Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Just a reminder to vote in the final eight poll.

Day Three
Round About

Toshiro Koyama
District Two Mentor

Sometimes there weren't any good options.

Tosh shook his head as Etora made her way farther away from the other Careers. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the pack had dissolved so quickly. They weren't really Careers, after all – not most of them, anyway. The bloodbath had gone well for them, but as soon as things had started to go wrong, the alliance had crumbled.

There were no good options when that happened, but Etora had made the best choice she could. She'd left without a fuss, without causing a fight she probably wouldn't have won. If she'd killed one of the others before leaving, they would have had no choice but to come after her. As it was, Mae had let her leave peacefully, and the others didn't have a reason to go after her immediately even if Mae told them which way she had gone.

And that didn't seem particularly likely. Why let her go, only to help the others hunt her down? That was a move a hardened Career might make, but not someone like Mae. Maybe she hadn't wanted to risk a fight that might leave some of her allies injured or dead. Maybe she simply hadn't known what to do. Or maybe she was hoping that Etora might return the favor if they ran into each other again.

Maybe she was right.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Tosh looked up as Balthasar took a seat beside him without even waiting for an answer. He shook his head. Some of the other mentors had decided it was a good time to get some sleep. And maybe they were right; a lot of the tributes had been sleeping for hours. Underground, Vashti, Mariska, and Barlen were still on the move, making their way through the tunnels. And Margo, Annemae, and Darian were stirring. They hadn't said where they were going – not out loud, at least – but there was one obvious choice. It wouldn't take them long to decide to head for the cornucopia.

And it wouldn't be hard to nudge Etora in their direction. That was probably why Balthasar was here. And maybe it was worth considering. She and Darian could pretend it had been the plan all along to dissolve the pack and rejoin their district partners. Margo and Annemae would probably go for it, and the audience would love it. It was an interesting idea. Maybe even a good one.

But something in his gut told him otherwise. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

Balthasar raised an eyebrow. "Was I that obvious?"

Tosh chuckled. "Transparently. I haven't been doing this as long as you, but it's only been seven years since I was the one in the arena. It's a tempting prospect, but I think there's something to be said for not putting all four eggs in one basket." If all four of their tributes joined forces and something went wrong…

Balthasar smirked. "Don't you think that should be their choice?"

"What do you mean?"

"You could send Etora a message, something to clue her in to the fact that the others are nearby, and let her decide whether or not she wants to join them."

Tosh thought that over for a moment, but then shook his head. "No."

Balthasar chuckled. "That's it? Just 'no'?"

"That's it. As soon as I send her something, she has to act – one way or another. Right now, she's on her own. The audience is paying attention to her for her own sake, not because of what she might contribute to a Career alliance. As soon as she knows where the others are, she has to think about how it will look to the audience if she doesn't join them." He shook his head.

"I think she's better off on her own."

Etora Nanovi, 12
District Two

Maybe she was better off on her own.

Etora glanced this way and that as she entered the next room, which seemed to be filled with musical instruments. So far, she hadn't seen a sign of any of the other tributes. Not that she was really looking for a fight at the moment. Right now, she just wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the rest of the pack.

Didn't she?

Etora stopped near one of the larger instruments, pausing for a moment to get a good look around. There was another door to her right – a door that would lead back closer to the cornucopia. The others would be expecting her to run, to get as far away from them as possible. What if the safest place was actually right under their noses?

It was certainly worth a look. If the others were looking for her already, after all, this wasn't the way that they would go. Mae knew which direction she had gone, after all, and could easily lead them the right way if she wanted to. If she didn't want to find Etora, she would probably lead them in the opposite direction entirely. Either way, this might be the best choice.

Etora took a deep breath as she made her way towards the door. Nothing. Still nothing. And if it turned out this was a mistake, she could always head back the other way. If there were tributes in the next room, she could handle them. That was what she'd been telling herself about every new room since leaving the others. Even if she found someone, she could handle them. She could take care of herself.

She already had three kills, after all – more than any of the others. As far as she knew, at least. There hadn't been any cannons since she'd left Justus, Genevieve, and Mae. So if any of the Careers did have more kills, it would be Darian. Or Macauley or Elliot, but they were gone.

Maybe.

Etora quietly slipped through the next door. She didn't see anyone. Or much of anything at all. The room was darker than the others, with only a few candles. A large cauldron sat in the center of the room, giving off a slight greenish glow. Etora took a few steps closer. The cauldron was big; like everything else in the castle, it looked like it had been made for a giant. It was easily large enough to hide a few tributes inside. It would be the perfect hiding place if someone had heard her coming.

Which meant it was the first place she had to check.

Slowly, she crept closer. Closer. Standing on her toes, she managed to peer over the edge. Nothing. There was nothing inside – no tributes, and not much of anything else, either. Nothing but a bit of green slime that coated the sides. Etora quickly pulled her hand away, wiping it off. It had a strange smell. Maybe—

Maybe it was poisonous. Maybe not. She couldn't be entirely sure. Her hand seemed fine, but maybe she could use it to coat her weapons. Or at least the darts she'd taken. That would be a start. Blades weren't generally a good thing to coat with poison. All it would take was an opponent getting ahold of her weapon for a moment. Just long enough for them to scratch her with it. Darts, on the other hand…

It was somewhere to start, at least. Etora quickly removed the blowgun and darts from her bag, carefully coating the darts in the liquid. As she was peering over the edge of the cauldron, however, something caught her eye. Something at the bottom. It looked almost like a door. A trap door of sorts in the bottom of the giant pot.

Etora couldn't help a smile. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Carefully, she slung her supplies into the cauldron and clambered over the edge. No one would be able to see her, but she would still be able to hear anyone who came into the room. They would never know what hit them, and then she could open the trap door and—

One thing at a time. First, she had to make sure she wouldn't be hurtling down into nothingness once the door opened. Carefully, she lifted it open. Sure enough, there was a staircase leading down into … what? Another level of the castle? Another room? How deep did it go?

She would have to find out later. Right now, she had a good hiding place, as well as a way to escape if more than one tribute happened to find her – or if the darts weren't quite as lethal as she'd thought. Etora settled down against the side of the cauldron, smiling a little for the audience – and for Tosh, if he was watching.

She was doing just fine on her own.

Genevieve Odele, 17
District One

They had been doing just fine.

Genevieve rolled over a little, surprised by the sudden pinging sound. It was unmistakably the sound of a parachute, but what would the sponsors be sending? Sure, they'd lost a few members of the pack, but there was nothing the sponsors could send that would fix that. And they had all the supplies they could possibly want. So what…?

"Where's Etora?" Justus' voice broke through the pinging sound. Genevieve sat up, startled, as if the younger girl might jump out and attack them at any moment. But Etora was nowhere to be seen. "She was keeping watch," Genevieve muttered. "We let her keep watch, and now she's gone. Perfect."

Stupid. Stupid of them to trust her to keep watch. But what choice had they had? They couldn't just stay awake forever. Mae was rubbing her eyes sleepily; the pinging had probably woken her, too. They were just lucky Etora hadn't decided to take them out before leaving.

Finally, the package landed between the three of them. Sure enough, it had a 1 on it – as well as an "M." Justus picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and handed it to Mae. "Looks like this one's for you."

Mae looked as surprised as the rest of them, but she took the package and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper. More like parchment, really. Very old-looking, even though there was no way it was really that old. Like everything else in the arena, it was designed to look that way. It was all for show.

It was a show she would have loved, if she'd been the one watching it. It would have been exciting, watching the tension that was building in the Career pack, wondering whether they were going to pull together or crumble completely. It would have been exhilarating to see one of them get a package from the sponsors. It would all have been wonderful, if it wasn't her life that was on the line.

But it was her life. Genevieve glanced over Mae's shoulder at the piece of paper, keeping a careful distance, as if it might spring up and bite her. Of course, it didn't do anything of the sort. It simply sat there in Mae's hands while the three of them took a good look. It was a map of sorts. There were clearly rooms, with the throne room in the center. In one direction was the room they had explored earlier. Earlier that day? The day before? She couldn't really be certain. But a rough drawing of a bed in one of the rooms left no doubt which direction was which.

Most of the other rooms didn't have markings, aside from five red dots. One of them was in the center of the throne room – perhaps marking where the three of them were. The others were spread out across the map. Were they other groups of tributes? If so, they would have to move quickly. If the map showed where the tributes were now, they couldn't count on them staying there for long.

Genevieve glanced at Justus, who nodded. They could worry about Etora later. Right now, they had a plan. Or if not a plan, than at least an idea of which way to go. One of the red dots was closer than the others – in a room a few to the right of where the bedroom seemed to be. Mae turned the map in her hands until it was facing the right direction. "The nearest dot is that way," she remarked matter-of-factly, pointing at the door.

And that was all that needed to be said. It was clear what the sponsors were trying to do. And if they refused to play along, things weren't likely to go well. "I guess we'll just have to leave the supplies as they are," Justus concluded, glancing around as if he expected someone to immediately take the opportunity to rush in and grab what they wanted.

Genevieve nodded. There wasn't a choice. If Etora was gone, if it was really just the three of them now, then they couldn't afford to leave anyone behind. She quickly shouldered her bag, chose a long dagger and a hatchet, and grinned at Justus.

"Let's get moving, then."

Mae Swenson, 13
District One

"Let's get moving, then."

Mae nodded as she stuffed a little more food in her bag. The others quickly did the same. Even if they weren't gone for long, there was always a chance that someone would come along and decide to ransack the cornucopia. They weren't likely to be able to carry off everything, of course, but they could set it on fire or something. Or they could poison it. That wasn't a bad idea, really. They wouldn't even have to poison all of it – just enough that the three of them who were left could never be certain that it was safe.

Of course, the same thing could have happened when they'd left Darian and Elliot to guard the supplies. Anything could have happened to the food, and they hadn't even bothered to check. What if it was already poisoned? What if…?

"Mae?" Justus' voice shook her from her thoughts. "Good to go?"

Mae looked up, startled, then back at the map. He was waiting for her because she was the one with the map. For whatever reason, the sponsors had chosen to send something to her. That made her a valuable member of the group. If not for that, would Justus and Genevieve have simply left without her, maybe suggesting that she guard the cornucopia while they were gone?

Would they ever have come back for her?

Mae nodded. Maybe she should have gone with Etora. She'd thought about it, as the younger girl had slipped off into the shadows. She'd thought about asking Etora if she wanted company. But she hadn't quite worked up the nerve. What if Etora had said no? What if simply asking had woken the others? Or what if Etora had said yes, but suggested that they should kill the others? One on three was one sort of fight; two on two was another sort entirely, especially if two of them were asleep. She and Etora could have killed the other two before they'd had a chance to wake up, if they'd timed it right.

But…

But they were her district partners. That still counted for something. Maybe not much, but something. Enough to keep her from killing them in their sleep without a really good reason. She didn't have a really good reason, and now they were the only allies she had left. She couldn't afford to lose them.

And they couldn't afford to lose her, either, which was why they were still waiting by the door. Mae hurried to catch up, map in hand, grateful that at least the closest dot wasn't in the direction Etora had gone. In fact, none of the dots were. So if they weren't other tributes, what were they supposed to be?

Mae shook the thought from her head. She couldn't ask that sort of question out loud – not without revealing that she knew the dots didn't represent the other tributes, and how she knew that. And if the others knew that she had let Etora go, then…

Then what? It hadn't done any harm. In fact, it was probably the best way things could have turned out. Genevieve already seemed more relaxed now that her biggest competition was gone. And Justus seemed to be relieved that they were doing something again, that they had a purpose. As for herself…

She was alive. That was something. And someone in the audience – or maybe one of the Gamemakers – had decided that she was the one worth sending a gift to. That was good, wasn't it? It meant they thought she had a shot. They could have sent the map to any of them. Hell, they could have simply said it was for all of them, and let them share it. But they hadn't. It was hers.

"Barrels." Genevieve's disappointed voice broke through her thoughts. "A lot of big barrels."

Sure enough, the room was full of giant wooden barrels. "Maybe there's someone hiding in one of them," Justus offered hopefully. "It wouldn't be a bad hiding spot, really. Close enough to the cornucopia to grab supplies if we happen to be gone, a quick place to take cover if someone's coming. Let's have a look."

One by one, he and Genevieve opened the barrels, but something else had caught Mae's eye. Something on the floor, only a corner peeking out from under one of the barrels. "It's not what's in the barrels," she said aloud. "It's what's under them."

Immediately, Justus and Genevieve stopped sifting through the barrels and helped her uncover what turned out to be a door. Some sort of trap door. "Maybe that's what the red dots are," Mae reasoned. "They're not tributes at all. They're doors."

Genevieve shook her head, pointing to the red dot in the center of the map. "So you're telling me there was a trap door in the other room? Where?"

Mae stopped short. She had a point. They'd shifted the supplies around enough that they would have noticed a door in the floor. "I don't know," she admitted as Justus opened the door, revealing a staircase that led down into the darkness. "But I don't think there are any tributes here, so…"

"So we might as well have a look down here," Justus agreed, peering down the staircase. Mae nodded a little as she followed the others down, closing the door behind her.

It was certainly worth a look.

Ti Bulgur, 14
District Nine

It was certainly a good thing they hadn't gone back that way.

Ti nodded silently at Retro, who had woken him when the voices in the other room had gotten louder. But the Careers didn't seem interested in coming after them. In fact, the voices were getting quieter. From the sound of it, they'd found something in the floor. Some sort of trap door. And that was a good thing to know, certainly, but it wasn't a direction they wanted to go.

Still, they should probably get moving. The Careers being driven this close to them couldn't have been an accident. The Gamemakers were trying to get them moving. But moving where? And what were they supposed to do? They had plenty of food, but no way to fight. Unless…

Retro had apparently put it together, as well. "If the Careers are in there, then maybe…" He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air. Maybe there was no one left back at the cornucopia. They had plenty of food, but the chance to get some weapons wasn't something they could afford to pass up.

"All right," Ti agreed. "But let's head back this way, instead." He pointed to the other door – the one that didn't lead back to the barrel room. "Just in case they meant to be that loud and left someone to guard the trap door."

Retro nodded his agreement, tucking a little more food into his pockets. Yes, there was plenty of food at the cornucopia, as well, but they wouldn't want to stay there any longer than necessary. "Ready?" Ti asked, heading for the door.

"Almost." Retro was still stuffing his pockets. Ti sighed. Retro was the one who had wanted to get moving the night before, and now he was stalling. Maybe he didn't want to go back to the cornucopia, and had only suggested it because there wasn't any other option. Maybe…

Maybe he just needed a little nudge. Ti made his way to the door, glancing back at Retro, who looked up and started to follow. By the time Ti made it to the door, Retro was hurrying across the room to catch up. "There, that's the spirit," Ti grinned, stepping through the door. "We just head back to the cornucopia, get a few weapons, and we're good to—"

Just as he stepped through the door, however, something struck him. No, that wasn't quite right. It didn't strike him as much as it struck through him. A long, thin blade, sliding straight through his chest. "Run!" Ti gasped as he crumpled to the floor.

He just hoped Retro would listen.

Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five

Part of her hoped Retro would listen.

Macauley drew her rapier out of the boy's chest as his cannon sounded. If everything continued as it had been, the anthem would soon follow, and her face would appear on the wall. That had been the pattern, after all – excluding the bloodbath. Or maybe counting the bloodbath as one group of tributes, rather than seven. Two faces of those who had died. Two of the killers. Then two deaths. Now…

But nothing happened. Well, nothing except the fact that her district partner was now sprinting out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him. Macauley raced after him. She had to at least seem to be trying to catch him. And there was no reason not to – not really. She hadn't hesitated to kill his ally. Come to think of it, she'd killed both of his allies now. The boy from Twelve during the bloodbath, and now the boy from Nine. Maybe it was only fitting to finish him off, too.

Something stopped her, though – or at least slowed her down as she made her way across the room. He was her district partner, after all. And some people considered it bad form to kill a district partner unless it was necessary. Of course, that really only applied to other Careers. Any other year, her district partner would have been a Career. They would have stood a chance in a fight. A fair fight.

But Retro wasn't a Career. He was just a kid. A kid who would have to die eventually, so why not now? Macauley hurried into the next room, which was full of barrels. And … and a trap door. A trap door that lay open on the floor. That must be where he'd gone, since she couldn't see him anywhere else. He wouldn't be stupid enough to try to hide in one of the barrels, would he?

No. No, he must have gone down the trap door. Macauley slid through the door, closing it behind her. It led to a staircase, which spiraled down into the darkness. Macauley clutched her rapier as she kept going. Down. Down. How far did it go? Surely she should have caught him by now. He couldn't have that much of a head start.

Macauley took a deep breath as she reached the bottom, but then she burst out laughing. The other three Careers turned to her, startled. It was a moment before Justus spoke. "Macauley?"

"Yeah." She shook her head. "You didn't see anyone else come down the stairs, did you?"

Genevieve shook her head. "No. Just you. We were just deciding which way to go when you…" She nodded towards the door. "How did you know we were here?"

"I didn't," Macauley admitted. "I was chasing someone, and the door was open. Figured they went down here."

Mae raised an eyebrow. "We shut the door when we came down. Whoever you were chasing must have opened it to throw you off their scent."

Macauley nodded, catching her breath. "Smart." Too smart. She should have thought of that. The door had been too obvious. Still, she had made a kill. She wiped the blood off her rapier and onto the lowest step, smiling at the rest of the group. "So what did I miss?"

As it turned out, she hadn't missed much, aside from the fact that Etora was gone, and Darian and Elliot apparently weren't coming back. "Although if you're still alive…" Justus trailed off, letting the rest hang in the air. If she was alive, then the other two might be, as well.

Macauley said nothing. She had thought she had the cannons figured out, but if she was right, the next group of faces should have shown up by now. Maybe she had been wrong, after all. "What about you?" Justus asked, nodding at her rapier, which still had a little blood on it. "Looks like you've been busy."

Macauley nodded. "Turns out, the door in the bedroom leads to some sort of dungeon that only opens from the outside. I got trapped inside, but there's another group in there now – unless they've figured out a way to get out. Killed the boy from Four, too. And one of the little boys from Nine – the one who was working with my district partner. He's the one I was chasing."

"Nice," Genevieve remarked, but there was something in her voice. Jealousy, maybe? After all, Macauley had three kills now, while these three hadn't killed anyone since the bloodbath.

Macauley smirked. "Don't worry; you've got time to catch up." She glanced around at the maze of tunnels leading off in different directions.

"So which way do we go now?"

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

Where was he supposed to go now?

Retro finally stopped to catch his breath as he reached the pile of supplies where the cornucopia would normally have been. He was exhausted, but he couldn't stop here. Not for long. There was no telling when the Careers might come back, or how long it would be before someone else realized there was nobody at the cornucopia.

But he had to catch his breath. Retro sank to the floor near one of the larger piles, tears finally escaping as he pulled his knees to his chest. Ti was dead, but it could have been him. It would have been him, if he'd been a little bit faster. If he hadn't stopped to pack up a few more supplies. Macauley could have caught both of them, and he would be dead.

Or if he had been a little slower when he'd run from the room. Or if she had been a little bit faster. Or if he hadn't thought to open the trap door. Or if she hadn't fallen for his trick. If any one of those things had gone wrong, he would be dead.

But he wasn't.

Not yet.

Okay. Okay, think. Weapons. That was why he and Ti had wanted to head back to the cornucopia in the first place. If anything else happened – no, when something else happened – he would need a way to defend himself. Retro glanced around the pile. There were so many weapons. How was he supposed to choose?

Simple. Pick something simple. He tucked a knife in his pocket alongside the food. Then another. Then he chose a small dagger and a hatchet. Okay. That was something. It felt better to have at least some sort of weapon.

But having a weapon wouldn't have saved Ti. He wouldn't have had a chance to use it. He hadn't been careful. He hadn't been thinking. He'd just walked through that door as if nothing could go wrong.

Retro shook his head. Even if he had been a little more careful – if he'd gone through the door more slowly, or if he'd looked around first – that wouldn't have changed anything. Macauley would still have attacked him. He would still be dead, even if he'd played it safe.

Because in the Games, there was no playing it safe. Period. No matter where he went now, he wouldn't be safe. He would never be safe again. Whether the Gamemakers had driven Macauley towards them or whether she had found them on her own, he wasn't sure, but the Gamemakers had allowed it to happen because he and Ti had been trying to play it safe. They'd stayed in one spot too long. And now Ti was dead.

Ti was dead. David was dead. Somehow, he was the one who was still alive. Retro took a deep breath as he stood up. Okay. Okay. He was okay. He was alive. He was scared, yes. Terrified. But he wasn't hurt. He could still keep moving.

He had to keep moving.

But where?

Retro nearly laughed as the thought occurred to him, but he covered his mouth in time. He knew where he had to go. Exactly where they wouldn't expect him to. Retro gripped the dagger he'd chosen and headed back into the room he'd come from. Back towards the trap door. Maybe the best place to hide was right under their noses.

They would never look for him there.

Annemae Carty, 18
District Two

"There's no one there."

Mae glanced around the room again, just to be sure. There was no one at the cornucopia. The three of them had arrived expecting a fight, hoping to ambush the Career pack while they were still asleep. Instead, there was nothing. They hadn't even left anyone to guard the supplies.

"I guess that makes sense," Darian muttered as they ventured a little closer.

"What makes sense?" Margo asked.

"Not leaving anyone to guard the supplies," Darian reasoned. "I mean, look what happened the last time they did. They must not want to risk losing anyone else."

"Or maybe there just weren't enough of them left to leave anyone," Mae offered hopefully. "There's no telling how many of them might be left, especially since the faces are a bit … off."

A bit. The girl from Eight's face had appeared twice – once with Macauley's face and once with Elliot's. But Elliot's face had been right; that much, they knew for sure. Elliot was dead. Darian had killed him. He'd probably been planning to kill him all along.

Or at least, that was what he wanted the audience to think. Whether it was the truth or not, she wasn't sure. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe the audience didn't care what the truth was, as long as it was interesting. That was why they'd headed back to the cornucopia to take on the other Careers – because the audience would expect it, now that there were three of them. They would expect them to do something.

Apparently, though, the other Career pack had had the same idea. So while they were off doing something, they'd left the supplies behind. And the audience would expect them to … what? Wait around for the pack to come back so they could ambush them? That could be hours from now. Or days. Or never. Mae glanced at the other two, hoping one of them might have an idea.

Margo opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get the words out, the anthem began echoing off the walls. Two faces again – just like every other time since the bloodbath. It was already the fourth time that tributes' faces had appeared. But that couldn't be right. It couldn't be the fourth day already.

Could it?

Maybe it didn't matter. There were three of them, after all, which meant they would be able to take turns resting, no matter when they decided to settle down. Did it really matter whether it was actually night? Or how many days had passed? It wasn't as if they were in a position where they had to ration their food or anything. Not when they suddenly had all the supplies they could ask for at their disposal.

The first face to appear belonged to the girl from Eleven. Then the girl from … Five? But that couldn't be right, could it? All of the other faces had at least been in the right order. Mae glanced at the others, who shrugged. All they knew was that two more tributes were dead; they had no real way of knowing whether it was the two whose faces they had seen or not.

"So Macauley wasn't dead when we saw her face before," Darian reasoned. "And they showed her face at the same time they showed the girl from Eight. What was that – two nights ago?"

"They aren't nights," Margo pointed out.

"Whatever," Darian agreed. "Two anthems ago, then. So those faces were wrong. And we know Elliot's was right. So were the ones from the bloodbath. Maybe that's the pattern. A group of faces that are right, a group that are wrong, and so on."

Mae nodded along. Maybe. But that still didn't help them figure out who was dead. Aside from the girl from Eight, perhaps, because her face had appeared along with Elliot's. But that wasn't exactly useful information.

It didn't tell them who was still alive.

Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four

"I think that means the other girl is alive, too."

Ronan looked up, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Shanali shook her head. "Well, obviously, I'm not dead. So what if the faces aren't the people who have been killed? What if they're the ones who are doing the killing?"

Ronan thought that over for a moment. "But that kid we saw on the stairs the first…" He hesitated. The first what? The first day? The first night? Maybe. Before the first set of cannons, at least. "Anyway, he said that the Careers had killed his district partner – and her face was one of the ones we saw."

"Then maybe some of them are the tributes who have been killed," Kilian reasoned, "and some of them are the tributes who did the killing." He nodded at Shanali. "Like you."

Ronan cringed. Yes, it was true, but did Kilian have to keep reminding them of it? Then again, his words hadn't seemed to bother Shanali. Maybe he was the only one who was uneasy with the reminder that Shanali had killed. That she'd been able to do what he hadn't.

He'd had the chance on the stairs, after all – however many days ago that had been. The boy from Three would have been a quick kill. An easy kill. But he'd hesitated, and the boy had gotten away. He'd let the boy get away. Shanali…

No. No, it wasn't the same. If the boy had attacked him, he would have defended himself, just like Shanali had. And if the girl who had attacked Shanali hadn't had a weapon – or hadn't appeared to – then she wouldn't have killed her.

Would she?

Ronan stretched his arms, holding back a yawn. The anthem had woken them, and he didn't really want to suggest going back to sleep now. Besides, he wasn't really tired. It was just that sleep was easier than staying awake, trying to figure out what to do next, trying to work out how to keep himself and his friends alive.

Except right now … well, there didn't seem to be much to work out. They had food, supplies, weapons, and Shanali had even gotten a sponsor gift. The audience would probably be satisfied with their performance for a while, at least. So what were they supposed to do?

Ronan glanced around at the others. They seemed content to stay put for a while, now that they had found a good place. And maybe there was no reason to get moving yet. There was nothing they needed. Nowhere they needed to go. The audience seemed to be happy with them for now. Maybe the best thing to do was to stay put for a while and get some rest while they could.

Chances were, they would need it later.

Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten

Chances were, they would need all the rest they could get later.

Skyton yawned and rolled over a little on the griffin's back. For its part, the griffin – and, by extension, the Gamemakers – seemed content to let them rest for a while. Whatever its reason for bringing them into this room, it didn't seem particularly eager to move on anywhere else.

As far as Skyton was concerned, of course, that was perfectly fine. Maybe the audience would be content with the fact that they'd been flying around on a giant griffin. Maybe that would be enough – for a while, at least – to make them forget that neither of them had actually killed anyone.

It wouldn't last forever, of course. But it could buy them a little more time. Time to figure out what they were doing – and whether or not they were really willing to do it.

Whether they were really willing to kill. That was what the audience would want to know eventually. But not yet. They still had time. There had been Victors, after all, who hadn't killed until the last day or two of the Games. And one who hadn't killed at all.

One. But that had been a long time ago. And Glenn had been quite clear about the fact that the Gamemakers wouldn't allow something like that to happen again. He couldn't put off killing forever. But he could put it off a little longer. And then a little longer. And maybe…

Skyton closed his eyes, burying his face in the griffin's feathers. He wasn't fooling anyone. He didn't want to kill anyone. He didn't want to be here at all. He wanted to fly back out of the window, out of the arena, beyond the Gamemakers' reach. He wanted to go home, but he didn't want to go home a killer. He just wanted things the way they had been before. Before the Games. Before the reaping. He wanted his normal life, with his normal family, his brother who teased him, his sisters for company.

Skyton took a deep breath. They were watching – all of them. What would they think if they knew what he was thinking right now? What would they say? He was surprised to realize he had no idea. Were they surprised he was still alive? Were they still holding out hope that he would be the one to come home? Were they proud that he'd made it this far without killing, or were they disappointed that he hadn't showed the nerve to do what had to be done?

Skyton ran his fingers along the griffin's feathers. How would he feel, if it was one of them? If it were Clayton or Cameron in the arena, or Lucy when she was older? What would he say to them, if their positions were reversed? What would he want?

That was easier. He would want them back home, wouldn't he? No matter what they had to do. No matter what they had to become. He would want his brother back. He would want his sister back. The rest of it wouldn't matter, as long as he got to see them again.

So maybe … maybe they were thinking the same thing. Probably, even. They probably didn't care how much blood he had on his hands at the end of the Games, as long as he came home to wash it off again.

Skyton's stomach churned at the thought of the image. It was one thing to say that they would want him to do what had to be done. It was another thing to actually do it, when even the thought of blood made him sick. Klaudia had done what needed to be done – or at least, what she had thought needed to be done – and he had run. He had left her when she had probably needed him the most.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Skyton opened his eyes, glancing down at Merrik, who was nestled beside the griffin, sleeping soundly. Or at least, he seemed to be sleeping soundly. Maybe he was just putting on a good show, trying to appear at ease next to the giant beast. They had decided against sleeping in shifts, figuring that the sight of the griffin would scare away anyone who even thought about attacking them. Besides, there appeared to be only one door in or out of the room, and the mutt was facing in that direction.

Skyton nodded a little. Eventually, they would have to leave through that door, and figure out their next move. The griffin could just fly back out the window, of course, but it didn't seem particularly likely to do so. It had brought them here for a reason. And it was only a matter of time before they learned what that reason was.

He just hoped he would be ready for it.

Consus Caepio, 15
District One

He hadn't been ready for this.

Consus drummed his fingers on his leg as the four of them sat silently in one corner of the room, eating a little of the food they had left. What they had would still last them quite a while, but would the Gamemakers really let them simply sit here long enough for the food to run out? Surely that wouldn't be very interesting for the audience to watch.

Then again, if the recent cannon was anything to go by, they were still getting their fill of entertainment from elsewhere. Maybe they would be content to leave the four of them alone for a while. But whether that made their situation better or worse, Consus wasn't really sure. Yes, it would give them a little more time to figure out what to do. But in the end, they were really only delaying the inevitable.

There was no way the Gamemakers were letting them all out alive.

No one wanted to say it. It was bad enough that he'd already said it once. They had immediately agreed that they weren't going to turn on each other, but it was only a matter of time before someone was brave enough – or perhaps frightened enough – to break that promise. Maybe they were the same thing, in the end. Maybe courage was just another kind of fear.

Stop it. It was that sort of overthinking that would lead to one of them doing something rash. The Gamemakers were trying to play a mind game with them. The more he overthought it, the more he was playing right into their hands.

But what if playing into their hands was the thing that would keep them alive?

No. No, not all of them. But it could keep him alive. And two of the others, if they all played their cards right. As long as someone died, maybe the Gamemakers would let the rest of them escape.

Maybe. That was all he had right now – a theory. That wasn't good enough. It wasn't a good enough reason to turn on his allies. His friends. Besides, even if one of the others did make a move, what were the odds that they would go after him?

One out of three. Realistically, those were the odds. Whoever made a move would have three options. Any reason not to pick him was also a reason that could make him a target. The others might see him as an asset because he'd been the one to fetch supplies from the cornucopia, but by the same token, that could also make him the biggest threat – one they might want to eliminate. He was the one who had blurted out that the Gamemakers probably expected them to kill each other. That meant he was either a valuable strategist who had worked out what the Gamemakers were thinking, or the first person the others would suspect.

And the same reasoning applied to the others. Any reason to spare them could also be a reason to take them out first. Wes had been the first to insist that they wouldn't kill each other, which could either mean that he didn't have the nerve or that he was trying to avoid suspicion. Charu was the only one who was still smiling as she looked around at the others, undaunted by their predicament, convinced they would figure something out. Unless that smile meant she had already decided to act and was just waiting for her moment. And Aleyn was injured – however slightly. That made her more of a liability, but it also meant that she might be less likely to attack someone else. Or maybe more likely, if she figured out that she would probably be an easy target for anyone else.

Consus took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of the extra knives in his pocket. The weapons he hadn't told anyone he had taken from the cornucopia. He didn't dare tell them now and hand them out; it would look like he had been hiding something. Sure, he had been hiding something, but that wasn't the point. He'd never meant to kill any of them with the weapons. He'd just wanted a little extra protection.

But now he might not have a choice. Eventually, someone would have to make a move. And if he wanted to be certain of staying alive, it would have to be him.

It was just a matter of time.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

It was just a matter of time.

Barlen shuddered as he caught sight of his hands again. He'd tried to wipe off some of the blood, but he couldn't seem to get rid of all of it. Besides, it had stained his clothes, as well. Too much blood to be his own. His shoulder hurt a little, but not enough to bleed this much. No, it was someone else's blood.

Someone he had killed.

And it was only a matter of time before he would have to do it again.

"Who were they?" he asked quietly, glancing up at the girl beside him as they walked. Marissa? Melissa? The writing on his arm was a little smudged. Mariska. Yes, that was it. From the look on her face, it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question. He could remember some of what had happened. He remembered being afraid. He remembered stabbing … someone. But their face, their name, anything else … It was all gone.

"Maybe you should write it down this time," offered a second voice. Vashti. He remembered that. "That way, you can stop asking."

Barlen hesitated. He'd thought of that – or, at least, he was pretty sure it was him who had thought of it. But there was something about the thought of writing it down that made it … real. It was almost as if that would make it more than a faint, fleeting memory. More than a blurry answer to a hasty question. He didn't want to remember.

Except…

Except if he didn't want to remember, then why did he keep asking for details? Maybe there was a part of him that did want to remember. That wanted to be certain that he had killed, and that he would be able to do it again, when the time came.

You're in the Hunger Games. The words were written on his arm, plain as day. He couldn't forget that. And being in the Hunger Games meant killing. Maybe it would be easier to kill again if he could remember that he had already done it once. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll write it down this time."

Vashti nodded, satisfied. "Good. Her name was Klaudia. She was from District Eight."

District Eight. That sounded familiar, but he wasn't entirely sure why. He glanced up at Mariska, who nodded. "She was trying to kill you. You defended yourself. You won." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You did what you had to do."

Barlen turned his pen over in his hands, trying to figure out what to write. At last, he wrote two words. You've killed. Then, in smaller letters, Klaudia.

They kept walking in silence for a while. Barlen wasn't sure exactly where they were going, but he didn't ask. What was the point? He would forget soon enough, anyway. It was enough that his friends – his allies – seemed to know where they were going. Barlen stretched his arms a little, and the words caught his eye.

You've killed.

Something caught in his throat – a quiet sound. At first, he thought it was a sob. It took him a moment to realize it was a laugh. Well, not a laugh entirely, but at least a chuckle. Mariska looked down at him, startled. "Are you all right?"

Before he could answer, the walls to the path they had been following fell away, and they stepped into a large, open room. Candles lit the walls, and two other paths led out. In the center of the room was a large, gaping hole in the ground. Immediately, Barlen hurried towards it, curiosity bubbling up inside him. He peered over the edge, but he couldn't see anything. It was too dark.

Mariska took one of the candles from the wall and joined him, careful not to get too close to the edge of the pit. She lowered the candle into the hole, but that only lit the sides a few feet down. The hole kept going. How deep? Barlen quickly snatched another candle from the wall and, before anyone could stop him, dropped it into the hole.

The light plummeted down. Down. Deeper and deeper. It wasn't long before they couldn't see it anymore. Then there was a sound. A splash. There was water at the bottom. But how deep? There was no way to tell.

"Barlen?" Mariska's voice again, and she seemed … concerned.

Barlen looked up. "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Why?" He felt his shoulder, which seemed to be fine. "What's wrong?"

"You're smiling."

Barlen hesitated. What was wrong with that? He shrugged. "I'm fine."

But Mariska didn't seem convinced.

Camden Sinclair
District Five Mentor

It seemed like Retro had made the right move.

Camden drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. Macauley and the other Careers were making their way through the maze below the main level of the castle. Retro was staying a safe distance behind them, careful not to get too close or make too much noise. The audience would love it. He was doing something brave, something dangerous – and also something that wouldn't require him to fight, if he played his cards right. He could keep the audience's attention and avoid having to kill for a while at the same time.

If nothing else, the audience would probably be happy that he was finally on the move. In fact, he was one of the few tributes who was moving at the moment. Vashti, Mariska, and Barlen had settled down near the pit to rest. Directly above them at the cornucopia, the trio from Two had decided to stay put for a while. Etora was still lying in wait in the large cauldron nearby, while Ronan and the pair from Eleven were eating a meal in the next room. In the room next to them, Merrik was beginning to stir a little, but Skyton and the griffin were still sleeping soundly.

And the large group trapped in the dungeon were waiting in uneasy silence for something – anything – to happen. Waiting for someone to make the first move, to admit to what had to be done. They wouldn't leave the room without blood being spilled; that much was clear to anyone watching. But who would be the first to act?

Camden shook her head. It didn't matter much, perhaps, as far as her own tribute was concerned. All of District Five's remaining tributes, in fact, were in the lower level of the arena. Whether that was good or bad, she wasn't entirely sure. She'd gotten accustomed, during the last few years, to having Five's tributes not only in the same area, but in the same alliance. Maybe it was only natural that they had gravitated towards the same area.

"I was just telling Balthasar earlier that we shouldn't put all of our eggs in the same basket," Tosh remarked, taking a seat next to Camden. "Looks like you're having something of the same problem."

Camden chuckled. "Not the same basket, maybe, but at least baskets very close to each other." She shrugged. "Then again, that's what the Career pack does most years, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Tosh agreed. "But I'd say that's a somewhat stronger basket, wouldn't you?"

"My twelve-year-old's doing just fine, thank you," Camden pointed out. "And so is yours." Part of her was surprised that Retro was still alive, but until a few hours ago, it had only been a matter of dumb luck. It had been luck that he and Ti had been close to each other during the bloodbath, while David had been on the other side of the circle. It had been luck that he had been the one packing up supplies and Ti had been the one to walk through the door. But now…

Now, it seemed, he was finally starting to put it together. It had been his idea to go back to the cornucopia. It had been his quick thinking that had thrown Macauley off his scent and sent her down the trap door instead. And he had been the one to decide to trail the Career pack, a move that ensured he would know where the strongest alliance in the arena was.

Or at least, one of the strongest. But the other Career pack was still at the cornucopia. If Retro hadn't left when he had…

But he had. He was still alive. Maybe part of it was due to luck, but that was part of the Games. No matter how strong or skilled or well-prepared a tribute was, there were some things that simply came down to pure dumb luck. That was what kept the Games unpredictable, and that unpredictability was what kept the audience coming back year after year. There was no fun, no excitement, in watching a game when they were certain who was going to win. Even those who seemed certain that a Career would win could rarely say for certain which Career.

Camden leaned back in her chair. Retro wasn't a Career. He wasn't even pretending to act like one. But he was finally doing enough to keep the audience interested. And if he could keep them interested for a while – if he could stay alive a bit longer – then maybe he would stumble across an opportunity he hadn't been expecting.

Maybe. It was still a long shot. There were still twenty-one tributes left, after all, and now he had no allies. But maybe that would play in his favor. The audience wouldn't be expecting him to attack – not by himself. Not yet. And certainly not the Careers. He would be able to bide his time for a little while longer.

"Camden?" Harakuise's voice caught her off-guard. He was standing behind her chair, watching her and Tosh with a curious smile. "Do you have a moment?"

Camden raised an eyebrow. "Just me, or both of us."

Harakuise smirked. "Just you for now. Eldred would like a word with us. But this might eventually concern you, Tosh, if my guess is right."

No. No, it wasn't a guess. It was more than that. There was something in his eyes – something that was almost … almost excitement. Anticipation, certainly. Eagerness. But there was no use pressing him for more information – not where the Capitol was involved. And Eldred … Vice President Brand … What did he want with them? Camden couldn't help a smile as she rose from her chair.

This was going to be good.

"Round about the cauldron go; in the poison'd entrails throw."