Day 2, Part 1:


The night air was still. Kiran couldn't tell whether fifteen minutes or five hours had passed since Ellis went to sleep, not when the same dreary moonlight filled every passing moment. The Eight boy had drifted off rather quickly too in his corner by the back door; his steady breathing was the only real sound in this place. Sometime during the night, the wind had calmed a bit, leaving everything in total silence.

Not peace. Silence. Kiran usually didn't mind quietness—no one would judge him if there was no one around—but he didn't like this. He poked his head into the window and peered down the line of old stores and houses. What terrors did they contain? This wasn't anything like the relative silence of night in District Five, when everything wound to a stop and a blanket of tranquility fell over every household. At home, after around ten o'clock at night, one could expect to find the streets completely empty, reminiscent of the curfews only lifted about a decade ago. But even when he had to make an emergency errand late at night, he never felt uneasy. Not the way he felt here, at least, constantly worrying for the next disaster.

He glanced between the two doors to the room. One was the main entrance, sitting by the street; the other one opened up to a small courtyard in the back, lined with a low wall separating it from the surrounding alleyways. Ellis had insisted on a building with two exits so they'd always have an escape, but in the dark, double the exits meant double the possible directions of attack, which meant double the fear—

Don't be scared. You're not scared.

If only he were some kind of superhero—then he'd have no reason to be afraid. Maybe it was a bit childish to wish to have superpowers, but any honest person would admit they'd want them too. No one liked being powerless.

The moon's light dimmed; a cloud had moved over it. Kiran shuffled back into his corner, away from the window, yet he kept staring at it, as if some mutt might rear its head at any moment. Well, theoretically, it could, but the Capitol would be sure to give them prior warning before an attack, right? Or was this all just wishful thinking?

Despite the possible danger, he felt his eyelids drooping. He obviously hadn't slept much last night; he'd exercised more in the past twelve hours than he usually did in a week. Maybe it was about time to change shifts.

He pinched himself. He was fine; he wasn't tired. Besides, Ellis could use the rest, right? The Eight boy had looked exhausted—plus, Kiran owed the guy. A thank you, of sorts. For helping him at the Cornucopia. For bandaging his arm. For… taking interest in his writing.

Kiran looked out the window; he'd wait until the cloud passed and the moon showed its face again, even if his eyelids drooped and his muscles rested and gosh dang it—he could keep himself awake!

He'd do… his… best… (C'mon, Kiran!)


Alone in the dark, Ven sat outside the courthouse, a sword at his side. The old chair creaked beneath him; still, he'd rather risk the chair than take the doorstep. The hovercraft could collect the body, but it couldn't clean the bloodstains from the District Three girl's horrific end. Her screams had rung in his ears when he'd tried to sleep.

He glanced back inside, just to make sure nothing happened while he was outside. In the paraffin lamplight, he saw four asleep; all was well—Sostonio was currently on watch as well. Ilithyia laid on one of the benches in the gallery. In sleep, she almost looked like a girl on vacation, with a hopeful smile tugging at her sleeping lips. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.

Ilithyia wasn't a bad person. He refused to believe it. Years of bullying had honed his instincts towards those with an innate drive to hurt people—and Ili wasn't one of them. Not once in the past week had he ever caught a whiff of deceit in her, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the way she checked on him, even if he wished she'd stop dragging him into conversations that he didn't need to be in.

But what could he make of Ili's sudden… outburst? Butchery was more like it. The Two girl hadn't gone insane, had she? She'd been perfectly fine before playing marbles with Nevaeh, and she'd completely returned to normal after half an hour or so. It all happened so fast for it to be a case of losing her marbles.

No, this must've just been an overreaction, though to call it that was nothing short of an enormous understatement. Still, it was better than Ili going psycho, and he'd do anything he could to keep her sane. He wished the others would share that sentiment of keeping allies sane, at the very least, yet he wasn't even so sure of that. He'd be willing to bet that two or more of his so-called allies would have no qualms egging Ilithyia down a dangerous direction. Liat's face in the sky had been a grim reminder. He had no evidence in any direction, but his gut told him one of the others was responsible—and that "one" wasn't Ilithyia or either of the Tens.

If only Liat was still around. She'd insisted that the balance was off, that those seeking to disrupt would quickly overwhelm the stabilizing forces in the group. He'd told her no, holding on to hope, patiently waiting for the good to rise. Now Liat was gone. Adora was dead too. And Ilithyia… he wasn't sure. Maybe he should've left with Liat when she initially offered.

The soft crunch of footsteps drew near; Sostonio rounded the corner. The Ten boy waved, rustling the whip coiled around his arm. Ven waved back.

"Doin' okay?" Sos rested his back against the brick wall.

"About as well as anyone could." Ven shrugged. His district partner had died; his friend was getting unstable; he feared for his life—and all he had was a shrug? He chuckled, though it weighed heavy in his chest. It was the easier alternative. "You look like you're doing better now."

" 'Preciate it." Sos gave him a tired smile. "Don't feel no better, but I can't do nothin' about that here."

Ven nodded in solidarity. He'd noticed the Ten boy's sickened expression following the kill; he didn't know how District Ten trained its tributes for the Hunger Games, but Sos clearly didn't come in ready to kill. Not that Ven himself liked it much. He only fared better because he'd seen enough as part of Academy training to keep his composure.

Yet there was something reassuring about Sos' horrified reaction. It meant he was human, at the very least; it said something about his character. Funny, how in the blink of an eye, everything changed, that he now trusted this near-stranger from District Ten to help him keep the group from imploding.

Ven glanced back inside the room. All four still slept. "How do you feel about the alliance?" he asked in a low voice.

"¿Qué?" The boy gave him a funny look. "Why?"

"I'll explain after."

"I don't think Ili is… going loco, if that makes sense. But I…" He gulped. "I've got a lot to think about."

"Mind if I ask what?"

Sos bit his lip. "It's nothing you need to worry about. I don't think I knew what I was getting myself into, that's all."

So it was personal. Ven figured it wouldn't do anyone any good for him to pry. "That's fair."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just between you and me… I don't think this alliance is going to last."

"Really?"

"Do any of our allies… concern you?"

"Well," Sos furrowed his brow, not following. "I'm worried about Ilithyia's mental state, but…"

"Not that type of concern. I mean…" Ven waved his hands, trying to pick the right word. Gosh, being good with words would come in real handy right about now. "Not everyone's looking out for the alliance's well-being."

"What?"

So the Ten boy hadn't been concerned, not in this way. That only gave Ven more reason to worry; if they wanted to keep the group from falling apart, every one of them needed to stay alert. "Just between you and me—keep a sharp eye on Eros and Adair. Especially Eros."

Sos frowned.

"Both of them aren't who they want you to think, but Eros is close with Ilithyia so…"

"…You really think he'd do that?"

"You think he wouldn't?"

"Well…" The boy wrung his hands. Hesitation was written all over his face. His voice was subdued, with the usual warmth sucked out of it. "I'll talk to him myself before making any judgments."

Ven should've figured the Ten boy would say something like that, something so rational and proper and almost robotic. The man had a good head on his shoulders. But though he nodded and smiled, he worried inside all the same. The Arena wasn't the place to make balanced, rational decisions, weighing every possibility in perfect fairness. They didn't have time for that—this was the time for quick, decisive action, foresight and prevention. After all, this place wasn't ever fair in the first place. Not just the Arena. All of Panem.


For a moment, Clarke thought she was in heaven. She stared up at the girl's golden curls; though the glorious light behind made it hard to see the girl's face, she already knew who it was. A name formed on her lips, yet a sinking feeling in her gut told her there was no way this could be true. She had no business being in heaven.

Then she blinked, and Liat was gone. In her place was the dusty roof of the saloon, shrouded in shadow. She sat up with a start, desperately clutching to her dream yet simultaneously trying to disentangle herself from the excessive fantasy. For now, it was time for business, not for musing over dead women. Heaven knew she'd already spent enough of her life on that, from her missing birth mom to her dead adoptive one.

Was everyone she loved doomed to die? When would the universe come for her, the unwanted child born of violence and oppression?

If the time was now, she refused to allow it. Her birth mom had lost enough; the poor woman didn't need to lose her only family left, even if their familial ties had no blood involved. She repeated her vow under her breath, the one she'd made to herself, to Liat, to her mom. Even to the Capitol in defiance, the source of every evil, from the murder back home to the murder happening here in the Arena.

She would win. And when she did, she added, she'd make the Capitol pay for every drop of blood. Never mind that she'd done some of the shedding. At this point, anyone would agree it wasn't her fault—so she'd better get on it and win.

A few tables over, Virginia laid with her head on her arms in restless sleep. The sky outside the window finally showed a few signs of brightening; dawn would break soon.

When Clarke tried to stand, the movement shook her arm awake, bringing on a new wave of pain. She'd get some pain-killers from Virginia later. Her hand fumbled around her pockets before she realized she had no knife; she must've left it at the Cornucopia. Drat. At least she hadn't left her life. She stretched her sore muscles and walked up behind Virginia.

"Get up." She rapped the table, waking the now-startled girl. Hopefully, the Eight girl would pull her weight today. "Time to hunt."


The first thing Ellis heard as he drifted out of dreamland was heavy breathing, rumbling from the other side of the room. Kiran must've fallen asleep in the night.

He cracked open an eye. In the window, over the courtyard, a delicate blue gradient greeted him across the sky. On one end was total darkness, but as his eyes moved towards the other end, the sky gracefully lightened with the promise of day. Shadows still covered the room, but light would soon flood in.

He was vaguely aware that this was the Arena, but it was just so… nice. It seemed mornings tended to be so, no matter where he was. There was almost a wild beauty about the approaching sunrise over the desert landscape, without the hustle and bustle of human business. He shut his eyes again to breathe in the fresh morning air, to enjoy the peace.

It didn't last.

The front door burst open with a slam, revealing shadowed figures behind it. It shattered the gentle morning silence, shooting Ellis' heart into his throat as he scrambled to his feet, terror overwhelming his nerves. Careers? Someone else? It didn't matter. They were here to kill.

Two goals. Grab Kiran. Get out. Now.

"Kiran!" he yelled, dashing across the room. Across the room, Kiran awoke with a yelp. Ellis grabbed the boy's arm and yanked—never mind the bandages; they had to run! The Five boy stumbled after him, cursing and swearing, but—oh gosh—if they could get out the back fast, they might escape with the cover of darkness.

The two stumbled into an old table; it cracked and Ellis hit the ground. It knocked the air from his lungs. He gasped for oxygen, clawing at the ground, trying to get up as Kiran tripped over him and an attacker's shadow fell over them.

"Back off!"

Ellis clambered to his feet, rushing with adrenaline. He shoved blindly; the assailant gave a surprised yell—a female voice. She fell back. An opening! No time to think, he scrambled for the back door, boots against wood flooring, over the threshold, onto stone, towards the back alleys, where they'd escape.

Halfway across the courtyard, he skidded to a stop, ears ringing with unnerving… quietness? No sounds followed him. Not the girl, or the other figure, not even Kiran

His ally's pained cry rang from back inside the building. He whirled around; a panicked shout shot from his throat. The girl had Kiran by the hair with one hand. She yanked upwards, and the boy screamed again, head pulled back.

With one smooth motion, she slid her knife across his throat. The scream disintegrated into a gargle. Ellis felt all sense of reality leaving his body as he watched Kiran fall to the ground, blood pooling around his cut neck. A cannon sounded. The girl looked up, breathing heavily; a ray of early light fell over her features.

Virginia.

Her eyes widened; her jaw dropped. Words seemed to form on her lips, but Ellis could only gape in absolute horror and disgust before he turned his back and ran. To the end of the courtyard. Over the wall. Down the alley. Down, down, down. Far, far away from Kiran's dead body and his assailants—and Virginia—until his legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed, tears dripping down… down… down…


Though her district partner's figure had long disappeared, Virginia stared out the doorway, unable to tear her eyes away, even as Clarke's "Nice job" sounded in the distance. The knife trembled in her twitching hand. A tremor started in her feet near the dead boy and reverberated through her entire frame until she was sure she'd drop the knife or trip or something. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer against the walls of her chest; its thuds echoed in her ears, mirroring the crescendo of voices in her head that split her mind like a migraine.

She'd just killed someone.

Not in self-defense. Not in revenge. She'd sprung on him like a cat stalking its prey, grabbed him before he could flee, cut cold steel across his neck, ending his life right there. That's what she'd done. Her hands had flown faster than she ever thought possible, most definitely due to training, yet she couldn't blame the trainers in the Capitol for instilling in her the physical movements that had come instinctively.

She'd asked to learn. She'd chosen to use them. All responsibility fell on her.

Was this the price of victory? The cost of avoiding death? The fee required to make it home alive, to prove to everyone and especially Jakob that Virginia Bedford was more than some dumb goody-two-shoes without a will of her own, unable to survive in the real world?

She had a will, and it screamed that the Capitol's will for her was wrong, for this sense of drowning after having murdered someone was too high a price to pay.

…Or was it? She felt like she had to feel that all this killing wasn't worth it, yet she wasn't sure if she fully believed it. For if she did, then why had she killed the Five boy just now? But if she didn't believe it, why couldn't she just let it go and fully embrace the rules of the game?

A couple clunks came from behind her. Clarke had begun rummaging through the now-abandoned supplies—as Ellis hadn't thought to take them in his flight, only trying to grab Kiran. Virginia bit her lip; her stomach rumbled in disquietude at her own ally's movements. Killing the boy and then taking his supplies just felt… wrong.

"Seems like they had a sponsor," Clarke said, pulling a silver parachute out of the bag. "Half-full water bottle. You think it's safe to drink?"

Virginia gave her an unamused look.

Clarke shrugged. "It was good enough for them; it's good enough for me. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

"It's not about the water."

"Whatever. You do you."

She bit her lip. What right did she have to tell Clarke to stop, especially after she'd been the one to kill the boy? Everything was so complicated; she wished the world would sort itself out, though she'd been the one to put herself in this terrible situation. Forget what the Capitol said. She'd had a choice, to kill or not kill—and she'd chosen the former.

Actions had consequences, so she'd rightfully bear her guilt.


Azolla awoke when the cannon rang. She sat up straight, suddenly gasping for air. Though the morning sky outside promised a beautiful day—were those clouds she saw?—the cannon echoed incessantly in her ears, a constant reminder that she was in the Hunger Games, that death was to be the norm, that no one, not even the sole survivor, would leave intact.

Just like that, another tribute had died.

It felt like a wave had just broken over her and she was drowning, having suddenly lost the ability to swim in this sea of emotions. She couldn't help but be glad that she hadn't been the one to go—but how terrible of a thought that was!

Her mind raced through the remaining tributes as of last night's broadcast. Six trained tributes, missing Liat and the girl from One. The Three girl, the Five boy, the Nine girl. Both Eights and Twelves. Oh, and the young girl from Eleven, whose wide, innocent eyes still stood out in Azolla's mind—that poor girl. One cannon had sounded after the Fallen broadcast; the other one just passed. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours in the Arena, and two of those fourteen had died.

Had the Star Alliance started hunting? It'd easily explain the overnight deaths. If she hadn't been fully awake, she was now. She shakily rose to her feet, listening. No sound. She and Navarro hadn't thought to set a guard last night… oh, thank goodness they'd gotten away with it this time. If the Star Alliance had found them in the night, they'd both be dead, but by dumb luck, they'd made it to daybreak alive and well.

Yet someone else hadn't.

No doubt a family in the districts was grieving right now, having just watched their loved one die on national television. The thought sombered her. If she died, she'd only have her brother Nico back home to grieve for her, and that in itself was sad enough. To think of how, say… Liat's loved ones must've felt at the moment, it was overwhelming. Then to multiply it by ten, twenty, twenty-three.

She wondered if Navarro would have someone grieving for him if he died. She'd grieve for him, she knew, if she were still alive. But from the bits he'd told her about his family background, it didn't seem like he had anyone back home. Now that he was wounded too…

As much as she hated to admit it, seriously wounded tributes usually didn't hang on for too long afterwards. Sometimes, they might last long enough to win, but those were usually late-game wounds, not first-day injuries. She narrowed her eyes as she ran them over the bandages. She'd dressed the wounds herself—but would it be enough?

Navarro's eyes cracked open. He stirred and then groaned, brushing off his shirt with a grumpy look on his face. "What are you staring at?"

Azolla quickly looked away. "It's nothing."

"Ugh… This floor sucks."

"Hey, it could be worse," she said, poking her head out the front door. "You could be… sleeping on that cactus!"

As petty as the complaint was, she almost welcomed it. It was better than sinking back into the pool of depressing emotions, thinking about who'd died and who was grieving. After drowning in it all night, Azolla was done with it.

Navarro sneered. "No one sleeps on a cactus."

"So be glad you aren't!" She smiled at him though he scoffed at her. It came naturally from years of secretary work.

But then he shut up to mope in silence, and she was alone in silence once more. Her gaze moved restlessly from Navarro to the cactus to the dusty furniture that just begged for someone to come and clean it. Cleaning was what she did best, right? Might as well pass the time.

On second thought, the cactus might actually come in handy for food and moisture. Right! She glanced up at the clouds—would rain come soon? Between cleaning Navarro's wounds and quenching thirst, their water supply would run out sooner or later. If only she could remember the steps the trainer had taught her back in the Capitol, between the specific cuts and slides…

"You good?"

She whirled back to face Navarro. "What?"

"Still in that mood from last night, huh."

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm just thinking about how to cut open that cactus." Though she appreciated the question, there was no use in sharing things with someone that would just dismiss it. He simply didn't understand.

He frowned. "…Sure."

She gave him a smile. "Thanks. Is your arm feeling okay? I think I'm supposed to change the bandages right about now, but if it feels okay I might wait a little—to save the gauze, y'know?"

"It's fine," he said, much to her relief. Better to busy her mind with the cactus, his bandages, and their water supply. Not her own problems. Anything but that.


As her allies snacked on their supplies for breakfast, Ilithyia paced from the podium on one end of the courtroom to the double doors on the other, twirling an axe in each hand. She'd started it years ago in training, whenever she got bored waiting for someone to finish talking or whatever. It kept her hands busy; it looked cool—what wasn't to love?

Except it wasn't working anymore. Not well enough. The now-instinctive motions did little to take her mind off of yesterday, from the Bloodbath to the Three girl to Adora, who was still dead. Still. Death apparently meant forever, and that was far toolong. Everything else in her life flew by at a breakneck pace—why was this so different?

With a grunt, she hurled one of the axes. It wedged itself in the back bench of the gallery with a satisfying thud. As she looked around, she caught Ven's concerned gaze.

She waved. "Good morning!" With a loopy grin, she flipped her hair in mock self-aggrandizement. "It was a nice shot; I know."

Though he smiled and waved back in his usual introvert-problems silence, she swore she could see worry in his eyes, but Ven worrying was the last thing she wanted—because she was fine! She could promise it! Something was off, she could admit, but she was sure that it was just a sign of adjustment to the Arena after a lifetime of comfy beds and excellent food. She'd just have to take a week off after winning, and then she'd be fine.

Though if she won, they wouldn't be fine.

Nope. She wouldn't let herself think that way, not a chance—or "para nada" as Nevaeh liked to say. Past was in the past, right? No use dwelling on it; yesterday's problems didn't have to ruin her mood today. They'd only do so if she let them, and there was no way in Panem she'd let them. She'd worked too hard to get here just for it to be ruined by negativity.

Speaking of Nevaeh, Ilithyia plopped down beside the Ten girl right outside the courtyard, as the girl had had the last watch of the night.

Nevaeh grinned. "Good morning, hermana!"

"Right back at you," Ilithyia said, giving the girl a friendly punch on the shoulder. "How do you say 'good morning' in that District Ten language again?"

"Oh—Buenos días!"

"Then 'Buenos días' to you too!"

The girl's eye's twinkled with amusement, almost as if holding back a giggle. "Good one."

Ilithyia gave her a sheepish smile. "Do I sound that funny?"

"You're putting in effort; we'll give it an A."

"Come on!"

Laughing, she nudged the Ten girl before leaning back against the wall. She tilted her head back, staring up at the gorgeous expanse of blue—who had time for depressing thoughts? The distant wisps from yesterday had now grown into periodic sheets, similar to the mountain sky she knew and loved yet simultaneously so fresh and new.

"Gosh, I'm so ready for today."

"Oh?"

"There's so much to do and explore…" She sighed, not realizing it until she'd fully exhaled. Oh come on, so much for positivity and excitement. "We should go hunting today. You wanna go?"

The Ten girl seemed a little surprised by the sudden turn, but she played along good-naturedly. "Sure. Now?"

"Why not?" Ilithyia poked her head back in the courtroom. "Nevaeh and I are going hunting—who wants to come?"

Four pairs of eyes stared back at her, some of them still with food in their mouths. Gosh, she'd forgotten that they were still eating. She wanted to go now, before she had time to start thinking and…

"Then… Ven!" she said. She figured the One boy wouldn't go have some fun on his own, so she'd make him have some fun. "You're coming with us!"

Ven stared back like a deer in headlights. "Ili—"

"C'mon, let's go!"

Though he mumbled, he got moving, much to her relief. She whispered a "thank you" as he passed her; she could always count on him to be a good friend. Nevaeh and Ven? Today would be a good day, though she wished Eros could come as well—Sos would probably say something about needing more people to guard the supplies.

A dull, numbed-out ache in her heart reminded her that someone else was missing. She thought back to that last day in the Capitol with Adora and Ven—how lovely that'd been! If only Adora were still here too….


In the soft morning sunshine, Iggy skipped into the midst of a garden—or, as much of a garden as she could find here in the desert. The spiny, pulpy plants all around her made no sense to her mind, but at least they were alive, as alive as things got in here. Perhaps Nature just provided and spoke differently in the desert compared to her lush home. She reached into her pocket; her hand closed around her rubber duck. As silly as it felt, there was something oddly comforting about seeing the silly little thing, as if its goofy grin meant things couldn't be all bad.

She bent down cautiously and brushed her hand against a rock. It was cool! The sun would get fierce soon and make everything hot, so she had to act fast. She sat atop the stone; she closed her eyes, trying her best to still her soul with deep, regulated breaths.

Nature… Could you please talk to me? I'm listening.

After a few minutes of stillness, she found herself fidgeting. She bit her lip and tightened her muscles—be still! But now she was tense all over and that wouldn't do! Perhaps the problem wasn't with Nature. Had it been her own fault all along? In frustration, she groaned and buried her head in her hands, already anticipating Ma's gentle reprimand for allowing her stillness to be disrupted.

Of course, no reprimand came. Nothing came. Nothing but the dry wind and debilitating sun and terrible dust and oh, how she was sick of it! She missed the open fields, the lively woods—the life that had imbued every corner of her beautiful home instead of this dead desert!

A tear dripped onto her hand. She wanted to go home.

Something hit her shoulder. First she shrieked—someone had sneaked up on her! Then she saw the silver parachute, and she frowned in confusion. Between the rubber duck from yesterday and this new one, this was a lot of sponsor gifts for a tribute originally predicted to be a bloodbath.

Cautiously, she twisted the canister open. Inside was a pile of individually wrapped hard candies, the type she'd only ever seen in the Capitol. She popped one in her mouth—and woah, was it sweet! Still, she gazed up at the sky and smiled from ear to ear, hoping that some camera would pick it up and broadcast it to whomever had been kind enough to think of her, since she had expected nothing.

Her heart now warmed, she ducked back under an awning—the sun was getting hotter, even with the distantly gathering clouds overhead. But with someone thinking of her, it didn't feel quite as terrible.


Sostonio waved after Nevaeh as she disappeared from the doorway, headed out for their daily hunt—though they hadn't planned to leave this early, instead having left on one of Ilithyia's random whims. Nevaeh's contagious laugh still reached his ears, mixed with Ilithyia's. How did Nevaeh stay so cheery anyway, here in the Hunger Games? He knew she didn't like the murder, no more than he did, yet she was so good at acting happy, like this was the adventure of a lifetime. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide the grimace at the idea of hunting, his wince at the bloody violence. He'd never been good at concealing reactions.

Not to mention that strange conversation he'd had with Ven in the middle of the night. He glanced over at Eros—apparently the Two boy was a major problem according to Ven. Sos himself didn't have any issues; he and Nevaeh had had a fine half day in the Capitol with Eros, and the guy seemed to have a real tight friendship with Ilithyia, whom Nevaeh trusted.

Eros glanced over with an amiable smile. Sos returned it, quickly putting out of mind any concerns over the Two boy's behavior. It wasn't polite to think poorly about someone while talking to them.

"How's it goin'?"

The Two boy shrugged. "Another day, another morning." He stretched, producing a crack from his back. "But gosh, these benches are hard. I'm sure it's not an issue for you, though."

Sos chuckled, picking up a few scraps of plastic waste from the packaging their breakfast had come from. The guy wasn't wrong; growing up in rural District Ten was definitely an advantage in this Arena. "It don't mean we all sleep good here, but it really ain't that bad once you get used to it."

"I hope so."

"So what's home like?"

Eros paused for a moment, his head tilted to the side. "It's… home, I guess. Two's very mountainous, so in some ways, it's similar to the Capitol. Nothing like this, though."

"Must be nice to get glimpses of home in the Capitol."

"There's definitely some similarity, now that you bring it up," the Two boy confessed, tossing his spear from hand to hand. "Not the same, but everyone cares about your family name and where you're from."

Sos could only nod to show he was following—he ain't never had to live a life like that. "Must be hard."

"I'm telling you, 'it really ain't that bad once you get used to it.' " The boy winked; a glimmer danced in the corner of his eye. "What's your family like?"

"Oh, I'm all about family. Pretty much everything's related to family," Sos said, a warmth spreading across his chest as he remembered hom. "Out in the country, it's hard for something to not relate, y'know? It's just me and Mamá, but we got a lot of others around the ranch we call family too."

Eros nodded. "I'm sorry about…"

"Papá? It was rough, but we've managed. He'd be proud of us if he could see what we've done." Sos wondered what Papá would say about him being in the Games too, but that was neither there nor here. "What about you? Family?"

"We're all really close," Eros said, face breaking into a smile. "We're all about the Hunger Games too, so 'traditional,' I suppose."

Sos adored that smile, the one everyone showed when they talked about their loved ones. Even though he couldn't relate less to the part about the Hunger Games, it reminded him that really, people were people. "That's… an interesting passion."

"It's not that different if you think about it. Some families are big on football; we're just big on the Hunger Games."

To Sos, "football"—better known to him as fútbol—referred to the street game commonly played throughout Ten— what did fútbol have to do with the Hunger Games, anyway?

"Wait—do you guys have football? Never mind. But that's why I'm here. It makes my dad proud to see me in the Games, I think."

Sos nodded. He himself sometimes wished he could meet Papá one more time and show him how he'd grown up, and hopefully, Papá would be proud of him. But it was nothing but a dream for now, one that wouldn't be fulfilled until they reunited in el cielo.

Eros ambled around the room and poked his head into the doorway leading to the long hallway. "Any idea where Adair went?"

"No idea." Sos played absentmindedly with a rope. "I'm sure we'll see him eventually. We got all day."

"Yeah… All day. Why'd Ili have to leave so early, anyway? If she keeps this up, we're going to have a problem."

Ilithyia leaving to hunt earlier than planned was hardly the least of his worries regarding her after the violence last night, but there was no way Sos was going to say that. "Maybe she's just excited. The Games seem like a pretty big deal for y'all; I can kinda see why she'd want to get a head start."

"I guess."

Sos gave the guy a smile. Maybe he was missing something, but Eros didn't seem like that bad of a guy, at least nothing like what Ven had been suggesting. Of course, he'd have to talk to Ven once the hunting team returned and who knew how that would go, but for now, he was pretty confident in his judgment that Eros was alright.


Zeph resisted the temptation to drag his feet as he followed Zirconia, each step taking them further from the city. Yes, he'd agreed yesterday to exploring the desert. No, it didn't ease any of his concerns. The only positive was that it took Zirconia's mind off of Clarke; he himself wasn't sure how to feel about the Nine girl, let alone relieve Zirconia's worries.

She grabbed his arm. "C'mon, slowpoke. We've got ground to cover."

With an exaggerated sigh, he allowed her to pull him forward. He tilted his head back and gazed at the sky—since when were there so many clouds? There'd barely been a wisp immediately following the bloodbath; now occasional sheets of white broke up the brilliant blue. Not that he was complaining. The dryness was starting to seriously bother him.

Though if it bothered Zirconia, he couldn't tell, not while she charged ahead with sudden vigor he hadn't expected to see in the Arena of all places. He couldn't say he minded it. Seeing her happy made him a little happy too, even if the lack of cover from the sun was bound to become a problem sooner or later.

Not to mention how… open everything was. Other than the city behind him, the desert ran on and on until it met the horizon, the flat landscape broken up by the occasional cactus. If anyone came after them, they'd have nowhere to hide, no alleys to duck in, no twists and turns with which to lose potential pursers. All his experience thus far had been in crowded environments, where theft was easier to carry out, concealed in the chaos. But nothing could be hidden out here.

Still, they pressed forward, with much more ease than he'd anticipated, almost as if they were going downhill, ever so slightly, with sand cushioning their every step. Or perhaps they were travelling downhill? He checked his footpoint—it was definitely deeper here than it was before.

Perhaps it was just a dip in elevation, a shallow pool of sand. But as time passed, the sand only increased in depth. It wasn't until his footprint was over an inch deep that he decided enough was enough.

"Look, I don't think this is a good idea," he said. He shook his boot, which was now dusted with sand. "The sand's just getting deeper. I'm sure the Gamemakers—"

He looked up. The look on her face was pure disappointment.


A/N Welll uhhhh school is busy; that's my excuse. There was supposed to be a Rusk POV here, but it didn't have to be in this chapter plus I'm going to SYOT Jail in the Discord so… here's the chapter. I haven't written much in a while and it shows in the last POVs. Hopefully I'll pick up the skills again soon.

idk anymore about questions im tired and want to sleep, but if you leave your thoughts in a review i will be very thankful for them, no matter how long or short they are.