Morning 3

Verdana said that she felt okay, but Levi can't help but be worried about her. He couldn't have been imagining how dead she looked when he first found her. Levi can't ignore the way she cringed as they walked to find a new camp or the swollen lump that quickly began to form on her temple. Maybe it's just something else to focus on- worry about his district partner so that Levi doesn't have to think about the feeling of blood splattering his cheeks or the sound of the bullet cracking through the tribute's skull. Maybe he doesn't have a reason to worry, but he still stays up with Verdana watching her slow breaths and listening to the chilling silence of the arena.

Levi's not certain when he actually managed to fall asleep, but he feels something kick into his boot and suddenly is wide awake. He tries to shake the darkness out of his eyes, squinting at the ground below him where he hears something moving. Levi reaches out and is met with another stiff kick to his wrist.

"Verdana?"

There's no answer.

Levi's breath catches when the blurriness begins to recede and he finally sees Verdana. Her eyes are open, but barely, and every part of her body is trembling in sync. Her mouth is open, but she isn't making any sounds. Levi throws himself down beside her, grabbing Verdana's shoulder for a moment before it feels too tense to hold onto. He looks at her from head to toe, but Levi doesn't know what to do.

What's happening?

"Verdana," Levi says again, at this point not really sure if he should be expecting an answer. "Verdana!"

All at once her limbs drop to the ground and Levi is immediately relieved. He tilts her head over to face him, hardly noticing the tears that cloud his eyes except to wipe them away. Sweaty curls stick to her forehead and Levi quickly brushes them out of her eyes, almost expecting that she will berate him for touching her without permission. "What's going on?"

His question is answered by the sound of cannon fire. Levi looks up to the sky quickly, his heart rate jumping at the sudden sound and pounding against his rib cage. His eyes drift back down to his district partner, her eyes still not quite shut, and a lump catches in his throat. The swelling on the side of her head is even more pronounced than before, the entire area now raised into a deep reddish-purple. Though he's almost afraid to, Levi places his hand again on her shoulder. His shaking is gentle at first and then builds to quickly become more frantic. Her eyes don't open. Her chest doesn't rise. She doesn't move at all.

"No, no, no," Levi says, pushing Verdana so hard that she falls onto her opposite side. He grabs her arm and pulls her back to face him. Levi reaches for her cheek but cringes at the look of the bruised skin above it. It wasn't her. It couldn't have been her. "Wake up. Verdana, wake up."

Levi's hand is trembling as he lifts it to her neck. You're being paranoid, he tells himself. She was fine just a few hours ago. We walked away. However, the headache, the shaking, and the smell of vomit that finally assaults him from the ground by her head aren't comforting. Levi can hear blood pumping as his fingers lay across the side of her neck, but it becomes quickly evident that it's not her heart beat he's hearing, but his own. He presses his fingers deeper against her skin but there's nothing to feel. Tears drip down his cheeks, but he refuses to give up.

"Please, wake up," he croaks. "Please."

Levi isn't sure how long he crouches beside her, his fingers pressed against her neck and pleading for a pulse. Agony swells in his chest, the familiar mourning that never really went away even though Levi tried everything to squish it far down into his heart. Right now, though, there is no pushing it away. One more look at Verdana's eyes, her motionless, half-closed eyes that have never looked this empty, puts a crack in the floodgates.

"She's dead," Levi sobs, gritting his teeth as he pulls his hand away from his district partner. He brushes his palm over the rough ground, barely noticing the dry grass as it scrapes against his skin. Tears stream down his cheeks but he doesn't curl up into a ball and wish to disappear like he probably should. Instead, Levi's nails bite into the soil and he tilts his head up to the stolid sky.

"Is this what you want?" His voice is barely a whisper even in the quiet arena. Levi can't be sure who he is talking to at this point. The Capitol, who forced them into this hell. His uncle, who never let Levi grieve for his rebel parents. Or maybe himself, the coward who was fine to sink into the background and let everything happen as long as he could still continue breathing. He's not even sure if he's talking about Verdana anymore.

"Is this what you want?" Levi yells to the sky, his vision so blurry with tears that he can see nothing but the swirling darkness above him. "You let her die!"

Levi uses the back of his hand to wipe away the next wave of tears, but it's no use as another quickly replaces it. He grabs his pack from the ground and swings it over his shoulder, each breath feeling like a knife to his stomach as he steps around his dead ally. This is how all of them are going to end up, dead and forgotten on the ground because no one decided they are worth standing up for. All of them but one, who's going to be so broken apart that they'll never be a nuisance to the Capitol. It's the perfect game for the President. The perfect, sadistic game.

He doesn't want to, but Levi forces himself to look back at Verdana before he leaves the clearing. Her limbs are splayed out around her, eyes still squinting skyward. Levi scurries back to her side, barely crouching down enough to allow him to close her eyes. It shouldn't matter anymore, she's gone, but this tiny action feels bigger than anything he's done since leaving District 7.

Levi stands to leave, grasping the strap of his bag so tightly that it leaves an indent behind on his skin. He tilts his head up once more, hoping that someone will be watching and almost certain that this will be the case. His words are quiet, but they are clear. "You did this."

From the moment Jory wakes up, he is sore. It's easy to blame the tossing and turning or the slightly off angle that his neck had been in, but Jory knows that isn't all that's going on. He's never felt this completely exhausted in his life, not even in the early days of training with his father. His legs throb from walking, his back aches from sleeping on the hard soil, and his eyes burn from the dry air. More than anything else, though, his mind just feels numb.

Two nights filled with horrific dreams, two sets of dark eyes pleading with Jory not to let them die, and two hearts that have stopped because of him. It doesn't get any easier waking up knowing that he is hardly even a person anymore. Jory didn't choose to be here, but he chose to play. Is this what he has to look forward to after getting out of this place? A life filled with nightmares and the foggy ghosts of tributes following him around wherever he goes? At this point, almost anything could sound better.

Except dying and, of course, that's the only consolation prize.

"Morning."

It's hard to know if it truly is morning, but they've each had at least a few hours of sleep by now. Sinead cannot even begin to describe how heavy her eyelids are, but she has no desire to lay down and try for more sleep. All she can hear when she closes her eyes are Capri's screams and the conversation happening behind her before they found the mutt. Two of Sinead's allies are gone and the third is a murderer. In her mind, that's pretty much the same as having three dead allies.

"Did you get enough sleep?" Jory asks, stiffly sitting up and rolling his neck from side to side.

Sinead shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

"I know yesterday was hard-" Jory begins but Sinead cuts him off.

"We need to find more food today, more water too but that can wait a couple hours."

"I know," Jory nods, then after a pause continues. "Are you alright?"

"I recognize a few of the plants but none of them are that nutritious," Sinead says, ignoring his question. She has no desire to talk to him about what's going on in her mind, especially because Sinead can't even make sense of it herself right now.

"Sinead," Jory tries, his voice hardening.

"What?" Sinead snaps, turning suddenly to face him.

"I wouldn't have made you leave Capri if it wasn't so dangerous," Jory tells her. "I know you're upset but I was just trying to protect you."

"You don't know anything," Sinead retorts, "And I don't need you to protect me."

"That's not what I meant," Jory tries.

"Then what did you mean?" Sinead asks. "That I'm some kid that can't handle this and that soon enough I'll be dead too so you're just trying to make me feel better in the meantime? That I don't know what I'm doing and you do? That I'm not capable of understanding the fact that you murdered someone and didn't even trust me enough to tell me?"

Sinead crosses her arms over her chest, biting her lip to keep her tears from falling as she does her best to avoid eye contact. She didn't mean to let all of it out so quickly, but everything has been bottled up in her mind since yesterday. By the look on Jory's face, he doesn't know what to say now either. Sinead looks away, unwilling to be the next one to speak.

"I'm sorry," Jory says finally. He wants to deny it, to fight her on every sentence that she said, but all of it is true.

"Let's just go look for breakfast," Sinead replies, pushing herself to her feet. She doesn't wait to see if Jory is going to follow her, though she's pretty sure that he will. At this point, there isn't much of a choice. Still, Sinead lets out a breath when she hears footsteps begin behind her. Things will never be like they were in the Capitol, but even this is probably better than being alone.

"Wake up."

Fitzroy slaps the hand away from his shoulder but pushes himself up from the ground anyways. He smears dried drool from his cheek and blinks away the grogginess, realizing a few seconds later why his surroundings aren't getting any brighter. His heart starts to pound, and Fitzroy looks around for his allies, but only just catches the back of one before they disappear to his right.

Fitzroy opens his mouth, but quickly clenches it shut again when he hears it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, even if no voices trail behind them. Fitzroy pushes himself up to stand, panic washing over him as he quietly steps in the direction that he last saw movement. They're gone, but they couldn't have gotten very far. Doran and Chiara wouldn't just leave him. They need Fitzroy. They don't even like each other, they'll never work without him.

They need me. They won't leave.

Fitzroy forces his breathing to calm as he walks quietly after his allies. It's too dark for anyone to find him easily, but that also makes it difficult to get around. A thin branch slaps him across the face and Fitzroy throws his hands up in defence. He swallows thickly and keeps moving, willing himself not to run. Part of him wants to crouch down and hide right here, but Fitzroy isn't sure what Chiara heard before she woke him. Whoever is out there might already know where they were, and Fitzroy isn't moving quick enough away from there.

Fitzroy folds himself into the ground as soon as he sees them, a whimper just barely contained by his trembling hand. There are at least two, though the tiny glimpse was not enough to identify them. Fitzroy looks around for Doran, for Chiara but he doesn't see either of them. They have to be close, Fitzroy tells himself but he isn't certain anymore. He did everything right. His plan should work. They should be here to protect him, jumping at the chance even, but he's alone.

He refuses to let himself believe that they left him behind.

The tribute nearly steps around him, but Fitzroy sees the flash of recognition in his face as he turns in Fitzroy's direction. Fitzroy presses himself up again to his feet, taking off in the exact opposite direction of the tribute from District 4. The volunteer doesn't hesitate and Fitzroy can hear footsteps crashing against the soil behind him. Fitzroy doesn't allow himself to look back.

Doran presses himself into the ground as he hears running from around him. He can't be sure if it's Chiara or Fitzroy or whoever had been walking around their camp when he woke up. Either way, Doran doesn't want to find out and he knows that sinking against the dark landscape is his best chance right now. His tiny dagger trembles in his hand and Doran hopes that he won't have to try using it today.

The footsteps come far too close for comfort and Doran holds his breath as they crash around him. Tears sting his eyes, but he forces himself to remain still. If he moves now, he'll be found but it's still almost impossible to fight the urge to run. Doran finally lets out his breath when two figures pass to his left without stopping. In this moment it doesn't matter that one of them is Fitzroy. All that matters is that they didn't find Doran.

Fitzroy can feel that the tribute is close and turns around just in time to dodge a long stab from the volunteer's spear. Fitzroy throws himself to the ground and scrambles around the other boy, trying to move as fast as he can to avoid the weapon. The spear is buried in the soil by his head and Fitzroy reaches out for it, using all of his strength to try and wrench it from the tribute's hands. The cool metal slides out of his grip and Fitzroy kicks out at the boy's legs, just trying to do anything to knock him off balance so that Fitzroy can get away. The bruises forming on Fitzroy's knees and hands don't matter right now. He has to get away.

Jordan doesn't bother to avoid the boy's frantic kicking, allowing his boot to absorb the blow to his ankle. He isn't sure where Ashara is right now, but she can't be far behind him. Jordan considers for a moment that he could allow her to take this one, just so that she won't be the only one without a kill. That part of his mind is easily drowned out as the boy once again attempts to push himself to his feet. Jordan arcs his spear down to the ground, driving the tip into the tribute's thigh to the sound of his deafening scream.

Jordan tells himself not to flinch, but that's impossible. The tribute looks up at him, fear and anger manifesting in his eyes like the thick fog surrounding them. Jordan doesn't think the screams are something he will ever get used to, but he mustn't allow them to stop him. He can prove himself here, he has proved himself here. Jordan is in control, and that's something he's never been able to say about himself. It should matter that what he's doing is wrong, but somehow it doesn't.

Fitzroy screams again as the spear is pulled free of his leg, jets of blood pooling under his pants and marking the soil beneath. Fitzroy tries to stand but the pain sends sparks shooting into his vision. He pulls himself a couple of steps, but each movement feels like torture. Still, he refuses to give up. Fitzroy is going to get out of this. He is going to survive this. He isn't going to die in this place.

Ashara arrives barely in time to see Jordan plunge his spear into the side of the tribute's chest and she quietly looks away as blood seeps out from the metal edges. When Jordan turns to her, his face is as expressionless as if she had caught him reading the newspaper. His hand still grips the base of the spear, fingers white from the firm grasp. Ashara nods stiffly, taking slow breaths to try and convince herself not to panic. There is blood everywhere. She didn't know that there could be this much blood.

When the boy's cannon finally fires, it's a welcome sound to Ashara. It means that they can go and she can make some attempts to wash the iron smell out of her nose. "Good one."

Jordan nods in response, the adrenaline finally beginning to leave his system as he still holds on tightly to his spear. He turns to look at the boy, one gaping hold in his leg and another in the side of his chest as Jordan finally removes the spear. I did this. Jordan finds it difficult to convince himself that he regrets it.

Xxx

The arena is silent around him for several moments before Doran allows himself to stand up again. His steps are slow and somehow his surroundings don't even feel real in this moment. Doran flinches as the screams replay in his ears, nowhere close to the volume of the real ones but terrifying all the same. His steps feel heavy and he isn't sure where he is going, but it doesn't take long until he sees someone.

As Chiara spots Doran, she knows that he isn't likely able to read the expression on her face, but she does her best to project confidence either way. Though the footsteps and screaming are long gone, Chiara knows that she still has every reason to be afraid. In the arena, danger can and does come out of nowhere. She's lucky that she was the one on watch tonight or else all three of them might have been dead. Chiara isn't sure that she'll ever sleep again after today. It was just so close.

"He's dead," Doran says, not even realizing that he is about to speak until the words pour from his lips. He doesn't try to hold back the tears that drip down his cheeks. Even after all that has happened in these past few days, realizing that Fitzroy is gone isn't something that Doran is prepared for.

Chiara opens her mouth to speak but closes it just as quickly, answering Doran with only a stiff nod.

Doran isn't sure what else he can say as he watches the same grief form in Chiara's eyes. It's clear to him that the two of them were close, even if it was more of a love-hate relationship than anything else. He can remember the first moments after realizing that Emilia was gone. He had been devastated, in fact Doran can't lie and say that he's any better even days later. The earlier animosity melts away and Doran places a hand on Chiara's shoulder, biting his lip to keep from saying anything more. Surprisingly, Chiara doesn't push him away.

They step in silence for a while, both actively avoiding the direction where they know Fitzroy's body will be. It's Doran who finally speaks, his voice nothing more than a whisper. "I'm sorry, about yesterday."

Chiara just nods, not trusting herself to speak without completely breaking down. All she can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other as waves of emotion crash over her- first sadness, then anger, and then even deeper sadness. She wants to reach out and strangle someone, but the strength leaves her almost as quickly as the urge. It's strange how much Chiara doesn't believe he's really gone even though she heard his cries.

Doran understands not to say anything further, but the guilt is all consuming. They've both lost someone important to them, and even knowing where they were headed days ago it doesn't make it easier to cope. Doran blamed Chiara for not helping Emilia when she had the chance, but is that not what he just did to Fitzroy? He glances over at Chiara, her wet eyes staring intently ahead and full of tears she is unwilling to allow. Doran feels like the biggest hypocrite in Panem. In just a few minutes, so much has changed and he doesn't feel like he even has the right to look at her anymore.

"Should we head back?" Ashara asks, pushing branches out of the way as she walks between them. She looks behind her to see Jordan only a few feet behind, the blunt end of his sword dragging at his feet. Even through the dim night she is able to see the smears of dark crimson painting the weapon's tip. Ashara turns back to stare ahead, sweat collecting around the knife handle in her palm.

"Not yet," Jordan says flatly. "We've only been out here a few hours. Aristona will want to go longer."

Ashara nods, even though it's not the answer she is hoping for. "How can you tell how long it's been?"

Jordan shrugs, looking around at the night air that is as dark as the day they arrived. "I can't."

Ashara sighs and begins trudging forward again, each step feeling a little heavier than the last one. It feels like it's been forever since they left Aristona and Delias, their fearless leader finally deciding to take Ashara's advice and split up for the day. Ashara knew that they'd move more quietly this way and their earlier kill has already proven her theory. She tells herself that this is a good thing, but the sick feeling still swelling in her stomach says differently.

She thought that training and watching the Hunger Games would prepare her for the reality of the arena, but watching Jordan kill that boy was nothing like Ashara expected. She left their camp this morning upset that she was the only one left without a kill, but now she's almost grateful. Ashara isn't certain that she could have looked down at that boy screaming, his leg flooding with blood, and struck him again. However, Ashara also knows that she needs to get used to the idea of being as cruel as Jordan and Aristona if she's going to make it out of here.

She's not giving up on herself, in fact she is about as far away from that she one could get. Ashara just needs time to adjust, to let the simmering water boil around her until she doesn't notice that it's cooking her alive. It's the only way to stay calm, to stay capable. It's the only way to gain enough time to escape.

Ashara lets out a slow breath. She's not normally the type to talk things through, but right now anything feels better than sinking deeper into her thoughts. At least for now, while she's still processing. "What do you think about all this?"

"Hm?" Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow.

"The arena, the tributes," Ashara shrugs. "Is it what you thought it would be?"

Jordan thinks about this for a moment. He guesses that he always assumed he would be afraid, that he would lie awake all night wondering what would come next. Even after a year of endless training, Jordan didn't truly feel prepared as he waited in the Capitol for launch day. Yet, now that he's here it's impossible to explain the freedom that he feels without sounding like a psychopath. Jordan's always been angry with his place in District 4, being born into such a poor family, but he never realized how heavily that weighed on him. In the arena, none of that matters. Still, he doesn't think now is the time to be truthful. "I guess."

"Really?" Ashara asks.

"I didn't think about it much," Jordan lies.

"I'm surprised."

"Why?"

"You knew you'd be volunteering," Ashara says carefully. Jordan might know better than to believe that she planned on volunteering when she was reaped, but that doesn't mean Ashara should tear down that image of herself. "I thought about it a lot back at home."

"Is it what you expected?" Jordan asks.

Ashara lets a weak smile creep across her face, but there isn't an ounce of humour in the expression. "Not at all."

The air is silent around them, settling into the kind of murky dimness that Erdan doesn't think he will ever get used to. The morning, if Erdan can even really call it that at this point, feels different even though nothing in his life really should have changed. He's still here, he still has Sadira, and somehow they're surviving. Yet, the emptiness is even deeper today. Erdan can feel that Capri isn't out there anymore. He supposes that he's sort of glad that it bothers him, even if they didn't end off on a good note. Erdan isn't sure how it would feel to look at himself and realise that he's glad she's dead. He's comforted by the fact that he doesn't have to.

Somehow, through all of this he's still himself. Exhausted? Yes. Terrified? Definitely. Broken? More than a little bit. At his core, though, Erdan doesn't feel so different. He's still the same kid that wants to be free from his chains and strike out on a life that he decides on. It's simply that the chains have changed hands- his parents gave them up to the Capitol and the Capitol pulled them a hell of a lot tighter.

"Move!"

Erdan barely shakes himself out of his thoughts in time to see Sadira taking off between the trees. He doesn't understand at first, but he's certainly not stupid enough to argue with her. Erdan follows her as quickly as he can, taking care to step around the roots that plunge up from the soil. He's caught his foot in enough of those already, and now is definitely not the time.

He throws himself backwards as something flies across his path, the breath he'd been taking coming out in a feeble choke. Erdan scrambles backwards, seeing the long stripe of metal sticking straight out from the tree just in front of him. His eyes are wide, but it's impossible to see Sadira anymore. Erdan looks quickly from side to side before ducking around the impaled tree, not knowing what else he can do. Tears sting his eyes as he runs, the cool air slapping him across the face until his gasping sobs force him to take a break.

"Erdan?" A hand reaches for his shoulder and Erdan collapses in the opposite direction, all of the fear bubbling up to the surface at once. Fingertips grip his arms and pull him back to his feet, and Erdan doesn't have the strength or wherewithal to resist. "Erdan it's me."

Sadira gasps as Erdan turns into her arms, his entire body shaking as he fights to catch his breath. She doesn't push him away, allowing her ally to hold tightly to her for support. Sadira's heart begins to slow down in her chest as she realizes that he's okay. She heard the thud behind her as she ran. She thought it was him. A couple of stray tears run down her cheeks and she sighs into the top of his head. She thought he was hurt, maybe even dead.

She thought he was hurt, and she left him.

The first thing that runs through Noemma's mind as her spear sticks into the tree trunk is that she has failed. It was a straight throw, one that she thought she had gotten pretty good at during the first day of training and that even the instructors said she had done well with. Noemma should have made the shot but she missed. Her heart sinks into her stomach as she looks behind her, but of course Evi is staring directly at her.

The second thing is shame. She's upset… because she didn't kill someone? Noemma tries desperately to convince herself that she didn't mean it, that she threw the spear in an effort to scare them away from her and Evi, not to hurt anyone. Noemma could never hurt anyone, could she? She jogs over to retrieve her weapon, which requires a lot more strength to free from the tree than she expected. Noemma feels sick the entire time because there is no lying to herself about the real intention.

This wasn't the same as what happened on the first day. She didn't push a crate over to save her ally. Noemma tried to hurt someone, maybe she even tried to kill them. She turns back to Evi, almost expecting her ally to reflect the same shame back at her.

"I didn't mean to," Noemma chokes out, tears building but somehow unwilling to fall even as she tilts her head down to the ground. No one was threatening them; she didn't even see their faces they were so far away. Noemma just heard them and reacted.

"I thought you could do this," Evi says shaking her head. It's hard to even try and hide her disappointment. All of this feels so pointless, trying to make nice with this girl who is so clearly unable to deliver on all the promise Evi saw in training. Evi is certain that she could do better, even if she only spent an hour with the spears. Noemma is so clearly afraid, that's the difference between the two of them.

Noemma looks back up at Evi, her eyebrows drawing in in confusion. "They weren't threatening us."

"Is that your plan?" Evi asks. "Play defence until the end? Grow up."

"Evi," Noemma says, but she isn't sure how to continue. She isn't stupid, she knows where they are, but killing someone just for existing? That's something that Jordan and the volunteers would do. Is it naïve to assume that she can get away with better morals than they can? Noemma feels her cheeks heat up at the realization that maybe she's playing herself.

Evi is sick of being nice and getting nothing in return. Is it wise to be lashing out at someone that just pulled a spear out of a tree? Probably not but Evi is getting impatient. Noemma should want to play along; it shouldn't take this much convincing to get someone to want to live even if Evi is going to do everything possible to ensure that she doesn't. "Are you game or not? I don't feel like wasting my time anymore."

No, Noemma thinks to herself. I don't want to do this, I don't want to play the game you're talking about. She forces the words back down her throat. Noemma isn't sure what would happen if she decided to refuse, but she still has every reason to be afraid. Evi is the only one she can count on right now, even if the stress is getting to her. Noemma reasons that she's probably a bit more irritable by now as well. Panic bubbles in her chest at the thought of Evi hearing the wrong answer, at the thought of her turning around and walking away because Noemma isn't the ally she wants. One disagreement doesn't have to mean the end; it can't be at this point. She doesn't have anyone else and she simply can't lose Evi. Noemma can't be alone.

"Fine," she says finally. Noemma isn't sure whether or not she is lying, but she hopes that she is.

Aristona looks back to see Delias trailing behind her again. She can see the pain on his face, even if his solemn expression is only minorly changed. Her eyes drop to the tight wrapping around his shin. It's held up all day with only a couple spots of blood marring the stark gauze. Aristona just wishes they could move a little faster. In fact, she wishes that she were with Jordan right now. He wouldn't slow her down this much.

"We can't rest yet," Aristona says flatly.

Delias turns his head up towards her, eyes squinted in concentration with every step. "I know."

Physically, this has been one of the most difficult days of Delias' life. He's no stranger to the soreness that comes from working a bit too hard in the gym or even the pain of the few injuries that he's gotten over the years. Two broken wrists from sparring and a deep cut in his bicep from a knife that the instructors believed had been dulled for training purposes. At least that's what they told Delias, though he knows that almost every trainee has at least one similar scar by the time they graduate.

Still, through all of those injuries Delias had been allowed to recover. He finished the exercise and got patched up in the first aid office, but afterwards he got a few weeks off from training. In the arena, Delias is not afforded that kind of luxury. He doesn't have a choice except to keep going. He knows what will happen if he gives in, if he lets the others think he is too weak to be useful any longer.

Delias is strong enough to withstand this. He has to be.

"How much does it hurt?" Aristona whispers from ahead.

Delias shakes his head. He can tell that she is irritated, like this injury is costing her more than it's already cost him. Out of all of their allies, Delias had expected Aristona to understand. He knows that she has a scar down her thigh from last year; he can still see the puffiness around her eye from the Bloodbath. However, she's been colder to him lately than even before they arrived in the Capitol. "I'm fine."

He knows that he should trust her, but this is a pattern far too familiar for Delias. He's always been a little too hopeful, a little too gullible to people's intentions with him. One-on-one they accept him, tell him that they enjoy his company and that they should hang out more. Then they mock him, just like everybody else. Their smiles are meant to tell Delias that they don't mean it, but it's not hard to understand the truth behind their expressions. Delias isn't important to anyone; not important enough to stand up for or even to stand by. Eventually the truth always comes out and Delias can see it happening all over again here.

"Just keep up," Aristona says coolly, turning away to effectively end the conversation.

Delias takes another step to follow her, pain shooting up his leg the second his boot touches the ground. He trusted her, believed her when she told him that they were going into this place as a team. He always trusts people because Delias wants it to be true so badly it hurts. He doesn't want to be a joke, someone that's just there for everyone else's entertainment. Unfortunately, that's all he's ever been.

"What happened to 'in this together'?" The words are louder than he expected, but there is no taking them back. Delias plants his feet firmly on the ground, refusing to sway as another wave of agony washes over him. He waits for Aristona to turn and face him as angry tears gather in his eyes. He waits for her to lie and say that it's always been true when there's proof it hasn't been.

"We're together, aren't we?" Aristona replies, her voice nothing like the soft tone she used on their last night in the Capitol. She sounds bitter, like she wishes her statement weren't true. Delias is ashamed to discover how much this hurts him.

"No," Delias says, shaking his head. It feels impossible to say more even as he remembers his promise to communicate with her.

"I didn't think you'd get hurt," Aristona says finally. She is surprised by the venom of her words, surprised at how easy it is to tell him the truth. They should be a team, they are a team, but that offer isn't unconditional.

Delias opens his mouth but just shakes his head in response. It's all true, she's written him off because he's hurt. Delias shouldn't blame her, but that's simply not possible at this point. She lied to him. Delias clenches his mouth shut and takes in a slow breath, trying to find the words but afraid to say any of them. She lied to him, she doesn't care. He's walking all over this stupid arena because that's what she wants, but Aristona doesn't give a shit about him anymore. He's like a prized cow that's gotten trapped in the wire fencing- good for nothing but a bullet in the head.

"We can't just stop trying," Aristona tells him, nearly shouting by this point. "You of all people should understand. We keep going no matter what."

Delias keeps his face blank, his teeth gritted because he knows that there is nothing he can say to change her mind. Just like everyone else, Aristona has made her choice about him and Delias once again gets no say in the matter. His shin protests the continued pressure but he doesn't move a muscle. He's not broken like Aristona thinks he is; he's strong, the toughest trainee in the Academy. Otherwise he wouldn't be here.

"Don't you get it?" Aristona cries. "We don't get to decide, we do what we're trained to do. Do you think I want to lose you? I don't, but this is how things go here, Delias. We don't get to decide."

He's never seen this much emotion from his district partner, but it doesn't affect Delias like she probably expects it to. She's wrong, they do have a choice and she's clearly made hers. Delias is only useful when he's whole, and Aristona has already decided that he isn't anymore. He'll prove her wrong. Delias clenches his jaw and steps past her, pushing past a couple of branches that reach into his path. They snap cheaply and the debris falls to the ground behind him. Delias doesn't look back to see if she's following, all he can do is focus on putting one painful foot in front of the other.

Florian presses his hands against his temples, attempting but failing to calm the trembling in his fingertips. Every sound carried to his ears feels too loud, even the swishing of the breeze that days ago he would likely not even noticed. The screams that woke him out of a restless sleep still echo inside his skull, mixing with Ira's, with the girl from yesterday, with all the cries he heard on the first morning. It's too loud, but pushing his ears closed does nothing but amplify the broken voices.

He lifts the water bottle to his lips, but once again nothing comes out. Florian licks his lips to try and stop the burning feeling as they crack apart, but relief only lasts a few seconds before the sensation comes back tenfold. He needs to find water, food as well, but even just standing up sounds like it will take far more energy than he currently has.

Tears sting his eyes, which Florian doesn't need a mirror to know are still puffy from sleep. He's been kidding himself for these last few days, thinking that maybe he could survive in this place but he's certain now that he cannot. He's afraid, helpless, and too much of a coward to even force himself up from the ground. It will only be a matter of time before someone or something comes to finish him off. Florian knows that this should be a welcome thought, that pretty soon this nightmare will be over and he can finally get out of this place.

However, Florian is terrified. As much as he feels like it will be better, like maybe in hindsight it would have been better if he just died on the first day, he is still human. Something deep inside him doesn't want to give up, no matter how many times Florian tells himself that it's pointless to do anything else.

Florian whimpers as a figure darts out from between the trees, tears collecting in his eyes before he can even decide what to do. He curls in on himself, covering his head as if somehow that will protect him from what is about to happen.

"There's a stream that way."

Florian lifts his eyes to peer over his knees and sees that the figure is indeed talking to him. His eyes follow the direction that the tribute is pointing, though the trees on every side of them all look the same.

"I-I'm sorry?" Florian stammers, but his voice is so soft he's unsure the tribute will even be able to hear him.

Despite the fact that he likely doesn't look much different, Levi can't help but look down at the frightened tribute with pity. His eyes are so wide Levi worries they might pop out of their sockets, and his face is smeared with more grime than should be possible in just a couple of days. He thinks he remembers him being from 12, but there is no name attached to the memory. For a moment, Levi considers asking but quickly decides that he doesn't want to know.

"Water," Levi says. "It's that way if you need some."

Levi turns and walks away before he says anything else, hoping that the tribute understood him. He knows that it's dangerous to approach the people he doesn't know, but Levi is finding it difficult to care about that right now. They're all innocent- him, Verdana, the girl that he murdered just yesterday. That kid doesn't deserve to die of dehydration, well actually he doesn't deserve to die at all. All of this is utter bullshit and Levi is tired of being still like he has been the last few years. He's angry, he's indignant, and at this point he has nothing to lose. He's just as exhausted as the boy behind him, but he's not eager to sit down and wait for it all to be over.

Levi isn't sure what he's going to do, but he isn't going to be the tribute they want anymore. The others aren't his enemies, no matter what the Capitol says. His parents knew the real traitors all along, and they're the ones sitting at the control panel.

16th: Verdana Corbel, District 7

15th: Fitzroy Gordon, District 6

A/N: Hey all! I'm sorry for a bit of a longer wait for the update but I just had a pretty busy week with exams, meetings, etc. As always, I apologize to the submitters that lost their tributes this chapter. Hope that everyone is still enjoying the story and that you're all settling into school/work/hobbies or whatever else is starting up again now. Remember to still be safe and practice good handwashing!

Who do you think is in danger next chapter?

The Art of War is still accepting submissions until Sept 12th for those of you that might still be interested. It's a fun AU story based around a team competition version of the Hunger Games. I urge you to check it out if you haven't already!

~ Olive