Day 5, Part 1:


Cold moonlight fell on Zeph's face through missing boards in the wall. He paced along its length; he came to a stop at one end where a barrel sat, slowly disintegrating onto the floor as the elements chipped away at it. Though he balled his hands, hot anger burning through his cheeks, he refused to take it out on the old thing, where the cameras would undoubtedly pick it up and broadcast "The Twelve Boy's Mental Decline" to all of Panem. He had to hold himself together, even as he felt his insides crumble.

Zirconia was dead.

Ever since he volunteered with her, he'd known that one of them would die. It was inevitable; he'd braced himself for that. He'd hoped for the two of them to make it to the finale. Perhaps he could've let himself get killed wounding the others so that Zirconia could finish them off and win. Of course, that was asking for a lot, especially from a District Twelve tribute, but even then he'd always imagined one of them dying in the other's arms, or somewhere nearby.

He hadn't been there when Zirconia died. He hadn't even known for sure she'd died until he saw her face in the sky, though he'd prepared himself for the likely outcome. Not only had the Capitol stolen his best friend. It'd also stolen his last moments with her.

If only Clarke hadn't suggested that foolhardy plan. If only he'd spoken louder against it. Perhaps they never should've associated with the Nine girl at all—yet Clarke hadn't come up with the plan herself; she'd had plenty of encouragement from Zirconia, who had no way of knowing she was digging her own grave.

But he couldn't blame Zirconia. So that left Clarke.

If only he'd untied her ropes faster. She'd nearly made it out the window when Two girl yanked her back in; those few minutes could've made all the difference. Or even back before they got captured—he could've pulled Zirconia and ran, completely ignoring Clarke.

Somehow, everyone was to blame, yet no one was to blame. He couldn't even fully blame the Reapings when they'd volunteered. It'd be easier if he had someone to blame.

He stepped outside into the nighttime air. On a whim, he scaled the wall using the missing boards as a ladder. If Zirconia were here, she would've done this, and he would've told her not to, that it would make too much noise, that sitting stop the roof would place them in view for anyone to see.

Those risks remained, but she did not. So he had no qualms hoisting himself up to the roof. He sat down on the dusty tile, careful to test his weight before committing to a spot. He slid his knees up towards himself and wrapped his arms around them. The moon wasn't quite full tonight, though it was close. He'd spent many a night under the moon with Zirconia as they silently weaved through the District Twelve Town, often carrying a good night's work of pilfered supplies. She always did love to stop and gaze upon its silver surface. He wondered if she could still see the moon from wherever she was now. He wondered if there was any place she was now.

The roof creaked beneath him, snapping him out of his daze. How stupid of him to come up here! How useless of him to sit here and stare at the moon for no reason other than to wallow in grief! He forced himself to avert his gaze, yet he couldn't bring himself to budge. It wasn't long before he found his eyes lifted to the sky once again.

He was falling apart, wasn't he.

He'd always considered himself to have a strong sense of self-preservation. He wouldn't have survived up till this point in District Twelve without one. But someone self-preserving wouldn't be sitting atop a roof unarmed in the middle of the Hunger Games, putting himself at risk to anyone passing by.

Now he barely knew who he was. He no longer had anyone to protect.


Clarke stared up at the moon from underneath an overhang, but Zirconia's face still hovered in the night sky, where it'd been during the Fallen recap right after sunset. It wasn't her watch; she should be asleep. But how could anyone sleep after a day like this? She'd woken up to Zirconia and Zeph chatting. Maybe they didn't like her as much as she'd thought, but at least they were there.

It'd been her fault, hadn't it.

Perhaps they'd had good reason for not wanting her. Liat hadn't kept her distance, and look where that got her. Clarke's own moms hadn't had issues until they adopted her; the Twelves had been doing just fine until they reunited with her.

How could she ever face Zeph again? If they ever found each other again, she'd be willing to bet that he'd want nothing to do with her. She'd straight-up overheard him admit that to Zirconia yesterday, and that had been before Zirconia passed. How much more would he hate her now! Not that she particularly wanted to see him either, after she'd overheard his comments on her, but that didn't matter. A few comments against someone were nothing compared to getting someone's friend killed.

Zirconia had been her friend too.

She pulled her knees close to her body; her shoulders hunched over in shame. She shifted back into the shadow of the overhang, where the darkness hid the wet corner of her eyes from the cameras undoubtedly watching her now.

Maybe the Six girl had been right. Maybe she wasn't as tough as she thought. Maybe she wouldn't do whatever it took to win.

She was losing her edge; she couldn't afford to lose her edge. As much as she mourned Zirconia's passing, she had to keep her eyes on the target, her mind on the big picture. Ultimately, it'd been the Capitol's doing. All of this was. She'd decided on surviving from the beginning, hadn't she? Zirconia would've died either way, as cruel as the thought was.

All the more reason to hate the Capitol.

A hand rested on her shoulder. She jumped. She hadn't seen Virginia come up beside her.

"Can't sleep?" Virginia said, her voice low and soft.

Clarke blinked back the tears. She turned her head away from the other girl, deeper into shadow. "I'm making it through it."

"I'm sorry."

The two sat in the desolate evening wind; the silence engulfed them. Even the old buildings barely dared to make a noise in the deadness of the desert Arena.

Clarke gulped. "Thanks," she said. "It's hard."She sucked in a deep breath and forced her eyes wide until the night wind dried them out. No more self-pity allowed. No more weakness allowed. Forcing a stoic line upon her lips, she brushed off Virginia's hand. "But don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I'm stronger than this."

Though Virginia stared at her, Clarke didn't look back. She fixed her eyes on the moon until she heard the Eight girl retreat.

She'd miss Zirconia, but she couldn't afford to mourn now. She could only hope the little voice of guilt would stay down there until after she won.


In a chair near the entrance, Sostonio' fingers played absentmindedly with the end of his lasso. He'd been sitting here for a good two hours, at least, and his feet were getting restless. But Ven had strictly told him the less movement the better, so he'd force himself to stay.

It still barely registered in his head. The Twelve boy had stabbed him. If the guy had made a break for the exit, it wouldn't have been that inconceivable, but not in a million years had Sos anticipated this. And so he'd stood there staring slack-jawed as Twelve burst free from the ropes and attacked him with a knife that'd come out of nowhere.

He'd messed up, hadn't he.

But the Twelve boy's arms had genuinely been marked up, with angry red lines where the rope had eaten into his skin. The boy had been very close with his district partner. The two of them had volunteered together; they'd been at each other's side at every moment. Sos wondered what the boy must've felt there, as Adair brought the case against the girl. What if Nini had been the one on trial, and he'd been forced to watch? How would he have felt?

Given everything he'd known at the time, he'd made the right choice.

An aching started up again underneath the gauze. Though he didn't regret loosening the ropes, what he'd give to not be wounded! He bit his lip to hold in a grunt; he reached for the backpack, a few benches away. The movement sent another stab of pain through his leg and he froze. He audibly winced; he slowly sucked in air, trying to regulate his breathing. Who'd put that bag so far away?

Nevaeh rustled in her sleep. She lifted her head and peered at him. "¿Estás bien?"

"Tryin' to reach the bag," he grunted. "Painkillers."

Without hesitation, she rose to her feet. As she approached, moonlight and firelight swirled over her features; she placed the bag by the legs of his chair. "There."

"Mil gracias," he said, screwing the vial open. He threw a pill back in his mouth and allowed himself a splash of water to help it along. Even so, he could feel the strange lump all the down, causing him to cough.

She patted him on the back. "You feeling okay?"

He shrugged. "It could be worse."

"Duérmete," she said. "I'll take over."

"It's not your shift yet."

"You need to rest."

"And you need your energy for tomorrow, since you'll have to go hunting again." He laughed lightly. "Guess I got my wish. I couldn't hunt if I tried."

"It's not funny."

"It really isn't. Just ironic."

"Whatever. Both ways you're still wounded and now I'm not sure what we're gonna do…" She sank down on a bench and rested her head in her hand. "Just let me take over for you. Por favor."

He peered at her. "Nevaeh…"

"Lo siento, okay? I… I screwed it up."

"For what?" Sos frowned. "You ain't done nothin' wrong."

"I almost got him too. I was so close and—" She turned away. "Then he sprung a trap and—"

"A trap? Ay—Are you okay?"

"No! I mean—I'm perfectly okay, but you aren't and this isn't about me! And I—"

"Neaveh, mírame—"

"Cállate! I— I couldn't kill him." Her voice cracked. "Even though he did this to you."

Sostonio gently rested his arm around her shoulders. "Por favor, don't apologize for that. You know I wouldn't have wanted that."

"Someone has to fight for you if you ain't gonna do it yourself."

He sighed. "It was my fault anyway."

"The ropes. Was it you?"

"Yeah," he said, bowing his head a little, already coming up with a response to whatever she'd say next. Every time he'd raised moral questions so far, she'd told him to suck it up and face the real world.

But she didn't accuse him. She didn't sneer, or yell, or anything. "I knew it," she said. She sighed deeply. "¿Por qué?"

" 'Cause it was right."

She stared at the ground, shaking her head. "I love you, but I hate you."

"I'll… take that."

Sos grinned weakly. Having Nevaeh as his district partner had been a godsend—he probably wouldn't have made it this far without her, though he had to admit that she probably never would've cared about him if she were from a different district. The two of them were simply too different. If it weren't for their common home, they probably wouldn't have ended up on the same side. Yet they had. And he appreciated it.

Nevaeh wondered aloud. "You think Darah will send something soon?"

It didn't take long for Sos to realize she wasn't referring to medicine. "I hope not," he said, lifting his wounded leg slightly. "I can't do much right now. It'd make everything worse."

She gave him a funny look. "Just look at yourself. We could've avoided this whole mess if she'd done it earlier." She glanced at the others before lowering her voice. "Los chicos del Districto Dos piensan que me vuelvo loca."

He glanced at their allies, especially the Twos. If they did think she was going crazy, the alliance might not last long at all. But Ili and Eros didn't seem like the kind of folks to think that. "¿En serio? ¿Quien te dijo?"

"Adair."

"Hmm…" he said. "Either way, I'm stuck here for now." Nevaeh was getting riled up; she might speak rashly and alert the others to their own plan. "No te preocupes. As I said, it'll all be alright," he said, throwing in a chuckle for good measure. "Let's give it some time. Then we'll see if we still need it, de acuerdo?"

"Sale," she said, with a sigh. She muttered a curse under her breath. "Why do you always have to be so reasonable?"

He rubbed her shoulder. "C'mon, Nevaeh. Darah's a good mentor; she'll make the right choice. Don't worry."

"I'm not worrying," she said. She lifted her eyes, in which he could see reflections of the fire. "I just can't have you dead."

"Then I'll do my best not to die."

"You'd better."

"Deal." He smiled. "Now you'd better go get some rest for tomorrow. Can't have you collapsin' from exhaustion in the middle of a hunt now, can we?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

"Que duermas bien," he whispered after her. "Don't let the bedbugs—"

"They can't bite me if I kill 'em first." She smirked as she settled back down; she leaned her head on her backpack. "Buenas noches, Sos."


For the first time in a long time, Rusk had woken up and hadn't immediately wished to be asleep again. He'd risen with the conversations of last night fresh in his mind—Darah's notepad above a table of sweets and tea, Ramb's grateful handshake after Rusk confirmed he'd send Iggy Mati's remaining money.

Was this what it felt like to be involved in society? Maybe he could get used to it.

Not this part, though. He looked out the window at the end of the District Nine floor of the Victor's Tower. Though it was barely a minute till six in the morning, the sky had already begun lightening over the distant mountains that surrounded the Capitol. The door to Van's room sat in his peripheral vision. How long would it be until they headed out? Rusk checked his watch. Any minute now.

Was it weird for him to wait here for them, trying his best to act natural? Maybe, but it was significantly less weird than it'd be if the other Nines walked in on him transferring Mati's money to a different district's tribute.

Matza's door opened first. The old lady took a slow step out of her room; her face brightened upon seeing Rusk. "It's good to see you up again," she said. "We worry when you hole up in your room, you know?"

He didn't doubt that she worried, though he couldn't say the same for Van and Cia. It was a nice sentiment at any rate. "You betcha. Now—"

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled. "Do you have a busy day today?"

"Surprisingly." Van's door opened; she gestured to the man, exiting his room. "Van can tell you all the details, though."

Van sipped his coffee. "About what?"

"I was just telling Rusk about today."

"Ah, yes," he said. His eyes shone, about the closest thing to excitement Rusk had ever seen from the usually gruff man. "We have a sponsor possibly lined up for Clarke, so we're meeting today at noon to finalize the agreement."

"Congratulations," Rusk said. "Sounds like a big agreement. Where's the meeting?"

"Some Capitol restaurant. Supposed to be popular for sponsor meetings." The man snorted. "Sounds like a load of Capitol bull—"

Matza shut Van up with a look. "How about you, Rusk?"

"I-I'm finishing up the sponsorship work today." He hoped his smile would help cover up his nerves. "They're making me do a lot of paperwork, that's all."

"That's strange," Matza said. "Would you like someone to go with you?"

"Oh, no. I couldn't bother you guys with my work."

"It'd be nothing," Van said. "Cia's the main negotiator; they'd be fine without me."

"I'll be okay." Rus chuckled. "It's a pretty big deal today, right? You guys need everyone on board to make sure you land it. For District Nine's sake."

Van shrugged. "If you insist."

"Are you going back to Nine, then?" Matza asked.

Rusk shook his head. "Hopefully soon, but I have some personal things to do."

"I see." Van raised an eyebrow but raised no further comment. "Good luck."

"Same to you guys."

As the two turned down the hall, Rusk exhaled. All things considered, not a bad outcome. He glanced back out the window; the sun had fully pulled itself above the horizon, ready for another great day of mountain summer sunshine. Noon was shaping up to be a lovely time to visit the Sponsorship Office.


Azolla tossed and turned in her sleep. Uneasiness filled every corner of her heart; a million anxious what-ifs flooded her mind, holding her captive to the world of reality, a far cry from the ignorant bliss of sleep. Instead, she watched Navarro die a million different ways.

Funny how she cared that much about him. Back on the train, she'd felt bad for him, the way one felt bad for beat up chihuahuas on the street. That terrible night in the Capitol, she'd told him she cared, but looking back, it might have been more pity than empathy. Then he'd screamed at her until she cried, and she'd decided to put him out of mind once and for all, to deem him a lost cause.

Now, she cared. Maybe. At least enough to be up all night worrying about him.

Something rustled nearby. She cracked open her eyes to see the sunrise. Nearby, Navarro's figure dug around in their backpack, all still shadowy in the morning light. He retrieved their knife and slid it in his belt; he straightened up and turned towards the door. The loose end of the gauze wrapped around his arm dangled in the air, rippling in the slightest breeze.

"You're still going?" she said.

He grunted. "I said I would. You didn't think I'd go through?"

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well."

She sighed. "Just be safe, okay?"

"Trust me." He peered at her uncertain gaze. Grumbling under his breath, he took the knife from his belt and dropped it back in the bag. "Happy now? Can't even fight if I wanted too."

"I never said—"

"And stop worrying, will you?" he called, as he crossed the threshold. "It's obnoxious."

She had half a mind to tell him that he was the one being obnoxious, but it would've just riled him up some. Today of all days, she didn't need him any more riled up than he needed to be.

Still uneasy, she grabbed a handful of dried fruit from the back, occasionally allowing herself a drop of precious water from the bottle when the fruit dried her mouth out. The movement of her jaw couldn't still the restlessness inside, so she got to her feet and paced, doing a wide circle around the room.

This was all wrong; she couldn't wait around while he put himself at risk. She slung the bag over her shoulder and crept towards the concrete tower near the Careers, where Navarro was bound to be.


"I can't go huntin' today, so Nevaeh's goin' again."

Ilithyia beamed as she shoveled some fire-heated canned beans in her mouth. "Hey—can I go too?" she said. Her hand flew over her mouth as she quickly gulped down the remaining bits of food. "No one objects, right?"

"So far, it's me and Ven," Nevaeh said, "since Sos has to stay and Ven didn't go yesterday. Adair has to stay, since we can't have both Twos staying…"

"I got it; Eros or I has to stay," Ili said, rolling her eyes. Too much talk. Not enough hunting. She plucked the pink and purple marbles out of her bag, rolling them between her hands before closing both hands into fists, each one hiding a marble. "Nevaeh—pick a hand."

"The one I pick hunts? Or stays?" A somber edge had crept into the Ten girl's voice at some point between yesterday and today. But that was part of why Ili wanted to go today. If her friend needed some cheering up, she wanted to be there to do it.

"Hunts. Or stays. I don't care." She laughed. "Let's go with hunts."

Nevaeh pointed to a fist. Ili opened her hand to reveal her brilliant purple one. She cheered. She hated waiting around this ol' place all day; she'd much rather be out there on the edge of the action.

Eros groaned. "Oh, come on."

She playfully smacked him on the back. "Sorry. Better luck tomorrow."

"Better luck? I'm not staying cooped up in here for two days." He gave an exaggerated pout. "I guess I'll be stuck here with Sos and Adair."

Adair raised an eyebrow. "C'mon. We'll have a great time, you and me."

"I'm sure we will." Whatever look Eros shot back, it didn't look good.

She glanced back and forth between the two, suddenly unsure. "Oh, you guys." She nudged Eros with her elbow. "Play nice."

"Yes, ma'am." He chuckled, earning him a sharp jab in his ribs. "What was that for?"

She picked up her axes, laughing. "A good day ahead. Have fun!"

Ven waited by the door; he returned her smile as they headed out together into the bright new day. Though he didn't say a word as usual, his calming presence beside her reminded her why she was so glad for him.

The two of them passed Nevaeh, who'd been waiting outside. The girl fell into step with them as they strolled down the road. But she didn't smile. Dark bags hung beneath both her eyes; her lips were pressed together.

"Hey, what's up?" Ili asked. "Are you feeling okay?"

A smile suddenly appeared on Nevaeh's face. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken up, you know. Because of Sos."

"Maybe he'll feel better when we get back."

"It's hard to say." Nevaeh shrugged. "I'm just hoping we catch the Twelve boy."

"That would be awesome," she said. She placed an arm around the Ten girl and gave her a little squeeze. "I'm so glad you're here, hermana."

The girl grunted. "Same to you."

Ili waited for the final word of affection, or a hug back, or even just a genuine grin to assure her that things were fine, that they were still friends, that they had each others' backs. But Nevaeh's body remained stiff; her eyes never left the invisible point up ahead. Ilithyia frowned. Now something was really wrong. She hoped spending a day together would fix it, but if it didn't…

She ruled out that possibility. She didn't want to think about its implications.


Adair ambled around the outside perimeter of the courthouse, whistling a mountain tune. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his face from the sun; he wiped at the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow anyway. On paper, setting guards for their supplies made perfect sense, but in reality, he wondered if there was a single more boring job in the world.

He wondered if the three hunters were having any luck. He hoped they were, that they'd haul someone new back for a whole new trial. After all, the trials also pitted them against each other. All they needed was a little more pressure and the whole thing would fall apart. Viewers in the Capitol were undoubtedly waiting for him to make his move, one he'd shown them from the very start of the Games. But those impatient Capitolites could wait. He worked on his own time scale.

He strolled into the main room, where Eros and Sos were chatting, neither of them particularly on guard. He restrained a snort; even high-and-mighty Eros from "glorious" District Two couldn't keep up his Game twenty-four seven.

A distant noise caught Adair's ear, a soft one from down the hall. If the two had been paying attention, maybe they would've heard the creaking from their storage room. He could march down the hall right now and easily trap the intruder. But with the jail cell wall now collapsed, they'd have to babysit the captive until the hunters returned, and where was the fun in that?

Hence, Plan B. He slipped out the front door and circled around to the back, where any noise would be somewhat muffled for the two in the courtroom; whoever had sneaked in was bound to return this way. He leaned against the wall by the door, like a snake lying in wait. It wasn't long until gentle creaking slowly approached.

The Four boy exited the building, none the wiser. Heh. This was even better than he'd hoped for.

"G'day," Adair said. He smiled as the boy jumped. "I'd be more careful if I were you."

The boy backed away, as if readying to run. He clutched a gallon of water in one hand and a bottle in the other; one of his arms had gauze wound around it. Adair wondered if the boy would actually try to flee.

Adair twirled a knife in his hand. "I wouldn't run, though. Knife and all. District Eleven Male, remember?"

"What do you want?" Four's voice was low.

"Just chatting. It's boring being left behind to guard supplies." Adair gestured at the water bottles. "Lookin' for water, eh?"

"Nah, rainbows and rabbit holes. But your dead body would work too."

"So you aren't running after all. I'm glad. It's less boring this way."

The boy pressed his lips together, but he otherwise remained still, looking Adair up and down. "I'm not fighting."

"Then I'll drop dead for you." He snorted. "What happened to you? Can't hold yourself in a fight anymore?"

"No."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then prove it."

The boy gulped. He spoke through gritted teeth. "Stop it."

"Hey, I'm helping you out. I think a second chance is pretty generous."

"I'm not fighting."

Hmph. Adair had imagined this going a whole lot smoother. Was this the same Four boy he'd messed with in training? Maybe it was that girl's influence. At any rate, Four was done for, no doubt about it. If he didn't play along, Adair would just tie him up and hold him in the corner until Nevaeh and the others returned.

But that was the worst case, the boring case. He'd give Four one more shot.

Adair approached with a swagger in his step. His gaze never broke direct eye contact; he tilted his head, maintaining an easy-going smile.

"You sure?" he said. "Do you realize how scared you look on national television?" The boy took a step back; Adair shot a knife into the ground, barely an inch away from the boy's foot. "No running, remember? But if you needed a weapon—there you go."

The boy's lip twitched. As he should. Back in training, Adair had needed to be satisfied with a simple tackle and chokehold, with the no injury rule and all. But here? The only thing keeping his knife out of Four's chest was himself.

Yet Four didn't budge.

This was starting to grate on Adair's nerves. He stepped on Four's foot. "You know you want to. Especially after you made a fool of yourself in training."

Four's nostrils flared.

Adair leaned in towards the boy. "It's because you can't, huh. Man, I'd been looking forward to this too. I thought you'd put up more of a fight than this."

"Shut up," Four said, pushing Adair away.

He smiled, shoving the boy in return. "There we go. I always knew you wouldn't wimp out."

Four dropped the gallon of water and swung a fist. Adair grabbed his arm and twisted. The boy bent backward; Adair took the momentum and threw the boy to the ground. But Four's hand grasped a fold of Adair's work vest, pulling him off balance too as the two toppled.

Yet the boy scrambled back. He threw a punch, one Adair easily blocked, and rolled out of Adair's reach before immediately diving for the dropped gallon of water. Now it made sense. No wonder his tactics had been so slow to work.

Before the boy could flee, Adair flicked a knife.


Navarro's hand closed around the handle of the plastic gallon of water. He panted for breath, but there was no time. His brows were furrowed; his heart pounded. His eyes were starting to see red. He was making a fool out of himself on national television, and he wanted nothing more than to bash Seven's head in to prove him wrong. He'd beat up many a man over less, hadn't he? Why did this rat get to leave with his big mouth intact?

He knew why. He gulped and forced himself to turn away. He'd promised Azolla she could trust him. Between her and Seven, he could only prove one of them wrong. Better to follow through with her than this good-for-nothing. He just had to escape before he turned back and made a choice he would regret.

Biting pain splintered over his hand.

He yelped; he let go of the gallon as he instinctively pulled his hand in, streaked with blood. He lunged for the water, but it disappeared from sight before he could reach it, snatched away by another.

Seven peered down, dangling the gallon above him. "If you want it, you'll have to work for it."

Navarro gritted his teeth. He shot to his feet; he reached for the gallon, held high up in the air, only for Seven to leap back, pulling the precious water out of reach.

"C'mon, is that all you got?" The boy shook his head. "Tsk tsk. I'm sure your district partner's wondering what happened to you. She'd be so disappointed."

"You're disgusting," he growled. He lunged, but Seven moved it away from his hands once again.

"Here, boy!"

"If you don't shut up…"

Seven snorted. "Now I'm scared. All bark, no bite."

Navarro balled his hands into fists. "You son of a—"

"Go on." He smirked. "Keep barking. Can't do anything for yourself and your b—"

"Bastard!"

Now all he could see was red. He swung his fist at Seven's face. When the boy blocked with his free hand, Navarro threw a second punch. Seven dodged, but the gallon slipped from his fingers. It plummeted to the ground. The plastic cracked. Water splashed everywhere.

All that. For nothing.

"Look what you've done," Seven said. "Good job."

Navarro lunged with a roar. How dare he! Seven must've dropped it on purpose; it'd all been an elaborate scheme to humiliate him, hadn't it! He grabbed Seven's vest and slammed his fist into the boy's cheek; a smile crept up his lips when she heard Seven groan.

Seven headbutted him back, and a stab of pain erupted from Navarro's front teeth. A blur from the left. He barely had time to dodge before Seven's fist collided with his jaw. A flash of pain. The world went black. The next moment, he was on the ground, staring up at the boy's swirling figure.

He'd failed on every front. Could he be any more useless?

A second figure suddenly entered his field of vision. Long hair flew wildly as the person leapt on Seven's back, refusing to release though Seven called for her to let go. A furious female "No!" rippled through the air.

What was Azolla doing here?

He'd volunteered to do this because he'd been sick of being worthless trash, relying on others just to stay alive. He'd wanted to prove that he was still enough on his own, that he didn't need some random girl, no more than he needed anyone else. But she'd followed him. She hadn't believed him.

And for good reason. Once again, she'd had to come in and save him.

He wouldn't waste the opening. He scrambled to his feet, right as Seven succeeded in throwing Azolla off. He bashed his fist into the other boy's head; the boy's eyes spun, as if on the edge of consciousness. One final blow would do it.

But no rush of satisfaction filled his veins. Instead, as the boy went down, a sudden blow struck Navarro's abdomen. Wide-eyed, he stared at the knife sticking out of him, its blade plunged into him above a trail of dark blood.

Was he going to die?

Azolla gasped. He reached for the handle; she stopped his hand. Footsteps came from inside the building.

"Don't pull it out. It'll make it worse," she said. "Can you run?"

He nodded, blinking rapidly. It didn't feel real, with every nerve in his body tingling with adrenaline to the point where he could barely feel anything anywhere.

Her hand slipped into his, and they ran.


Eros didn't know what he'd expected to find when he heard the unfamiliar female scream all the way out back, but it sure hadn't been Adair lying knocked out on the ground near a puddle of water from a cracked-open gallon. There were two fleeing figures in the distance—the Fours, if he wasn't mistaken—the boy clutching his stomach.

He chuckled. So this was the power of Adair Ryder, District Seven Male.

Adair stirred. His eyes flew open; he rose with a start.

"What happened?" Eros said. "Were they too much for you?"

The boy glared at him. Though he'd gotten up, he had his hands on his head, as if orienting himself.

"I guess they gave you a headache. Literally."

"You got anything better to do?"

"Absolutely not." Eros shrugged. "There's never anything to do here except guard the supplies. Speaking of supplies, you're doing a great job."

" 'Cause you were doing such a great job jabbering away with Ten."

He frowned. "What happened with the water anyway?"

"Nothing you need to know."

Though Adair walked towards the entrance, Eros stepped in his way. "Hey, our water supply is important to all of us. You'd better have a good explanation."

"Is that a threat?"

"It can be."

"That's bold of you." Adair laughed, moving to push Eros aside.

Eros doubled down. He crossed his arms. "You took the bombs, didn't you."

"What crack are you on?"

"It has to be you," he said. "No one else makes sense.'

Adair snorted. "I'm sorry you're grumpy and annoyed, but there's no need to throw hasty accusations everywhere. Especially at your own teammates."

"We're not a team."

"Ili thinks we are. Do it for her."

Eros bristled. "You don't get to call her that."

"I didn't ask."

With a shrug, Adair stepped back, turning to circle around the building. Eros glared at him until his infuriating figure disappeared around the corner. If only everyone else saw this side of Adair, then they'd stop dealing with him and Eros would be rid of this man. He glanced down at the broken gallon. Only a bit remained in the concavity of its shell; he picked up the fragment and drank the remaining bit before it all leaked away.

Adair had just destroyed part of their water supply.

Eros grinned. Perhaps this had been a turn of good luck after all.


Azolla held a hand to Navarro's abdomen as they stumbled forward, blood spilling all over her hand. His ragged breath blew against her ear; his jaw was clenched, occasionally allowing a wince to slip through every now and again. His balance faltered further with every step. Was he dying? She scolded herself for the thought; she refused to allow it. She hadn't followed him all the way there just to watch him die!

"We have to stop," she said, even as he tried to press on further. "Navarro—"

He panted, even though they hadn't been running fast at all. "They'll kill us."

"You'll bleed out." She searched the streets behind her and found them empty. "Let's duck inside, just for a bit so I can fix you up. Then we'll keep going."

To her relief, he immediately turned into the old building, a shop of some kind. Yet if he wasn't arguing, he had to be in pain. She had him sit down behind the counter while she checked again outside.

"The coast is clear," she said, kneeling over him. She unbuckled his work vest and examined the wound, about an inch above his belt. Most of the blade hadn't entered his body; it looked to be only a few inches deep. Not great, but it could've been worse."Does it hurt?"

He winced. "Not too much."

The adrenaline was still wearing off then; if she didn't work fast, it'd hurt much more. She thanked every god out there she'd ever heard of that she'd followed him, that she'd made it just in time, that the knife hadn't gone in too deep. Without proper medical attention, there was no way of knowing if the blade had pierced anything serious, but as long as there was a chance he might make it…

She dug the first-aid kit out of the bottom of her bag, flipping the backpack's contents into a mess. What had the trainer taught her again? She bit her lip; it'd been the first day of training, when Navarro had gotten frustrated with his pile of firewood and the Five boy had told her than writing was dumb—

Pressure. Stop the bleeding. The trainer had recommended against taking objects out of the body, but if he recovered, he couldn't walk around with a knife in his abdomen.

"I'm going to try to remove it," she said. Her voice trembled. "There might be a lot of blood. Just stay calm."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

She tried to smile. If she panicked, he'd panic, and then he'd lose even more blood. "I learned this on the first day of training; I think I can manage."

Her bloody hand closed around the handle. Three. Two. One. Pull.

As soon as the blade left his body, the trickle widened into a stream. He inhaled sharply. Her hands shot towards the bloody spring to apply pressure; it only succeeded in getting the blood all over her hands.

A cloth. A rag. Anything.

Breathing rapidly, she sliced off her sleeve with the bloody knife and pressed it against the wound. Her eyes widened as a red splotch soaked through. It hadn't seemed so bad when it'd just been a mannequin and water.

"Is it bad?"

"It could be worse," she said. "The knife didn't go in too deep."

"So it's not too bad?"

She looked into his terrified eyes. She'd never imagined seeing him like this. "I mean, it's impossible to tell for sure, but I don't think so."

He slowly released a deep breath. She kept her hands pressed directly against the rag. The trainer had said it could take anywhere upwards of five minutes, much longer for severe wounds—had it been long enough? Without a watch, there was no way to tell. What if she released too early and messed everything up? What if he died because of her? He didn't look to be at immediate risk, but what did she know? If the blade had punctured something huge, he could be dead in an hour.

"I'm not gonna die, right?"

"Well, if it didn't pierce anything, you should be fine. At least for now." She bit her lip. She wished she could be confident for him, but she couldn't give him what she didn't have. "But we still have the risk of infection."

"I could die." His eyes were distant. She couldn't tell if he was talking to her or himself.

Her eyes pleaded with him. "Stay hopeful. At least for me."

"You don't think I'm going to make it."

"That's not it! There's a good chance you survive—"

"But?"

"There's so much that could go wrong. We don't know anything!" She'd raised her voice; it rang in her ears. "So please don't talk about it. It's… it's better for me that way."

He bowed his head. She looked away as a tear pricked at her eye, one she couldn't wipe away because she didn't dare take her hands off the cloth.

"I…" His voice was hollow. "I messed everything up."

"Navarro—"

"I had one job and I totally screwed it up. I told you I wouldn't fight and just look at me."

That she had, but she couldn't get mad at him now. She'd followed him, after all. She must not have believed he could do it. "That's in the past now."

"I tried, Azolla. I tried so hard, but he wouldn't let me go. He had the water and held it like playing fetch with a dog, and—" He gulped, breathing heavily again. "—then he was gonna kill me but then I saw you and—"

"Shh." Did strong emotions hinder blood clotting? She hoped not. She barely knew what to say to him; she'd never heard him ramble on like this before. "I'm sorry. That sounds terrible."

"Why do I always need you to save me?"

"Well," Azolla said. It'd be selfish of her to agree with him, but hadn't she felt that way this entire time? "I don't know if 'need' is the right word."

"It's like I literally can't function without you, but I've functioned for years alone and I'm fine. I promise, this usually isn't me."

"Don't worry. I believe you." She lifted the blood-soaked, cut-off sleeve, just a bit. The wound had stopped bleeding. Relieved, she spared a few drops of water from the bottle before she applied a little dab of antibiotic, spreading it around with the tip of the sleeve.

"It's just—I could've died at the Bloodbath or from Eleven or from infection or from Seven, and now you're probably the only reason I'm not going to bleed to death like a street dog and—" He sucked in a sharp breath. "Why do you always save me?"

She blinked. She'd never questioned it before; she'd thought it was obvious. "You know—"

"Now I get why you wanted to leave. You would be better off without me. All I ever do is ruin you because—" His voice quavered. "Because all I know is how to hurt people. And you deserve better."

Azolla held his hand; she looked him in the eye. "I'm not leaving, okay? Not anymore."

"But I'm wounded now. I'll drag you down. I can't do anything—"

"Especially now that you're wounded. I'm not leaving.

He watched her incredulously; he shook his head. "You're so stupid sometimes."

"If that's what you want to call it."

"What else would you call it? Insanity?"

She stared at him. For once, words refused to form on her lips. Red creeping at her cheeks, she looked away, instead putting the antibiotic cream back in the kit and retrieving the gauze. When she returned to him, she found him still staring back at her.

"Let's get you all bandaged up," she said. "We don't have a lot, but we'll make it work."

He complied. Their gauze ran out after two loops around his abdomen; she cut off her other sleeve into narrow strips and tied them end to end, wrapping them around him and then tying the end in neatly. Not the best she'd ever seen, but it'd work. She hoped, at least.

"We'll do that for now," she said. "Ideally, we'd change the bandages, but…yeah. Are you feeling okay?"

His teeth were gritted. In all likelihood, the adrenaline had worn off. "I'll manage."

She handed him the water bottle. When he only took a sip, she forced it back into his hands. "You need fluids."

"There's not much."

"You need it now. Maybe we'll find another cactus for later." She smiled as he took a good drink. "We'll stay here for now."

He frowned. "They'll follow our trail."

"Then we'll leave in the morning before they get her. You need to stay down as long as possible, okay?"

Though he grumbled, it'd lost its biting edge. "Fine."

She took the bottle from him; she almost lifted it to her dry lips. But they still didn't have much, even though it was more than they'd started the day with. With Navarro wounded, he'd need every bit of water he could get, much more than she needed it.

She slid the bottle back into their backpack.


Iggy squinted at the sky. It was significantly less empty than it'd been when the Games began, back when only a few wisps of white interrupted the hemisphere of blue. Ever since the acid rain, a few clouds had remained overheard at all times, even occasionally passing over the sun. It shaded her from the noontime heat, much to the relief of her parched lips.

She didn't like the sun anymore. The thought was strange, even to herself. But she'd had stranger ones since being Reaped. Before, she never would've questioned Nature's perfect care of her. Now, it was all she could do to not wonder why Her reach fell short of this hell on earth, where the clouds brought corrosion and the sun brought dehydration.

It was bad enough to be here. It was worse that she was alone.

Last night, she'd estimated that she had two days left to find water. With the sun's incessant pressure, that "two" looked more like one with every passing moment. It was uncomfortable just to keep her eyes open; her skin was rough, etched with a million little cross-crosses from the desert air.

She allowed herself to sit down, wincing at the pain in her stomach. She would use less energy that way; she'd need less water. But what if no one ever came by? Would she just waste away here, slowly growing weaker until her body finally stopped working? She couldn't let herself die like that. She had to try to find Ellis, no matter what.

Was he looking for her too, or had he forgotten about her already?

The Ellis she knew, the one who'd gone out of his way to help her at the Cornucopia—he wouldn't forget her. If even a Career could be kind, she could trust Ellis to stay kind too.

Time to get up. She forced herself to rise; her head spun all the way up and didn't stop when she'd fully gotten to her feet. With a hand on the wall beside her, she followed the road, one exhausted step at a time.

She'd almost made it to an intersection when she heard footsteps approaching from the other road. Had she found Ellis? No, there were many footsteps, definitely more than just one person, not unless Ellis had found someone else to keep him company. She ducked into the building and peeked through a crack.

The girls from Eight and Nine appeared. Eight—Virginia—gripped a knife; Nine wore a mean metal glove on each hand. Iggy didn't know either of them; her only interaction with either of them had been when she'd accidentally bumped into the Nine girl during lunch in training. The girl had snapped at her before mumbling a gruff "don't worry about it," hardly a strange response since the girl must've been under so much stress.

Two armed tributes, roving the Arena. Better to stay hidden.

Iggy held her breath, eyes wide as she watched them pass. The two moved sluggishly under the blazing sun. Virginia stopped; she called to Nine before swinging her backpack around and taking out a bottle of water. She took a sip and then gave Nine some as well—the first bit of water Iggy had seen in days.

Her tongue felt drier than ever. She wondered if the two would give her a drink if she asked nicely. The knife and metal gloves suggested probably not.

But this was Ellis' district partner here. He'd mentioned that the girl had wanted to keep her distance, but he'd also mentioned that she was a nice person beneath the determined and grim look on her face.

Then again, that'd been before Virginia had killed Kiran.

Iggy bit down on her lip to keep herself from a desperate sob as the water bottle disappeared back into Virginia's backpack. She felt her face moving as if about to cry, yet her dry eyes refused to produce tears.

Was this her last chance at water, at life? If she didn't ask, she'd die of thirst in a day or so. Sostonio had had a machete, and he'd been kind to her. His district partner too, with her supportive glances from a distance. Could these two be as well?

What did she have to lose?


Virginia whirled around to catch the movement in her periphery; her hand tightened around her knife. The District Eleven girl stepped out a doorway. The girl was the youngest one here in the Arena, if Virginia remembered correctly, but her sunken eyes no longer held the naive innocence they'd once possessed.

"P-Please," the girl croaked, voice thin and hoarse. The girl sounded like she'd been crying, though no tears stained her cheeks. "Could I have a b-bit of water? Please."

Virginia lowered her knife. Her arms tingled with the instinct to embrace the girl, just like she would with her younger sisters if she ever found them crying. Ellis had mentioned the girl before, back in training. He had shaken his head, mumbling something about how a ray of sunshine like her didn't deserve to die like this. But even if he hadn't said anything. Even if this wasn't the Eleven girl. Virginia wouldn't have been able to attack. She could barely make it from day to day with the Five boy's blood on her hands. She wouldn't be able to take another.

"What do you think?" Virginia said. "I say we give her some."

Clarke kept her firm gaze on the girl. There was conflict in her eyes; it was as if she hadn't heard the question. She'd say no, wouldn't she? Virginia couldn't imagine the girl agreeing, but she hoped anyway.

She didn't want to imagine the alternative.

"Just a bit," the Eleven girl repeated. "So I can make it a bit longer. Until I find Ellis."

"You've been with Ellis?" Virginia asked, voice suddenly asphyxiated. Her heart sank further. Before, it'd been in her gut. Now, it dropped to the core of the earth. She could still see his mortified look as he fled from her. She'd seen it every night in her dreams.

The girl nodded. "I found him. When it was raining. I gave him some candy and water. But he was already my friend. We were friends back in training."

"Why did you guys split up?" She didn't know why she asked. She didn't want to see him again; she wouldn't be able to face him. "Is he okay?"

"I hope so. The Careers found us. He tried to save me, but we were trapped. He told me to hide." She rubbed her dry eyes. "And then they caught me, but I don't think they found him."

"They didn't kill you?"

"No. They gave me a trial and let me leave, but…" The Eleven girl's big eyes pleaded with them. "I lost everything. Please, I just need a little bit of water. To find Ellis."

Killing the girl was never an option. Never mind everything Virginia knew about the Hunger Games, about winning, about survival. Forget Jakob too and her need to prove him wrong. If she killed her now, she would never get a moment of peace ever again—not that she got many of those anymore after she'd murdered the Five boy.

But was she ready to help the little girl?

Knowing Ellis, if he wasn't wounded, he was probably searching for this girl at this very moment. There was no guarantee the two would find each other, but even so, Virginia knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she knew she was the one to dash his hopes.

Hadn't she hurt him enough?


Clarke stared at the Eleven girl, battered by the desert. She could vaguely hear Virginia asking her something, but the voice was distant, as if at the end of a long tunnel. The girl spoke of Virginia's district partner, of the Careers, of how all she needed was a little bit of water.

She heard another voice in her ear, this one up close and intimate, as if coming from inside her head. She'd hoped to never hear this particular voice again; she'd killed the one it belonged to at the Cornucopia with Liat's help. Afterwards, she'd even rejoiced, having destroyed the one that'd taunted her again and again. She'd seen the face in the sky; she'd never be tormented by this person again.

Then why could she still hear the District Six girl?

Not so tough, are you?

She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, as if intense focus could push the voice out of her head. Maybe she hadn't been as tough as she'd wanted to be over the past twenty-four hours, but she'd resolved to choose strength, to do whatever it took to bring the Capitol to its knees, to reclaim justice and freedom for her district, her people, her family. No obstacle could stand in her way.

She'd had the Careers in mind when she made that resolution, or possibly the duo from Four. Not the poor little girl from Eleven, the one that had bumped into her at lunch over a week ago before quickly apologizing and fleeing the scene. No one in the Games deserved this fate less than little Eleven.

Sounds like you're hesitant.

She wasn't hesitant; she couldn't afford to be. Hadn't she taken the lead in hunting down other tributes? Hadn't she plunged the knife into the Six girl's chest? Hadn't she brazenly led a mob armed with bricks against a group of Peacekeepers, ready to throw her life down for the sake of her cause? She'd do anything to win.

Anything to win, huh?

An angry tear poked at her eyes. She didn't cry. She couldn't cry. Virginia called her name again; the girl's hand rested on Clarke's shoulder, but she brushed it off, much faster now than she'd been early that morning. She was stronger this time.

Virginia had a sympathetic look on her face. Her hand had already reached in her backpack, likely ready to hand over the requested water.

Clarke frowned. The girl was weak; she was trying to drag Clarke down with her, to pull up deep sympathy for those she couldn't afford to sympathize with that would completely overrun everything she'd ever built up, invalidate every effort she'd made, destroy the last bit of resolve she clung to, the last strands of determination she needed in order for the Capitol to fall.

Clarke refused to let it happen.

She swung.


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: uh oh

what are y'all thinking?