"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Game begin!"

The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, hammers against my ears.

It echoes so unbearably loud that I cover them.

I have less than a minute to get my bearings before the gong sounds and the tributes will be free to move off their metal plates. But move where?

I have trouble thinking straight. The image of Cinna beaten and bloody consumes me. Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an Avox?

His assault was staged to unhinge me, the same way Darius' presence in my quarters was meant to, and it has unhinged me. All I want to do is collapse on my plate.

I have to be strong, and if not for myself, then for Cinna. If not for Cinna, then for Peeta.

I grit my teeth, straighten, and force myself to be a player in the Games.

Where are you?

I can still make no sense of my surroundings.

Where are you?

I demand an answer of myself and slowly the world around me comes into focus… not visually, but with my other senses. The air is cold and damp. I can smell moss and clay. To my left I can hear shifting and know a tribute stands there. Water sounds; a dripping from above, the sound of a moving stream. I hear the tap of a victor's impatient foot against metal. Another victor mutters uncertainly to themselves.

How are we supposed to fight like this? Groping around in the dark?

I do not even know where the Cornucopia is. I can only assume that it is dead ahead of me.

Would the supplies be scattered around it, like last year, or will they be inside, drawing us into a trap? I need a weapon. Except, how? How do I find a weapon and Peeta in complete darkness?

My hands are trembling. I grip my jacket in an attempt to steady them.

The gong sounds.

There is the scuttle of people's feet. Their voices echo overhead; the sounds bounce against the cave walls and make it almost impossible to location their origin.

I stumble off my platform, head swiveling at every tiny noise.

What do I do?

There are sounds of fighting now: struggling, shouting, metal brushing against metal, rolling objects across the ground, screaming.

What do I do?

Someone runs by me.

I flinch and take on a stance as close to hand-to-hand combat as I can manage. Except no one jumps at me. They are gone.

I take a few steps forward.

My foot catches on something, and I fall, barely having any time to break the blow with my hands. The floor is uneven and rocky.

Immediately I am back up. The sound of fighting has increased, and I must be nearing it, as well as the Cornucopia. But how can they be fighting in the dark?

I struggle forward, tripping again, into a puddle. My hand stings, but not badly.

I stand, feeling dizzy by the complete darkness around me. I start to step backward, suddenly afraid of being too close to a hostile and –

"Hmph."

A person slams into me. We both grip the other's jacket and fall to the ground.

They struggle against me, but then, I feel a brush of hair against my cheek and a warm hand firmly grips my wrist.

"Your pack, Katniss," Cecelia whispers to me, and then she's gone, disappearing into the darkness.

My pack?

I reach for the fanny-pack. I had forgotten about it, after everything that had happened to Cinna. My head is still swimming. Why would Cecelia tell me? Why would she move right over me so quickly without a struggle or without wanting to ally?

I unzip the pack and extract the one, small object from inside.

They feel just like regular sunglasses, but I remember. I remember what Rue told me. I put them on within the breath, blink, and I can see.

There is a slight tint to everything, but I can still see all of the colors.

I take in the arena for the first time and my heart sinks.

We are in a cave. The room we have all started in is large, with formations hanging from the ceiling from years of erosion and water movements. There is a stream on the far side of the passage, with the occasional puddle. The Cornucopia sits in the center of it, on an elevated platform with multiple steps up to it. Overhead, I see no indication that there is an exit or that we are not ten miles underground.

At the far edges of the room are additional passages of all manner; some small, large, slender, wide. That's it then. A tunnel of mazes and darkness, and completely treacherous without glasses.

At the Cornucopia, I see Finnick throw Gloss down the steps of the platform on the far side. On the right, Finnick immediately turns to Enorbaria, his trident against her knife.

I race forward, knowing that my best chance to get a bow and arrow is now. They are both distracted with each other, and I see no one else converging from my side of the Cornucopia, although the gold neck blocks a good portion of my view.

I do not let the thought of adversaries slow me down. The only way to get rid of them is with a weapon. I am not in any way shape or form about to throw myself into a fist fight.

Most of the loot seems to be piled inside of the Cornucopia. My eyes instantly focus on a golden bow and I yank it free.

I pull an arrow from the sheath that's still wedged in the pile and arm my bow, turning on the balls of my feet.

Finnick, huffing, stands a few yards behind me, with a trident poised to attack. A net dangles from his other hand. He's smiling a little, but the muscles in his upper body are rigid in anticipation.

"You like the arena?" he says.

"You look like you do," I say, indicating with my chin to the Careers, struggling to right themselves all the way at the bottom of the steps. "Must have played king of the hill a lot as kid, huh?"

"Not particularly." He smiles. "They must have built this place especially for you."

This takes a moment to sink in, and suddenly, it seems like it.

You would think someone from the coal mining district would have an advantage here, being in their element, but you would be wrong. Even though a majority of our schooling focuses on the study of coal, mining, and underground safety, that is nowhere near the real thing. Only adults can work in the mines.

For a moment we are frozen, sizing each other up, our weapons, our skill.

Finnick suddenly grins. "Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"

I am about to let my arrow fly, hoping it finds his heart before the trident impales me, when he shifts his hand and something on his wrist catches my attention. A solid-gold bangle patterned with flames. The same one I remember on Haymitch's wrist the morning I began training. I briefly consider that Finnick could have stolen it to trick me, but somehow, I know this is not the case.

Haymitch gave it to him. As a signal to me. An order, really. To trust Finnick.

I can hear other footsteps approaching. I must decide at once.

"Right!" I snap.

Even though Haymitch is my mentor and trying to keep me alive, this angers me. Why didn't he tell me he'd made this arrangement before? Probably because Peeta and I had ruled out allies. Now Haymitch has chosen one on his own.

"Duck!" Finnick commands in such a powerful voice, so different from his usual seductive purr, that I do. His trident goes whizzing over my head and there's a sickening sound of impact as it finds its target.

The man from District 5, the drunk who threw up on the sword-fighting floor, sinks to his knees as Finnick frees the trident from his chest.

"Don't trust One and Two," Finnick says.

There's no time to question this. I work the sheath of arrows free. "Each take one side?" I say.

He nods, and I dart around the pile.

A few steps down, approximately twenty yards off, Enorbaria and Gloss are approaching. Either they're slow climbers or the fall Finnick delivered has stunted them. Sometimes it's not good to consider too many scenarios. They're here now, facing me head on.

I hear Finnick shout, "Anything useful?"

I quickly scan the pile on my side and find maces, swords, bows and arrows, tridents, knives, spears, axes, metallic objects I have no name for ... and nothing else.

"Weapons!" I call back. "Nothing but weapons!"

"Same here," he confirms. "Grab what you want and let's go!"

I shoot an arrow at Enorbaria, but she's expecting it and dives to the side before it can find its mark. Gloss isn't quite as swift, and I sink an arrow into his calf.

I sling an extra bow and a second sheath of arrows over my body, slide two long knives and an awl into my belt, and meet up with Finnick at the front of the pile.

"Do something about that, would you?" he says.

I see Brutus barreling toward us, bloody from his fall. I shoot at him and he manages to dodge the arrow, but he loses his footing in doing so and slips down the steps again.

I reload, hoping to sink a fatal in him and eliminate him early in these games, but Finnick suddenly grabs my elbow.

He points to below.

Peeta is struggling with the man from District 9.

I raise my bow without thought.

The man drops dead with an arrow buried in his temple.

I clamor down the steps of the Cornucopia and reach Peeta's side.

"Are you okay?"

Finnick follows me over. "Give him one of your knifes," he says, looking uncertainly up at the Cornucopia. "We won't be able to get him any weapons, now."

That's true enough. The Cornucopia is a devastatingly easy place to defend, rather than to overcome, as Finnick and I have just proven. The four Careers have formed a stance around the weapons and going back is not a choice.

I take a knife off my belt and hold it hilt-out toward Peeta. He takes it, and I see a bruise forming on his jaw and his knuckles are ruffled. I should have shot the man sooner. Better yet, I should have been more prepared… I should have known about the glasses… I could have lost him…

I shake my head to clear it. None of that matters now.

"Nice to see you again," Peeta says. He ducks to place a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Like wise," I retort. "We've got allies."

"I noticed." Peeta spares Finnick a glance. They share a nod. "Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?"

"Only Mags, I think." I nod toward the old woman making her way toward us, avoiding the puddles and cracks in the floor.

"Well, I can't leave Mags behind," says Finnick. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me."

"I've got no problem with Mags," I say.

"Katniss wanted her on the first day," says Peeta.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgment," says Finnick.

"Look," Peeta says, abruptly. "Some of them still haven't figured it out."

He's right. While it is nice to know I was not the only victor to go blundering about without a clue, for all of Panem to watch and laugh over, this pleasure only lasts a moment. Those who have not checked their pack are the morphlings, who crawl across the floor on their hands and knees, and the female from District 9.

I feel sad for them. I pity them and the sudden dark death ahead.

Then I see Beetee attempting to creep along the side of the Cornucopia.

I almost ask Finnick to wait, to get Beetee and Wiress and take them with us, but Beetee's too far away and I do not even know where Wiress is. For all I know, Finnick would kill them as quickly as he did the tribute from 5, so instead I suggest we move on.

I hand Peeta a bow and a sheath of arrows for him to hold and keep the rest for myself. But Mags tugs on my sleeve and babbles on until I've given the awl to her. Pleased, she clamps the handle between her gums and reaches her arms up to Finnick. He tosses his net over his shoulder, hoists Mags on top of it, grips his tridents in his free hand, and we agree to move out.

This turns out to be a dilemma.

The only way out of this room is to take one of the side passages. But which one is the best to take? What other hidden dangers lace through these caves? Where did all of the others flee?

Finally, Mags points us toward one near our left. No one questions her. She's the only one who's been brave enough to make the decision.

The passage is wide and easy to maneuver, but it quickly begins to climb upwards. We are all winded by the climb, especially since the cave is rough and gravelly. Moss and vines grow thickly along the floor and walls, making the trek slippery.

Peeta takes the lead. I make Finnick go second because even though he's the most powerful, he's got his hands full with Mags. I make up the rear.

Between the sparse oxygen and the incline, we only make it a mile or two before we are all in need of a break.

We can still hear a faint echoing of what is going on at the Cornucopia; more screaming, more murder, and well, what did I think? That the victors' chain of locked hands last night would result in some sort of universal truce in the arena? No, I never believed that. But I guess I had hoped people might show some ... what?

Restraint? Reluctance, at least. Before they jumped right into massacre mode.

You all knew each other, I think. You acted like friends.

I have only one real friend here, and he is not from District 4.

I let a drop of water on the wall distract me while I come to a decision. Despite the bangle, I should just get it over with and shoot Finnick. There's really no future in this alliance. He's too dangerous to let go.

Now, when we have this tentative trust, may be my only chance to kill him. I could easily shoot him in the back as we walk. It's despicable, of course, but will it be any more despicable if I wait? Know him better? Owe him more?

No, this is the time.

I take one last look at Peeta with the blood on his sleeves from his fight with District 9 to harden my resolve, and then slide an arrow discreetly into my bow.

When I move to raise it, I find Finnick's kept pace with my thoughts.

As if he knows what I have been thinking and how it will have affected me. He has one of his tridents raised in a casually defensive position.

"What do you think is going on back there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons to the floor in defiance of the Capitol?" Finnick asks.

"No," I say.

"No," Finnick repeats. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance." He eyes Peeta for a moment. "Except maybe Peeta."

Finnick knows what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta, and him being truly, deep-down better than the rest of us. Finnick took out that tribute from District 5 without blinking an eye. How long did I take to turn deadly? I shot to kill when I targeted Enorbaria and Gloss and Brutus. Peeta would have at least attempted negotiations. But to what end? Finnick's right. I'm right. The people in this arena were not crowned for their compassion.

I hold his gaze, weighing his speed against my own. The time it will take to send an arrow through his brain versus the time his trident will reach my body.

I can see him, waiting for me to make the first move, and calculating if he should block first or go directly for an attack.

I can feel we've both about worked it out when Peeta steps deliberately between us.

"So what do you think of these glasses?" he asks.

Move, you idiot, I think, but he remains planted firmly between us.

"Honestly, I'm surprised they gave us them," I answer.

"Then let's keep moving. Maybe we can find a place with light," he says.

So far there's been no sign of anything to suggest that, and I severely doubt that the Gamemakers would be so generous, but when Peeta hopes for something, there's no harm in at least trying.

"And water," I say, dropping my bow all the way to the ground. I think of my first arena and nearly dying of dehydration. "There has to be a source around here somewhere, other than the stream in the Cornucopia and these puddles."

"Better find it soon," says Finnick. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

We. Us. Hunting.

All right, maybe killing Finnick would be a little premature. He's been helpful so far. He does have Haymitch's stamp of approval, and who knows what the night will hold? If worse comes to worst, I can always kill him in his sleep. So I let the moment pass, and so does Finnick.

The absence of a substantial supply of water intensifies my thirst.

I keep a sharp eye out as we continue our trek upward, but with no luck.

After a certain point, more passages begin to branch off from ours. Peeta insists we should follow the one we have started with.

I do not blame him. Some of the other passages make me uneasy. No passage is the same to another. Some are smooth. Some are steep and sharp. Others are only big enough to crawl through.

"Maybe we could try a smaller tunnel next time, that goes further down. Find an underground river or something," I say.

In front of us the passage comes to a dead end.

At first, it appears to be just that, but I see the problem before anyone else does.

My warning cry is just reaching my lips when Peeta takes another step.

Peeta gasps as he steps over the edge of the cliff.

There's a sharp sound. Some of the rocks near his back leg fall away.

Peeta flails, but it's already too late. His legs are swept out from under him and he falls over the edge of the cliff.

As he falls, we all hear his cry: "Katniss!"

I rush over, dropping my weapons and pushing Finnick out of my way. But still, I am too late.

"Peeta?" I call.

There is a faint echo from below.

"Peeta!" I scream now. I am aware that the sound echoes loudly around us. Enough for the Careers to hear, but I do not care.

I hold my breath, waiting. I wait for the sound of Peeta response. I hope that the bottom of this cliff is near and close enough to hear.

Instead, I hear only silence.