. "I demand an answer. What do you think you're doing? We get it—you're trained. You're so insecure you need to flex it, huh?"

In the corner of her eye, Azolla noticed the girl's district partner rushing over. Two trainers pulled Navarro aside for a stern conversation. People all around her were moving and doing—what was there for her to do? Her veins still rushed with adrenaline, spinning round and round without an outlet.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Day Two had ended. Still stuck, Azolla watched as Seven pushed Twelve aside and strode towards the elevators, deaf to the girl's protests. Next to her, the trainers released Navarro with a stern warning. He didn't look hurt; thank goodness, though she wished she'd had a chance to speak, or help, or anything other than stand and watch dumbly. Azolla Majuli had never been any good at waiting for others to move; she'd always been the one to take initiative. Now that it was all over, she finally had a chance.

But before she spoke, Twelve girl cycled back.

"Hey!" Twelve said. "Are you okay?"

Navarro glared at her. "I'm fine."

"Don't mind Seven. What a prick…"

"I didn't need your help."

Oh no… not again. Azolla could feel in her bones another fight waiting to happen. She wanted to grab Navarro and give him a stern talking to. He'd been fortunate to get out of one without a scratch, and now he'd jump headfirst into another? But the adrenaline was wearing off. Her brain was overloaded, still trying to process what had just happened, and as much as she wanted to intercept herself between them, she couldn't bring herself to move.

"Excuse me?" Twelve girl crossed her arms. "You sure looked like you needed it."

"I didn't."

Her tone rose. "Bro, what?"

"Did I ask for your help? Stay out of this."

"I'm sick of your delicate ego," the girl huffed. "If you wanna fight—" She suddenly cut off as her district partner grabbed her arm, talking to her in a low voice. She glared at him and whipped back around to face Navarro. "Fine. I'm sorry I cared. I hope that monster from Seven whips your bratty rear end in the Arena."

With that, the Twelves joined their escort on an elevator and disappeared from view. The only sound left was Navarro's heavy breathing.

Azolla smiled weakly at him. "What a mess… right?"

He grunted, glaring at everything and nothing in particular, avoiding her own gaze. She knew better than to press him right now. He'd probably explode with all those emotions running wild, as childish as they may be. If he weren't her age and two inches taller, she'd almost have a mind to send him to time-out. But that was not an option, so she stood nearby, waiting with him for their own escort to arrive.

During the entire trip up to their quarters, Azolla stood in agonizing silence, unsure whether to avoid or look directly at Navarro. She exchanged worried glances with the escort, who herself seemed rather terrified. Neither of them could speak. There were just so many things to ask, yet for his good she'd keep her peace, at least until he had a chance to calm down.

When the elevator doors slid open, they found Avisa waiting for them with a look so disappointed and unamused that Azolla had to bow her head in shame though she herself hadn't done a thing.

"So." Avisa sighed. "We're going to talk about what happened."

Navarro snarled. "Look, it wasn't—"

"I don't want to hear it yet. Wait for me in the living room while I call up Kezia. And to think that I was going to meet someone tonight… why can't you just stay out of trouble?"

Azolla glanced at Navarro. He didn't glance back. The two settled down uncomfortably on opposite ends of a long coffee table, whose glass was tinted blue to initiate the sparkling waters off the coast of District Four.

Silence.

The tick, tick, tick of the wall clock echoed in Azolla's ears until they crashed over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her in its oppressive roar—a visceral need to speak, to help, to make things better. She observed his face and found it less red. Maybe he'd calmed down a bit?

She broke the silence with a smile. "How are you coping?"

"I'm completely fine."

Sure, he might not have opened up to her, but at least he was talking. If she could keep it up, she hoped they might eventually get somewhere. "Good thing Twelve was there, right?"

Navarro snorted. "She made me look pathetic."

Him attacking the Eleven boy was already pathetic, but that was neither there nor here. "I don't think so. I think it was a nice gesture."

"Pshaw." He finally made eye contact with her, only for her to find that they still burned with fury. Navarro hadn't calmed down, not one bit. "I don't need anyone to defend me."

Though Azolla's self-preserving side told her to stay far, far away from him, it wasn't an option. No matter how much of a douche he was, she was convinced there was something hurting deep inside, and now that Seven had exposed some of those vulnerabilities—when would she get another chance to help him through it?

Would this even work? She sighed. All this time she'd tried to look out for him, but he hadn't acknowledged it once. Navarro wasn't her responsibility. She had every right to give up. But if she didn't help, who would? The guy would likely be dead in less than a week.

"It's not about needing it, you know?" Azolla said. "Maybe Twelve just saw what happened and wanted to help, no assumptions made about you."

He scoffed. "These are the Hunger Games. Who has time to be nice?"

"I like to think there are still nice people."

"You're an idiot."

Azolla bit her lip. Blame her for caring! The sharp edge had returned, and he'd straightened up in his seat, as if to stare her down. Yet he shook, just slightly, an emotional tremor rooted in the heart that visibly rumbled throughout the rest of him. She could almost see those cogs turning in his head.

Navarro banged an unsteady fist on the table. "I'll kill him myself."

There he went again, trying to be all tough or something, but she couldn't have him trying to rush Seven in the middle of the Bloodbath. "We can't be hunting down an effin' trained tribute like that!"

"I don't care."

"Please! I care about your safety."

"Then stop." As Navarro continued to fix his glare on her, he swallowed, his lips pressed tightly together. His tone began to rise. "No one asked you to."

It was an order, but Azolla only heard a cry for help. "I won't," she said. "You can't just tell someone to stop caring. That's not how it works!"

"You don't know anything" he said, even louder than before, as if he could silence her with sheer volume. He was wrong. "You're wasting your time."

"You think you have to be 'worth it' for me to care? You didn't have to earn it from me in the first place, so you can't do anything to stop me now."

She grit her teeth to keep herself looking back into his orbs of rage. He wanted to intimidate her, to shut her up, to keep her far, far away from his guarded pain. Azolla hated to argue, but she wasn't going to let him go on this one. Love had to win in the end.

"You're so dumb!" His voice reached a new crescendo. "Shut up and leave me alone. I'm tired of this!"

She stared straight into his accusatory stare. Water pricked at the corner of her eyes; she refused to look away, even though it physically pained her to stare into his anger. Every instinct in her body told her to stand down and leave him alone, to do as she was told, just like she was used to.

But if she looked carefully, Azolla could've sworn he just blinked back tears of his own. What he wasn't saying wasn't true; it was his pain speaking, not him. She wouldn't listen to him. She couldn't.

"No." Azolla breathed deep. "I won't. Because I know there's more to you than you let on. I don't care what you say. I'm not giving up on you."

The tears in her eyes welled up further now, it was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking.

"Navarro, I care."

He averted his eyes; his hands trembled at his side. He heaved unsteady, labored breaths, louder than the ticking of the clock had ever been. Azolla knew she was setting herself up for pain, but she dared to hope anyway as she sat in the crashing waves of his emotionally charged breathing.

Then his hands balled. He rose to his feet. And when she looked, his eyes were not calm—no, they boiled fiercer than a blacksmith's cauldron. She'd seen a glimpse of it at the end of training, but she'd never expected the hot metal to be flung at her.

Azolla had no time to protect herself from Navarro's verbal onslaught.

"Then stop! I don't care about you—never have, never will," he roared. "Stop acting like you're all so high and helpful when you're not. You hear that? You're not helpful!"

Her breathing came out in short gasps. The secretary in her tugged and strained to keep her composure, yet a single tear spilled down her cheek.

"You mean nothing to me and I hate you!" Navarro screamed in her face, voice quavering. "I don't care if you die in the Bloodbath. I'm absolutely sick of you and I don't want a thing to do with you!"

Azolla forced herself to breathe, to get oxygen, to hold herself together, but his words bounced around inside like spiked balls, shredding her heart until the pain squeezed more tears from her eyes. Her hands flew to her face to stop the flow, but they completely overran the dam until heavy sobs ravaged her body and she keeled over, burying her head in her hands in her lap. Amidst it all, she heard his hurried footsteps disappear across the room and then down the hall.

He really didn't care. He hated her. He wanted her gone. He wanted her dead.

She didn't want to believe it, but Navarro's sickening roar flooded her thoughts. She'd persisted. She'd tried. But this was all she had left, a slew of knives in her heart.

As much as Azolla still wanted to hope, she wasn't sure how much hope she had left in her.


Rusk took a deep breath and rapped sharply on the back door to the District Four tribute quarters, wincing at the noise as it reverberated through the stairwell. There was no reason to worry; only victors and the Avox staff used these stairs, but every echo whispered another worst-case scenario in his ear.

Avisa might cuss him out, or maybe hate him more. He might say all the wrong things and embarrass himself in front of mentors and tributes alike. She might've forgotten about the entire thing and leave him standing awkwardly in the doorway.

He swallowed and cleared his mind. His talk with Mati last night had gotten him thinking about reconciliation, and his conclusion had been that with Faridah gone, his priority had to be mending any broken bridges. It'd be easier for everyone to move on if they did it together, right?

That didn't make the process any easier, of course, but now he had experience with rejection. And that somehow did help. At any rate, if Avisa had agreed in advance to meet him tonight, it couldn't go any worse than the previous one did—and definitely nowhere near as badly as his visit with Acacio.

When the door opened, it wasn't Avisa. This time, he found himself staring into the eyes of Myrddin O'Halloran, the mentor for the female tribute this year. Rusk didn't know much about the man, other than that he strongly leaned rebel.

"What are you here for?" Myrddin asked, his voice steady and calm.

"I'm meeting Avisa," he said, surprised that he didn't stutter or choke or croak the way he usually did.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't a good time."

In the brief moment of silence that ensued, Rusk swore he heard sobbing in the distance, soon followed by angry footsteps and a sharp door slam. Great. Those worst-case scenarios seemed ever closer to reality.

The man smiled in sympathy. "I'm really sorry. If you'd like, I'll pass a message on to Avisa and ask her to contact you to re-arrange another time? Our tributes have had… an interesting past hour."

"I understand."

Not being able to meet would be disappointing for sure, yet he was almost impressed by the way Myrddin referred to Avisa. It was no secret that the Loyalist and Rebel factions of District Four did not get along, yet if their victors could maintain cordial relationships… there was real hope for him and the other Nines.

Avisa's voice came from further in. "Is that Rusk?"

"He said you two were going to talk?"

She came into view. "Let him in. It's not like I can do anything right now, though Azolla could use some comforting. It's… really not looking pretty."

Rusk felt like he was eavesdropping. The internal affairs of the District Fours were none of his business; he could be accused of gathering information unscrupulously. He inched back in the doorway.

But then Myrddin nodded, held the door open for Rusk, and quickly excused himself, leaving Avisa and Rusk alone in the dining room. Though he didn't doubt the room was usually bright enough, the starry night outside faintly shimmering with the Capitol's nightlights mirrored the dimly lit chandelier above the dining table, set with untouched cheeses and crackers. She looked exhausted. Or exasperated. Or both. Though this time, it didn't seem directed towards him.

"I-I'm really sorry if this is a bad time."

"It's not that bad." She gave a sharp chuckle as she plopped down on a nearby chair. "The girl's sobbing in the living room and I swear the big bad boy's sobbing in his own room too. Just an average day for a mentor."

"Really, I can come back later. This can wait."

"Don't worry about it. Oh—you can sit down, you know."

He cautiously pulled the seat out, almost as if he expected the finely carved wood to bite his hand. Other victors were known to visit each other, but not him. What did one do in a situation like this? He was probably overthinking it, but he figured it was better to overthink than… go in thoughtlessly?

"Thanks," he said, smiling. "I know it's all been hard, so I really appreciate it."

"You said you wanted to talk about Faridah?"

Rusk gulped. She didn't waste any time getting right to the point, did she. "Yeah. I just… want to know anything you'll tell me. After she… left, I realized she never talked too much about herself."

"That sounds just like her. I guess you did know her some." She gave him a strained smile, the first one he'd ever seen from her. A wave of relief washed over him. Not great, but better. And that in itself was great. Maybe. Hopefully. "Is that all you wanted to do today?"

"That's why I said that this could wait…"

"Maybe this'll help. It's all such a mess." She sighed, just as an Avox approached with two glasses of beer. "Faridah would know what to do," she added, half to herself, half to no one in particular. "Her tributes always loved her. You want a drink too? It's great when you don't want to deal with the pain."

Is this what regular mentor life was like? Rusk couldn't tell, not when the extent of his social life was the annual Victory Tour dinner and the occasional social once a year—and even that was only because Faridah used to invite him.

He rubbed his neck. "No, thank you. I've done enough numbing out for a lifetime."

"Suit yourself."

She took a deep glug from the glass. As she set it down, she brushed the hair out of her face, still done up with makeup from a long day of public appearances. She leaned back in her seat and breathed deeply. This wasn't the strong, fiery Avisa he knew before. This was exhausted Avisa. Stressed Avisa. It felt so wrong for Rusk to be here, to witness this cracked facade that'd normally be reserved for private quarters.

She caught him observing. "I know I'm a mess, but I'm too tired to care. Where do I start?"

"Well… Anywhere. How she spent her time. What she loved. What you remember the most about her."

Her laugh carried a bite. "It feels like I remember everything sometimes. She was my mentor, you know?"

He nodded, though he didn't exactly "know." Van had been his mentor, but they never quite hit it off that well.

"I remember… how she came to visit me in the hospital right after I woke up. I cussed her out, but she didn't get mad at me."

"Wow."

"I know. She was perfect." Avisa knocked back another long gulp, this one accompanied by a sharp bite of her lip. "After my Games, I was scared of water for a year. Bathtubs, pools, the ocean—you get the idea. The bumbling Capitol therapist did jack for me, but Faridah got me through it."

She paused and gave him a sharp glance. He looked away.

"Why am I telling you any of this, anyway?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Eff' it all. Anyone who tells you that no one good ever wins the games has no idea what they're talking about because she was a flawless angel. She lived and breathed to help others, and this is what she gets?"

Another drink, all the way till it was dry. She gripped the empty glass, staring as if she were trying to shatter it with her eyes.

"They still haven't gotten justice for her either." Her voice slowly faded to a whisper, like the final wisps of smoke from a dying fire. " They won't tell us anything."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said. "I keep blaming you… but it's not really your fault."

Rusk opened his mouth but then shut it again. He truly was sorry. Not just for her loss, not just for their lack of answers, but that somehow he knew and she didn't. They deserved to know. But he couldn't be the one to tell them. It opened up a pit in his stomach and showered him in shame until he wished to hide back in the stairway.

He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. "I should be going."

"Alright."

"Thank you so much for your time. This couldn't have been easy for you."

"You're right. It wasn't." Her bitter laugh returned as the two of them walked to the door. Rusk had shattered the moment by motioning to leave, and now he wouldn't get it back. "But it was good. Sort of."

"Oh, one thing," he said. "Do you know anything about an Acacio LeRoux?"

Avisa raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

It'd been a stab in the dark. Rusk didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't familiarity. "I don't know. Who is he?"

"He used to be on one of the District Four prep teams. Why?"

"I…" Words failed. The hour was late; his brain didn't function; the puzzle didn't fit. "I-I was just curious. Don't worry about it."

"If you say so."

"Again, I really appreciate your time."

"Gosh, you don't need to be that polite around here." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not the president."

He smiled in embarrassment. "Then… goodbye, I guess."

"Bye."

The door shut, but it didn't feel permanent, not this time. With another worry in his heart laid to rest, Rusk climbed five flights of stairs back up to the District Nine quarters with a smile. However, with all these unanswered questions about Acacio, he knew he still had a long way to go before peace fully came.


A/N Whoops. This chapter was a little late in coming, but it's here… so yay? Camp NaNo somehow killed me. April is not a good month for writing for me.

Fun question if you're so inclined: Which character would you go backpacking with?

I chose the question and then immediately realized that Sos is such an obvious answer. Why do I love this kid so much? I'd also love to go with Ven, or even Azolla or Liat. Y'all know me. Responsibility and organization matter a lot haha.

I'd love to know y'all's thoughts!