Day 4, Part 2:


Nevaeh crossed her arms as she watched Ili dig around in the leather bag of marbles. She ignored the soreness in her shoulder from the Nine girl's gauntlet; even if it had genuinely hurt, she would've refused to admit it. Appearances could doom as readily as reality, especially here in a television show.

"The judge will be…" Ili pulled a marble out of the bag in her closed fist, this time without the frivolous drum rolls and cheering. The last time they'd chosen a judge, it'd been their first captive, the exciting first pass at a "trial." This time, they'd just been under attack.

Ili opened her hand, revealing the orange one. "Nevaeh."

Nevaeh smiled. At this point, they might as well kill the pair here and now; the fate of the Twelves was now certain. She glanced at Sos, who watched her with his mouth in a stern line. Not even he would try to talk her out of it, though even if he did try, she wouldn't change her mind. If anything, it'd been merciful of her that the Twelves were still breathing at that moment. It was purely out of respect for Ili and the girl's trials that she hadn't killed the pair in the streets.

"Anyone volunteer to prosecute?" Ili asked. Adair raised his hand, and she nodded. "Nevaeh will be the judge, and Adair will be the prosecution. Defense?"

The wind whistled in the windows; wooden creaks came from outside the room. Ven averted his eyes; Eros stepped away from the circle, meandering towards the door to the hall, where the captives were held. Nevaeh glanced at Sos, but he didn't move. Even he had to know the Twelves were good as dead.

"Then I guess the defense will be…" Ili reached back into the leather pouch, this time procuring a pink marble—the one that represented Eros. "Hey!" she called at the Two boy, who'd gone to check on the captives. "You got that?"

"Yeah," he said, voice preoccupied. "Um, guys? They're trying to escape."


Zirconia froze with her hands already out the window. She craned her head back and stared wide-eyed at the boy from Two. She lifted a finger to her lips, but it was too late.

"Um, guys?" The boy had turned back towards the other Careers. "They're trying to escape."

She cursed. If only they'd started earlier; they were so close!

"Hurry," Zeph said from below, his voice low, the way it went whenever he was under stress. "It's not too late. Go."

If she left right now, Zeph would surely be doomed. But if she didn't go, they'd both be doomed.

For once, she didn't argue with his command. Her hands tore at the boards; the rough surfaces splintered into her palms. Snapping and cracking filled her ears, which pulsed with her frenetic heartbeat; the sounds were soon joined by the commotion of the Careers pouring from the courtroom. Some yelled for her to stop. She gritted her teeth and doubled down on the boards.

With a desperate grunt, she punched at the loosened edge of the wall. Zeph swayed beneath her, yet he didn't buckle. Part of the wall caved out. Now she heard the clanging of metal—the unlocking of the cell. She threw her hands out of the gaping hole and pulled her head, then her shoulders, then her torso after them, feet now dangling below her, no longer supported by Zeph's hold. The ground far below seemed to ripple and wave. Even she knew it wasn't wise to dive out head-first. But what choice did she have?

She heard a blow, followed by a familiar groan. Her heart sank; he wouldn't want her to get discouraged. He'd want her to save herself first and come back for him later. With gritted teeth, she kicked wildly, hoping to whack anyone nearby and propel her through the narrow opening.

A hand closed around her ankle. She screamed; she struck with her other foot; it hit something—or hopefully someone. She heard a female grunt. The hand let go.

But then multiple hands grabbed her feet, her ankles, her legs. They tugged her backward over the jagged edges, scraping the skin on her stomach and side through the thin fabric. She tried to kick; this time, the grips wouldn't release—but they wouldn't take her alive! She locked her arms against the outside of the wall and screamed. She thrashed—the force pulling her intensified, but they couldn't take her! She wouldn't let them!

Crack.

All of a sudden, the boards around the window caved in, and she fell back after it. A scream rushed from her lungs. Her elbow slammed against the floor; her legs tangled in a pile of people and debris. Though she tried to climb to her feet, sudden force pressed her to the ground. The Two girl pulled Zirconia's arms behind her back and locked her wrists with two metallic clicks.

Trapped again. Just as they'd started. But this was worse.

Zirconia twisted her head, trying to see about her. She caught a glimpse of Zeph in the corner, each arm locked by a Career. His face was bruised, framed by the trickle of blood down his cheek. She bit her lip in indignation. Though hot air burned in her lungs, she couldn't fight; she couldn't strike

She hated the restraints on her wrists more than anything else.

The restraints forced her to go along with whatever these scumbags wanted—they forced her to watch her best friend suffer, powerless to do anything to help. The ropes before had been bad enough. The metal of handcuffs was simply infuriating.

The Two girl sharply lifted Zirconia to her feet and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the jail cell. "That's it; we're starting right now."

It was all Zirconia could do to stay on her feet as the Two girl dragged her at breakneck pace into the main room. Just as abruptly as they'd taken off, they came to a stop facing an elevated podium, between two tables on either side. The Seven boy sat at one; the Two boy sat at the other.

A courtroom.

"Stand right here," the Two girl said, standing behind Zirconia. The girl's hands rested on both of Zirconia's shoulders to adjust her position; her voice seemed to ring in Zirconia's ears. "If you take a single step, I'll kill you."

Zirconia looked behind her. The girl took a step back and picked up a pair of axes, a glint in her eyes. Zirconia gulped. She glanced at Zeph, now waiting his turn by the wall, guarded by the Ten boy. Some trial this was! Zirconia would be genuinely shocked if the Careers had any sliver of intention of even possibly letting them go free—or was this all just to decide their manner of death? Would they behead them—or worse, torture them? What if they forced her to kill Zeph?

She'd rather kill herself than lay a hand on her partner in crime, her best friend, her brother that'd been at her side through thick and thin, though they had no real blood relation.

With defiant eyes, she stared up at the Ten girl, who had ascended the judge's podium and now looked down upon the rest of the room. It didn't matter what they did to her. She'd never betray Zeph, just like how he'd never betrayed her.

She thought of her family, or what remained of it, in case she never got another chance. Her shrewd father. Her charming mother. Zeph's family too—his two older siblings, who might as well have been considered her family too. If worse came to worst, she hoped he'd escape. He'd be clever enough to cut those ropes off his arms.

Ten girl banged the gavel. Her voice was triumphant.

"Here, we begin the trial of the District Twelve Female. Adair, you may begin with the prosecution."


Sostonio watched from the sides as Adair began his statement.

"Thank you, Your Honor," Adair said. He looked around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to prosecute the Twelve pair. As we all know, they're fierce and violent opponents, and they attacked Nevaeh and Eros today while we were out. If Ili and I hadn't been nearby, the two might've died."

The entire trial was a farce, a cruel show of strength. It would've been far more humane to kill them quickly and painlessly, but Sos pressed his lips together and swallowed his opinions. He'd done enough harm with his outburst at Iggy's trial; he couldn't afford to ruin the District Ten team's public reputation even further, especially not over two tributes that had themselves been the attackers, putting themselves in danger.

The captive Twelve boy shifted in front of him, his arms tied around his back. Nevaeh had deemed the girl the more violent one and suggested the handcuffs be transferred over. As the guard, Sos knew he was obligated to command the boy to be still with a threat of death. But though he opened his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. They just weren't him. Instead, he noticed the red rope marks up and down Twelve's arms. The knot was far more secure this time, sure, but it came at the poor boy's pain. He forced his eyes to refocus elsewhere.

Adair continued. "In this case, it doesn't matter who we are or who they are. The facts are clear. We were attacked. Even outside the Arena, it would be within our rights to retaliate with force. Here in the Hunger Games, it's not only a right. It's our obligation.

"If you let them go free today, Your Honor, you send a message to the rest of the tributes and all of Panem. Releasing the Twelve Female showed the world that we are a merciful group, that we understand the way the game is played. But letting our assailants go free? We'd be telling them that we're weak, that we won't stand up for ourselves when we're under attack. Your Honor, I'm not willing to make that statement, and I know you aren't either, though I'm aware some among us may still be considering mercy."

Sostonio flinched when Adair looked directly at him, but he refused to give Seven the pleasure of further reaction. He didn't even blink until Adair moved on.

"I hope you understand where I'm coming from, then when I say…"

"Psst," the Twelve boy whispered as Adair continued on. "Sos, is it?"

"What?" Sos whispered back, an eyebrow raised.

"Could you do me a favor?"

Sos gulped. His throat was dry. "Why?"

The boy sighed. "We're obviously both gonna die." His cool brown eyes seemed to swirl in inner turmoil. "Maybe I still have an hour, tops. And I-I…"

"What do you want?" Sos asked. He glanced at Nevaeh, but her full attention was still on Adair. Everyone's attention was. "I can't promise nothin', but I'll try."

"These ropes…" The boy shifted his arms. "I know y'all have to worry about security and all, but it hurts and—" He winced, muttering a curse.

Nevaeh would scold him for sure if he granted the boy's request, Sos knew. She'd say that the pobrecito was already dead from the moment he was reaped—who had the time to worry about how he felt in his last hour alive? She might even tell him to pull his act together and remember the game at hand. And given her rattled condition today, he knew for sure he didn't want her on his back about anything.

Sos sucked in a deep breath. "Look, I'd love to, but I dunno…"

"Please. Y'all are already making me watch y'all kill my best friend. Is this too much to ask?"

Sos looked into the Twelve boy's eyes, so filled with sorrow. The poor guy was about to die. Wasn't it the humane thing to make his last moments as painless as possible? If Sos couldn't convince the others to make this as fast as possible, he could at the very least relieve the guy's physical discomfort.

His decision was made.

"You won't run, will you?"

The boy looked hurt. "And leave Zirconia alone with the wolves? Never."

"Promise me you won't run."

"I promise I won't run."

"Alright then." Sos sighed. This was a huge mistake. "But just a little."

As his fingers worked the rope, Sos couldn't help but notice how lean the boy's arms were; they were even bony in some places. It was almost as if the taut rope would've snapped his arms in half. Mamá used to remind him of those "starving pobrecitos from District Twelve" whenever little Sostonio had refused to eat, but he'd never really taken her seriously. Now he reconsidered.

"Is that better?" His eyes flitted around the room, relieved to find every other pair of eyes fixed on Adair. No attention was paid towards his little corner of the room.

The boy sighed in relief, one so genuine it made Sos' heart happy too. "By Snow, that's so much better. But, if it's not too much to ask, could you…"

Sos gave him a weak smile. "Of course. I'll loosen it a bit more." His hands returned to the ropes. They didn't seem particularly tight to him—they almost seemed too loose at this point—but who was he to say? He wasn't the one tied up. "How 'bout now?"

"That's perfect." The boy returned the smile. "Thank you so, so much. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Of course."

"I got an itch on my ankle—do you mind if I scratch it?"

"You're good, man," Sos said, stepping back. Nevaeh had noticed the Twelve boy's movements; she shot him a concerned look. He ignored her. "I'm sorry I can't do more."


With relief, Zeph straightened again, now having scratched his ankle and verified that he could still reach the hidden knife in his boot. They weren't anywhere out of the woods yet, realistically, yet it was a step. A small one, in the grand scheme of things, but a big one. Because the Ten boy—or, Sos' kindness had just changed his outlook from hopeless to improbable. Not a huge change, but any improvement from zero was an infinite percentage change. Carefully holding his face straight, he turned his attention back towards the trial.

"I trust Your Honor to make the obvious decision," the Seven boy said. "I rest my case."

Zeph made eye contact with Zirconia. Hers blazed with indignant fire, but he knew her well enough to see past the ferocity, to see the terror in her eyes. He wished he could speak, to reassure her that he had a plan, that he'd do his best to get her out. But any words on his part would draw everyone's attention, and for them to have any chance of escape, he needed to disappear into the background.

"Thank you." The Ten girl sounded pleased. "Eros? You may begin whenever you're ready."

The Two boy—Eros—rose. "Thank you, Your Honor." He glanced around the room. When he looked at Zeph, he smirked. "Here we have a pair of clowns. Killer clowns, actually, but clowns nonetheless. Sure, they might've attacked us, but can you really blame them? Clowns gotta do what they gotta do. After all—"

Zeph held in a snort as Two continued; he might've laughed if his best friend's life weren't on the line. Some defense! The only thing more ridiculous than the boy himself was that anyone could've possibly expected the boy to attempt a reasonable statement, given that Two had been one of the two Careers they'd attacked.

Of course, their judge was the other Career they'd attacked. Clearly, this "trial" had no intention of justice. This was nothing but entertainment for them, but that was to be expected for a bunch of Careers.

He could see Zirconia's hands balled into fists, shaking. Her jaw was clenched; he'd be willing to bet on angry tears in the corner of her eyes. All she had to do was hang on and be ready to run. Of course, she couldn't move without risking immediate death by axe, thanks to the Two girl behind her. He'd need to distract Two somehow. He needed a diversion.

"...frustrating, maybe. But understandable. I guess they must realize now that they've bitten off more than they can juggle."

Ten girl even laughed, a sharp cackle, with finality resting in her posture. Zeph's blood simmered, but he swallowed the inner rumblings and forced the neutral expression back on his face.

There wasn't much time left, but he had to remain patient. Her life depended on it. He momentarily closed his eyes, body shuddering in anticipation of the unpredictable chaos to come. He pictured Zenia and Zoya, his two older sisters. If he died, they'd be fine, though they'd miss him a ton. He wasn't so confident about the Eskridges. The old couple had never fully acclimated to living in the Seam; they needed Zirconia. He silently promised them he'd do his best to get her out alive.

"Therefore, I rest my case," Two said, giving a little bow before returning to his seat. "Take it away, Nevaeh."

Zeph caught a sympathetic frown from Sos. He wondered if they would've gotten along, had they not met under these circumstances.

"Alright!" Ten—Nevaeh—said, banging the gavel. "It's verdict time."

The entire room turned towards the judge; not a single pair of eyes remained on Zeph. Here it was, the perfect time, his last chance. Unfortunately, there was only one possible target for him to make a diversion, but it would've been necessary sooner or later. After all, only one Victor could survive the Hunger Games.

"I, Nevaeh Jiminez, pronounce the District Twelve Female—"

In one swift motion, Zeph pulled the knife from his boot and lunged at the boy from Ten. He plunged the knife into the boy's thigh. The Ten girl roared from the judge's bench. Shouts erupted from around the room; Zeph averted his gaze from the boy's look of betrayal, fixing his mind on the only other person in the room that mattered at this moment.

Zirconia.

She'd made a break for the double doors amidst the chaos, when the Two girl had turned to see what'd happened. But then District One appeared in the doorway, a broadsword in hand, his eyes locked on Zirconia. No time to retrieve his knife. Zeph tackled One. They tipped to the side as One struggled to regain his balance, opening up half the doorway.

Zeph eyes sought out Zirconia. She hadn't needed his direction, already scrambling towards it as best she could with her hands stuck behind her back. But then One rebounded with sudden stability, tossing him, and Zeph found himself hurtling towards her.

One moment, he stared at her in horror. The next, he crashed into her, and the two collided with the nearby bench. Zirconia screamed from beneath him. He leapt to his feet; he scrambled to the side. A knife whizzed past his ear and clattered to the floor—Ten girl, face contorted in pure rage as she pulled her arm back for another.

He could keep this agile act up as long as he needed to—or at least he'd try! But with her hands cuffed, Zirconia could barely even get to her feet alone. He'd have to take the pressure off of her.

Zeph dove behind One's large figure, only to find himself staring directly at the girl from Two, both her axes at the ready. He rolled back, side-stepping a swing from One's sword—the One male's lower agility made him a suitable barrier, if Zeph could keep his wits about him. The sword swung in again; he barely dodged it and lunged at One's now extended arm.

One tried to fling him off; Zeph was ready this time. He locked his arms around One's arm and refused to let go, desperately hoping that this would force Two to ease up. Unless Two was willing to cut both of 'em up—a totally possible outcome. He'd seen worse on television. In that case, nothing he did could save him or Zirconia.

Two didn't charge in, thankfully. She swung at his outstretched legs as One spun him in another direction; Zeph landed a kick on her chest, forcing her back, just a little. His gaze flew towards the bench. Zirconia wasn't there anymore—excellent! Now just for himself to escape, if it was still at all possible.

He released his grip. He'd barely hit the floor before he launched himself away. One's sword pierced the floor where he'd just been. His foot landed in the long rectangle of afternoon sun pouring in from the open door; he could almost feel the wind outside in place of the stagnant air inside.

Sudden force slammed into him from behind. He fell face-forward; a strong grip flipped him over onto his back.

He came face to face with no other than the outraged girl from Ten.


Zirconia hadn't managed to escape. After One had thrown Zeph into her, she'd barely been able to scramble back along the floor into the corner as everyone's attention turned on Zeph. Though she couldn't see them behind her back, she could feel the deep grooves into her wrists, bitten by the metal cuffs that turned the simple task of standing up into an entire ordeal of its own. It'd been all she could do to right herself into a half-squatting position, ready to break for the door as soon as the One boy and Two girl moved out of the way.

Thud.

She winced as the Ten girl flipped Zeph on his back and slammed him into the floor, roaring obscenities into his face. She'd been forced to watch him fight them; her entire body shook with bound-up energy she couldn't release. If only her hands were free! She'd give them enough fistfuls of her anger to power all of Panem.

Now he was down. And she was still trapped. Even if by some miracle she made it out the doorway, they'd chase her down easily, with her arms tied behind her back and forced to simply run. She would never be able to match the stamina of these well-fed beasts.

But Zeph. He still had hope. Change of plans.

She bit down hard on her cheek and sprang from her corner. Instantly both Twos noticed her; there was no going back. She dove at the Ten girl, though she knew she wouldn't be able to get back up again. In the moment it took Ten to turn towards Zirconia, Zeph twisted out from under her grip, horror written all over his face.

Sorry, Zeph.

The afternoon light gleamed on Ten's knife, now turned towards her instead of her best friend. With her hands restrained, Zirconia could do nothing but watch the blade penetrate her skin, instantly drawing forth splatters of blood.

She was fine with it. Even with her restraints. Because despite the restraints, she'd still done it. Zeph had escaped. Her shoulder hit the ground hard, but she could barely feel it. The warm sun fell on her face. Two words remained at the forefront of her mind as the world faded to white.

Mission accomplished.


The Twelve girl had barely fallen and the cannon hadn't sounded before Nevaeh was on her feet again, tearing through the doorway. She squeezed the knife in her hand so hard she felt the blunt end was about to cut through her palm; she pressed even harder, fueled by nothing but pure rage and the painful image of Sos' thigh dripping red.

Boom.

The cannon registered faintly. One thought crowded out the rest. The Twelve boy had stabbed Sostonio, likely dooming him in the rest of the Games to come. And she would make Twelve pay.

Up ahead, the fleeing boy glanced back at her before disappearing down a side road. She gritted her teeth and forced her body to move faster, to close the distance. Her boots pounded faster and faster against the ground. She wouldn't let him escape; she couldn't let him escape! She wanted—no, she needed to see him bleed, to make him squirm and hurt until he felt the terror and pain she'd seen on Sos' face.

An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth. Sos was family, and she didn't allow anyone to get away with hurting her family.

Except she'd take it one step further. She'd make sure Twelve never took advantage of Sos ever again. She'd seen how Sos allowed the boy to "scratch his ankle"—and there was no way the boy could've done that unless someone had loosened the rope she'd tied around his arms. Sos had acted out of kindness, and this was how Twelve repaid him?

She burst out of the side road into a wider one. A mansion towered before her; it's windows peered down at her. She stumbled to a stop, darting in every direction in search of the Twelve boy. No, no, no. She couldn't have lost him, not with her on the chase!

Relief flooded her lungs as her eyes landed on the swinging front door. Her steps slowed as she approached the entrance. The Twelve boy was no fool. She held her knife close to her chest and marched up the stairs, listening for any sign of her target. None, not even a rustle. She stepped over the threshold, apprehension in her muscles. At one point, she'd thought little of the outliers, especially District Twelve. But after the day she'd had, she instinctively pulled in her shoulders and kept her arms close.

She glanced about the atrium she was in, from the chandelier to the windows to the spiral staircase. The only sound was the creaking of the floorboards, barely audible beneath the carpet that muffled her footsteps.

"Where are you?" She spoke into the dimness. Her voice was ragged, almost subdued—with a fearfulness that she had no business accepting. "Where are you!" she shouted, ignoring the strain in her throat from the tirade of curses she'd rained upon him earlier. "Come out and face me!"

A creak responded from the second floor. The Twelve boy stared down at her with his hands on the railing. His eyes smouldered as burning coals. His lips were pressed into a cold line, refusing to grace her with an answer. So close, yet so far. She could already almost taste revenge.

In a flash, she barreled up the staircase. He sprinted down the hall for the room at the end; she flew after him, knife at the ready.

As she passed under the doorway, her foot caught on a rope. Sudden creaking filled the room; she whirled around to find a nearby bookshelf falling towards her. She gasped. Her arms flew up to support its weight, to prop it back up, but its momentum pushed her off her balance. Her knife hand slammed against the end of a shelf as she reached to protect her head; it knocked the knife loose from her hand and it fell too, nicking her cheek as girl, bookshelf, and knife all slammed into the ground together.

As the dust settled, she laid with her head against the ground, gasping for oxygen. She breathed in a mouthful of dusty air and expelled it in a round of coughing. Her hand found the fallen knife; she wiped the trail of blood off her cheek though it would be back before she knew it. Finally, with some struggle, she crawled out from underneath the fallen bookshelf.

An open window sat at the opposite end of the room, its old faded curtain rustling in the wind. No other sign of Twelve.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She dashed to the window and poked her head out, only to be greeted with the same desolate city she'd seen day-in, day-out, as if no one had ever been there. A series of cracks and missing boards in the wall underneath provided an improvised ladder.

Twelve had escaped. She'd let him escape.

She tasted bile. Her hands shook uncontrollably; she gripped the window frame and gritted her teeth. She'd failed to avenge Sos—how could she have done this? How could she have fallen for the boy's trap? How could he have done this to her?

A furious scream burst from her lungs. "¡Cómo te atreves!" She stuck her head out of the window, angry tears poking from her eyes. "How dare you! After all he did for you? How dare you do that to him!"

She sucked in a deep breath; a sob bubbled up. She refused to let it out.

"I'll kill you—you know that?" Her throat was raw now. She didn't care. She raised her voice until each word physically hurt her to scream. "I'll kill you myself! You'll regret everything!"

Only the wind whistled a reply, but the wind didn't care. No one did. She glared at everything she could see until the adrenaline's edge started to fade and her arms felt limp. All she'd done was run around and lose Sos' assailant, like a total fool.

Thus, a second pain remained, alongside the first, this one self-inflicted.

It suddenly dawned on her that Sos could be dying at that very minute. Twelve had stabbed his thigh—if the blade had severed the primary artery, Sos might only have minutes left to live. She shot to her feet, heart suddenly pounding. She tried to be rational. He'd want her to be rational. There hadn't been a cannon, and she'd been gone a long time. If he were gonna die, he would probably already be dead.

But she couldn't shake the settling terror that she might return to the courtroom to his corpse, bled out on the floor. Or even worse—the hovercraft might take him away and there would be nothing left of him but a pool of blood.

She'd already lost Twelve, failed in her efforts to avenge the only piece of home she had in the Arena. She couldn't lose him too. Throwing caution to the wind, she scrambled down from the window and sprinted for home base.


Adair twirled a rope in his hand, paying attention to every little strand of it in hopes that neither of the Twos in the corner would realize he was watching them. He figured it couldn't be anything too serious—though Ilithyia might forget to watch her surroundings, he knew Eros was watchful enough to not discuss super-secret plans in the range of an eavesdropper. But what else was he supposed to do? Not find it strange to see them huddled and whispering?

A golden glow fell across his skin. The sun was ready to set. It'd been a good day. Ilithyia's trial plan had finally worked, and chaos ensued. As the only true loner in the pack, he'd take any chaos Lady Luck threw at the alliance. If relations broke down, the Twos and the Tens each had their own district partners. Ven had Ilithyia; the girl seemed insistent on including him at all times.

But he had no one, so he had to stay alert. Perhaps his lack of loyalties was his biggest strength.

The double doors slammed open. He glanced up. Nevaeh burst in. Dust covered her hunched shoulders; a bloody cut ran across her cheek, dripping down off the tip of her chin. The sun was preparing to set. She'd been gone a lot longer than he'd expected.

"Where is he!" she said, wild panic in her eyes as her gaze flew around the room.

"He?" he replied. "You mean—"

"Sos! Where is he?" she said, speaking a mile a minute. "Please tell me he's still here; he has to be—"

"Woah, woah, woah." He put both his hands up, gesturing for her to calm down. "They're taking care of him in a back room. Well, Ven is, but—"

Ilithyia leapt up from the corner. "Nevaeh! You're back!" Her eyes widened upon seeing Nevaeh's condition; she ran over to the girl, offering a hug. "Oh my gosh—are you okay?"

Adair had to admit he didn't fully get the Two girl. He'd expected to be thrown in with a bunch of efficient trained killers, each thoroughly engrossed in their own abilities and strengths. Not… whoever she was. Looking at the two girls, one might even mistake the scene for some lousy Capitol teen drama if it weren't for the uniforms.

But Nevaeh pushed Ilithyia away, mind clearly elsewhere. "Where's Sos. Is he okay?"

"He's okay," Ilithyia said.

"You promise me?"

"I promise!" Ilithyia looked Nevaeh in the eye. "Now breathe."

"But—"

"Just breathe! You'll suffocate if you don't get some oxygen. They're about to come back anyway." She smiled as Nevaeh finally took her first breath since she stepped foot in the room; she grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped the blood dripping down Nevaeh's face.

Adair had to admit that the two played off each other well, better than any Capitol drama he'd ever seen—though admittedly, he hadn't seen many. Capitolites gobbled this stuff up faster than birdseed in the thick of winter. Last he remembered, the two girls claimed the top spots in the official popularity rankings; he distinctly remembered catching Eros staring at it with dissatisfaction in his eye back in the Capitol.

As for himself, Adair couldn't say he minded it much. For now, he'd let Nevaeh and Ilithyia hold the spotlight since it wouldn't be long anyway until the Capitol saw him properly for all he was. He thought back to Kezia, his mentor, and the plain-ol' straightforward strategy she'd suggested, completely unimaginative and by the books. He'd blow all their expectations away.

Of course, this was all assuming he'd live long enough to pull it off, but that was a more than reasonable assumption to make. Adair Ryder was simply too good to fail.

Creaking from the hallway. Sostonio hobbled in, leaning on Ven's shoulder with a thick band of gauze wrapped around his thigh. Adair nodded at the properly dressed wound. For a kid from District One, Ven knew his first aid surprisingly well. Sostonio had barely entered the room before Nevaeh rushed over. She threw her arms around him, squeezing the guy so tightly he looked uncomfortable.

"Oh my gosh," she said, over and over, pressing her head to his shoulder. "I thought you might be dead and I was so scared y no sé haría sin tí y…"

Sos patted her on the back, even as he wobbled from the sudden force. "Está bien. No pasa nada."

"B-But you're—"

"Todo se va a arreglar, okay?" He smiled. "Now could you please let go of me? I'm gonna fall."

She immediately released him. "Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry. You wanna sit down? I didn't know I was hurting you; I promise—"

From the corner of his eye, Adair caught a look at the Twos, right as Eros pulled Ilithyia in and whispered something in her ear. Her demeanor darkened for a split second. So Eros was planning something, eh? Something Adair wasn't privy to? He'd always known the Two boy to be a wanna-be schemer, always whispering around with his big fake smile as a cover.

But that was of no worry to Adair. His instincts told him the danger level was still low, and his instinct's ain't ever let him down before.

With Sostonio settled in a bench, Nevaeh sprang a hug on Ven, repeating "thank you" over and over. Adair chuckled at the poor guy, who looked like a deer in headlights yet still tried to smile anyway. Nevaeh turned back to the room, all hints of exhaustion suddenly gone; Eros pulled away from Ilithyia, as if nothing had happened at all. A brief shadow—concern, and rightfully so, Adair supposed—flitted across Nevaeh's brow, but it was gone before Ilithyia seemed to notice. Not that the Two girl would've anyway, 'cause she looked away too with a sheepish grin.

So when Nevaeh finally sat down, the stresses of the day finally catching up to her, Adair settled down beside her. With a raised eye, he gestured discreetly at the Twos, now chatting with Ven. Or rather, Ilithyia chatted with Ven; Eros seemed to only tolerate the guy. Then Adair made a circling motion with his index finger around his ear before pointing briefly at her. Cuckoo.

Nevaeh narrowed her eyes; she pressed her lips together. "Thanks," she whispered. "It's good to know."

He'd never had an easier job in his life.


The evening breeze was barely cool at all, but Iggy shivered anyway. Her stomach rumbled; it seemed the slightest shadow was suddenly colder than it had ever been before. Her arms and legs felt weak and floppy. She didn't dare sit down; she knew she wouldn't want to get up again if she did.

It'd been a day and a half since her last meal, the one in the jail cell that Sos had provided her. She hadn't had much of an appetite then; she hadn't known she would live. She hadn't expected to find such a kind Career, for him to defend her—

Her stomach growled.

At this point, she'd gladly eat ten of those hard candies from her sponsors, though they'd been sickeningly sweet before. She hoped Ellis had them; she'd hate for the kindness of her sponsors to go to waste. Nature would too, as She never wasted.

She sighed. Her fingers brushed the dead and dry wall to her side as she continued down the street. As powerful as Nature was—and She was powerful; Iggy had seen it all her life!—where was She now? Mama had always taught her that She was the provider of all, but She hadn't provided anything since the Capitol took her away.

Maybe the Capitol had corrupted her. Maybe she'd corrupted herself on the Capitol's ridiculous richess. Either way, She didn't seem to want much to do with her, unless She wasn't as powerful as Iggy had thought.

That couldn't be possible. If she kept up this line of thinking, Nature was sure to abandon her.

Instead, she looked to the skies. She silently pleaded to everyone, to anyone. Her stomach hurt; her throat felt drier by the hour. She vaguely remembered a trainer saying that a human could only last up to three days without water, possibly less in extreme climates.

Two more days. That was all she had. If she didn't find Ellis or sponsors didn't send anything by then, she would be done for. Hardly a good sign for the future. But Sostonio had proved to her that kind people existed, even here in the most inhospitable place on the continent.

So she hoped anyway.


As night settled in the Arena, Azolla dug around in her bag for what felt like the millionth time, just in case she'd overlooked something the nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand previous times. Of course, she hadn't. She rarely lost or misplaced anything; everything was right where she'd put it. She popped another chunk of cactus flesh in her mouth, glad for its cucumber-like juice. But she'd searched almost half a day for this single bit of water, and there was no guarantee she'd so easily find another.

A single half bottle was all that remained between the two of them. What would they do once they ran out?

"What's wrong?"

She glanced up at Navarro, who was staring at her. "It's—" She caught herself midway this time. He raised an eyebrow. She already knew what he'd say if she told him—that their shortage was her fault for sharing some with Ellis, the Eight boy. "I'm just thinking about the future; that's all."

By all measures and reasons, it hadbeen… disadvantageous to share their precious water; even she had to know that. Hadn't she done enough in sparing the pooy boy? Now all three of them had little water and all of them could now die from dehydration. Perhaps Navarro was partially right. Her survival instinct wasn't strong enough.

But what was she supposed to do? Let the boy die? No regrets. She'd never willingly let anyone die before, and she didn't plan on starting soon.

Alas, their water shortage remained.

He snorted. "The future? You worry so much."

"Don't you?"

"No." But he glanced away as she kept up her gaze. "Maybe a little. Sometimes. But not much. What are you looking for?"

She sighed. "You don't have another bottle in your backpack, do you?"

"We're out?"

"Well." She gulped. "We're… running a little low."

"What did I—"

"I know, I know,' Azolla said. "But I didn't give him much. We would've run out anyway."

His breathing grew heavier, like he was already bracing for a fight. Not a good sign.

"I'm sure everyone else is in a similar place, though," she said. Perhaps she could calm him down. "There's no water in this entire Arena."

"I'm sure the Star Alliance isn't hurting for water."

She took a deep breath and forced a smile to her face, even in the dark. Gentle answers. No anger. For as much as he bothered her, she didn't want him gone either. "Well, yeah, but—"

"You had one job, and you blew it."

Now he was trying to turn it on her? Without a doubt, she regretted nothing. Yet that didn't make his words sting any less. "I've kept you alive, haven't I?" she said, doing her best to keep the corners of her lips curved up. "If I didn't help people, you'd be long gone too."

"That's different."

"Not after what you said in the Capitol." Immediately, she wished she could take it back; she looked away too. "What's done is done. Let's just figure out what to do, okay?"

She couldn't see him clearly in the dark, but she could tell his head was bowed. She'd gotten used to his retorts. She hadn't gotten used to his silence. Since when did Navarro de Leon not jump at an opportunity to get the last word?

He lifted his head. "I'll get some water tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Where the water is."

She narrowed her eyes. Was he insane? "No. You're not going to the Star Alliance."

"You can't stop me."

"Your arm isn't healed yet. How are you supposed to fight?"

He shrugged. "Maybe they won't catch me. I'll wait until they leave to hunt and then grab some and go."

"They'll have a guard. And there won't be someone to stop them from killing you. Ellis was lucky you weren't alone."

"Then I'll run. I'm faster than the scrawny Eight kid."

It worked on paper, she admitted. They needed water, after all; she might've endorsed if the one wanting to go wasn't Navarro of all people. "Will you run, though? 'Cause I feel like you'd stop and fight."

"I won't fight."

"Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me."

The words slipped out before she had a chance to stop them. "Of course I don't! You're always looking for a fight."

"I'm not—"

"Eleven boy. Seven boy. Eight boy."

He sighed. "I promise I'll do better, okay? Haven't I been doing better?"

"You're not wrong," she said. Last night, as she'd struggled to fall asleep, she'd almost forgotten that the Navarro that offered her a bit of sympathy was the same Navarro that'd screamed in her face, claiming that he hated her and wanted nothing to do with her. She wanted to hope he'd changed, yet he'd been on the verge of getting mad at her just now. It would be too risky to accept it only for him to lash out at her again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me or what's wrong with you or—I don't know. But I can handle this."

"Navarro—"

"Trust me."

Trust me. She'd said the same thing to him after she sent Ellis away with a bit of water. She'd meant it too; as terrible as the world was, somehow all good deeds would bring blessing in return some time or another. But she couldn't expect him to believe that too, so she'd asked him to believe in her. Was it too much for him to ask the same in return?

Perhaps he'd fail again. Only heaven knew how much of that fighting instinct had been drilled into him and how long it'd be until he gave it up. But it was a fair request.

"Alright." She sighed. "I'll trust you on this. But you'd better not get yourself in trouble."


Through the dark sunglasses, Rusk stared up at the sign to the café with its twirling Actinidia vines. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his overcoat; his shoulders scrunched up. He hoped he wasn't immediately recognizable. The cover of night helped some as well, even with the blazing streetlights that did honestly hurt his eyes. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay attention to the plainly dressed man wearing sunglasses at night, every passing Capitolite too busy minding their own business to notice the Victor wandering the streets.

Even so, he kept his head low and eyes averted. There was a murderer roaming free, after all.

Perhaps this had been a mistake, asking to meet with Darah. At this point, it was more than obvious that Le Petit was her social base of operations; he was entering her turf on her terms. Still, he had no alternatives if he wanted to continue his own investigation. He'd do it for Faridah.

As he entered the curtain of vines, birdsong welcomed him in again, though the scenery had changed since his last visit. Rows of tulips lined the walkway on either side of him. Cherry blossoms interweaved with the vines, peeking through here and there in delicate pink petals singing of spring in the middle of the Capitol summer. One would be forgiven for forgetting that the current time was eight o'clock at night.

"Hey!" Darah stood in the entrance to the hallway to the back, dressed in turquoise with a necklace of jade. Her warm voice beckoned him after her. "¡Bienvenidos! I was starting to worry you wouldn't come."

He chuckled nervously. "Sorry." Perhaps he would've been on time if he hadn't spent ten minutes out front reassessing everything he'd ever done.

"No worries. Follow me."

He hoped no one was filming them. Spending time alone with a woman in a reserved room at Le Petit was just asking for rumors.

"Here we go," she said, opening the door. "After you."

The table was already set with a single cup of coffee and a few plates of desserts, one of them noticeably being a good-sized serving of taro cake. He couldn't help but stare. Even with all his Victor earnings, he'd never been one to buy decadence for himself—the abundance of sweets still came up foreign to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I haven't ordered a drink for you; I wasn't sure if you were a tea or a coffee person. Or neither?"

After that conversation with Van up on his balcony, Rusk never wanted another coffee, not if he could help it. "Some fruit tea would be nice. How do you order here?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, at the ready with her holoscreen. "Fruit tea? What kind?"

"Do they have a lot of kinds?"

"Well, there's strawberry, passion fruit, guava… oh? I'll have to try the mango one someday…"

At that moment, Rusk was nothing but a country boy in the big city all over again, overwhelmed by literally everything around him. It seemed like every time he thought he'd gotten used to it, there was something new to confuse him.

"J-Just… Just pick the one you like." He chuckled, a tense smile on his face. "You seem to know all the good stuff here."

It wasn't long until a waiter knocked on the door with a glass of tea. According to Darah, it was some mix of tropical fruit and herby-type flavors, supposedly full of natural benefits for the skin. Once he had the glass and a plate of cake before him, she settled in her chair, fingers interlaced.

"You wanted to talk?" she asked. "About Faridah?"

He nodded, quickly finishing a bite of taro cake. The fake breeze in the room rustled in the vines and allowed the wall underneath to peek through. A rushing sound came from the pipes, coursing somewhere throughout the walls. As beautiful as it was, this was no real paradise.

He leaned in, voice low. "Are you sure it's safe to talk about this here?"

"I paid them a little extra to test the irrigation system tonight." She winked. "It should muffle anything we say."

What was this—a crime thriller? Never once had he ever imagined himself caught up in anything like this; he almost expected to wake up suddenly and find himself back in his lonely house in Victor's Village.

"O-Okay," he said. "I've been trying to figure out what's going on, but no one seems to know or care about Acacio LeRoux."

She raised an eyebrow. "You've done some digging?"

"Tried. It hasn't worked."

"So…"

"I thought maybe you could help?"

Her brown eyes watched him as seconds passed, as if unsure how to respond. Then a smile came along and her eyes lightened. "You're serious?"

"Of course."

"After last time, I was so sure I was bothering you," she said. "But I'm so happy you called me. I've been looking everywhere for answers and I'm still missing so much."

"Would you mind catching me up?"

"What do you know so far?"

"Well," he said. Now that he thought about it, all he knew seemed even less than he'd thought. "Acacio used to be on a District Four prep team, but then he had to step down because of some mental issues. I visited him once and he acted… off. Like he's sad about Faridah, though that makes no sense."

Darah pulled out a notebook and pen and made a little note. "Hmm."

"Oh—and the District Four victors have no idea he's the murderer."

She frowned. "Pobrecitos, I can't imagine what they're going through."

"Avisa's been doing better recently."

Darah raised an eyebrow. "You know them?"

"Just Avisa. A little. And Faridah too, but… you know." He pressed his lips together in a grim line. "What about it?"

"I just thought it was interesting," she said. "With you being from Nine and them being loyalist and all."

He chuckled nervously. "The other Nines and I… It's complicated."

"Do they know you're here?"

"They'd better not."

"I'm sorry." A sad warmth had crept into her voice. "For the whole situation. That sounds terrible."

He rubbed his neck. "You get used to it."

She was just trying to be kind, he knew, yet he hated her attention on him anyway. He'd come here to talk about Faridah and get answers, not find someone to throw him a pity party. Heaven knew he did enough of that on his own.

"So what do you know?" he asked.

She sighed. "A lot less than you think I do. I don't know for sure why they let him out either. But the LeRoux family seems to be one of the old money groups here in the Capitol. You won't see their name on billboards or anything but everyone's heard of them."

"Really?"

"They're rich. Ridiculously rich. And they stay out of the public eye most of the time, though it was a big deal when Acacio started on one of the prep teams. But then he left and now everyone's forgotten about him."

"Capitol life sounds exhausting."

She laughed. "It's not that bad, but… yeah, it's exhausting." She flipped through her notebook. "I already knew the Fours weren't being updated much, but I didn't know they knew nothing."

"It's strange."

"So strange. Here's my theory." She rested her hands on the table. Though her smile was unmistakably warm, it wasn't hard to see where her businesswoman reputation came from. "Acacio is a scapegoat. Someone within the government wanted Faridah dead, and it was convenient to blame it on him. But the LeRoux family is too influential, so they had to release him and pretend like nothing happened."

He furrowed his brow. "Then what's the point of blaming him at all?"

"So there's a government record," she said, gesturing in frustration. "It's weird, I know. But I don't even think everyone in the government's on the same page. Someone from within wanted her dead but needed an explanation so that they wouldn't get in trouble. So they blame Acacio and now the higher-ups won't be suspecting anything."

He nodded slowly in understanding, though something about it still felt off. "There's one thing I don't get. If Acacio isn't the killer, then why did he tell me he was?"

She stared. "He said that?"

"Absolutely."

"Hmmm…' She jotted something down and crossed something out. "That's new to me; now I'm confused too."

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was absent now as she fixated on her notes. "Don't be. Thanks for telling me."

His holoscreen vibrated in his pocket. He pulled up his inbox in curiosity; rarely did anyone go looking for him. It was Ramb, the District Eleven mentor, with a thank-you and an invitation to meet soon. Rusk was already halfway through his reply when he realized he'd interrupted his conversation for a message.

"I'm so sorry." He smiled; his fidgety fingers returned the retracted screen to his pocket. "That was rude of me."

She smiled back, putting her notepad away. "Oh no, I was busy thinking anyway. Is everything okay?"

"It's a whole different mess." He laughed, in fear he'd ruin the atmosphere. "I'm meeting someone tonight to discuss sponsor funds."

"Ay, that's annoying."

"Is your kid doing okay?"

She sighed. "He was, but now he's wounded and it's a mess too." Though she smiled, the strain was evident. "That boy's far too good for the Games. I'm trying to be hopeful, but…"

"That's terrible," he said. He'd felt the same way about Mati, though his hope had been dashed barely a minute into the Games.

"It's the Games. Everything about it is terrible."

Rusk nodded in sympathy. It was strange to hear the sentiment from a trained-district victor, especially when he'd only ever heard about how bloodthirsty they could be.

"But don't let me hold you," she said. "Good luck with your meeting."

Rusk rose. "Thank you so much for all this. I wish your boy the best."

"Ay, he'll need it."

He opened the door. Though the time with Darah had been pleasant, the hall immediately brought him back to grim reality. And after hearing about Acacio's background, the streets of the Capitol sounded less safe by the minute.

He turned his head back, right as he was about to head out. "Do you think this is dangerous?" he asked. "There's literally a murderer on the loose."

She bit her lip. "I'm not sure. If my theory is right, then I'm sure the LeRoux family won't like us meddling. But I don't know if they'd do anything to us. I sure hope they won't. I'm rethinking everything anyway. I haven't had any trouble so far, though."

"But what about Acacio?"

"Oh, him?" she said. "He's clearly not some indiscriminate mass murderer. I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Maybe he was being paranoid. The Capitol was a big place, after all. For all he knew, Acacio had long forgotten Rusk's existence. But Rusk couldn't deny what he'd seen. The man's lunatic eyes still pierced his memories as he stared at the evening scene around him, as if they'd appear out of nowhere and choke him just like the man had done to Faridah.

He hoped he was being paranoid. It wasn't a great outcome, but the alternative was worse.


The Fallen:

14. Zirconia Eskridge (D12F), stabbed by Nevaeh Jiminez (D10F)
I loved Zirconia's energy, her tenacity, her boldness. She and Zeph were the perfect counterparts to each other, each distinct and constantly ever so slightly annoyed at each other, yet they possessed a bond and friendship like no other, a level of trust and care for each other that's rare to see in SYOTs. Regarding her arc and portrayal, I failed somewhat to capture in words what I'd hoped to achieve in my head, and I do apologize for that. She was an absolute pleasure and I'll miss her dearly.


Kill Counter:
Ilithyia Aella (D2F): II
Ace Invidia (D3M): II
Adair Ryder (D7M): II
Adora Noble (D1F): I
Eros Worshire (D2M): I
Virginia Bedford (D8F): I
Clarke Brioche (D9F): I
Nevaeh Jiminez (D10F): I


A/N Alas, our deathless streak has been broken. How long until the next one? We shall see. If you're inclined to, drop a review and let me know whom you miss the most so far. Maybe even which of the living ones other than Iggy you'd be most heartbroken over. Iggy doesn't count because we all love her and it would be the easy answer.

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