Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final eight" poll if you haven't yet. A new one will be up along with the next chapter.

I'll try to get an X-Men update up soon; this one just seems to be lending itself more to the "just sit down and write something" pace of Camp Nano, since I already have a good bit of it planned out.

Day Three
No Mercy Left

Hazel Birnam
District Seven Mentor

"He's planning something."

Hazel barely looked up from her drink to see who Mags was talking about. "Harakuise? He's always planning something." That was certainly true. So many of the other Victors always seemed to be up to something. How they had the energy for it during the Games, she would never understand. It was all she could do to try to keep her own tributes alive; plotting and scheming was well out of the question.

Then again, there wasn't much left for her to do this year. Both Thomas and Nephelle were gone, and their only ally, as well. Twenty-one tributes were still alive, but none of them were from District Seven. Her part was done.

Sometimes she wondered why she bothered staying after her own tributes were dead. But it wasn't as if leaving would spare her from the rest of the Games. It would be everywhere in the Capitol, everywhere in the districts. There were Victors who tried to hide in their mansions during the Games, who tried to block it out with drink or morphling, but there was no escaping the Games.

Curiosity drew them back out again. It was sick. It was probably wrong. But she couldn't help wondering who was going to make it out of that horrid arena. So she was watching the screen as closely as any of the others, as if by simply paying attention and willing events to unfold one way or another, she could change the direction of the Games.

She couldn't, of course. None of them could. Not even the sponsors or the Gamemakers – not completely. No matter how much they tried to steer the direction the Games might be going, there were always things that they couldn't control. They could try, but they couldn't force tributes to behave one way or another. Not entirely. They could nudge. They could prod. And they could punish those who wouldn't go along with their 'suggestions,' but they couldn't micromanage each tribute's actions.

Most of the Gamemakers over the years, of course, had known better than to try. Those who hadn't … well, they hadn't lasted long. The unpredictability of the Games was part of what the Capitol enjoyed so much. And without choice, there could be no unpredictability.

Hazel leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her drink. If she was going to be stuck somewhere watching the Games, this was probably a better place than any other. Because the other Victors understood that. The chaos of it all. They could try to guide their tributes, to provide advice and suggestions, but once they were in the arena, most of it was out of their hands. Even if they were lucky enough to be able to send a sponsor gift to their tributes, they couldn't control what the tribute did with it.

If they were lucky enough to get sponsors in the first place. No one had wanted to sponsor Nephelle – not after she'd lost both of her allies in the bloodbath. She hadn't given the audience any reason not to like her, of course, but she hadn't given them much of a reason to support her either. Most tributes hadn't, of course, after the first day or so. A lot of sponsors liked to wait a bit longer than that, let the Games narrow down their options a bit first.

And the options were certainly getting narrower. It was only the third day of the Games – and barely halfway through the day, at that. Fourteen tributes were already dead. Fourteen children who wouldn't be going home this year. More than a third of the tributes were gone.

Hazel shook her head. Part of her was grateful that her tribute's deaths had come relatively quickly. It made little difference in the end, after all. Tributes who lasted almost the whole Games only to die in the finale were just as dead as those who died early on. It was only a matter of how much fear, how much pain and hunger and despair they had to go through before their deaths. In that sense, maybe her own tributes had gotten off easy.

That hadn't made it any easier to watch.

Hazel took another sip of her drink. Mags was already making her way over to where Harakuise was sitting in a corner, talking in hushed whispers with Camden and Eldred. Mags was certainly right about them planning something. The difference was that Hazel knew better than to ask what. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with District Seven.

Maybe that was District Four's problem, in the end. They always wanted to be a part of whatever was going on. Career training? District Four had been one of the later Career districts to take up the idea. Rebellion during the 41st Games? Why not? And now instead of accepting their new place and moving on, some of them were trying to get their Career system back up and running. But they just hadn't had the same amount of interest as before. Maybe sending extra tributes to every Games since the rebellion had taken its toll. Maybe risking their lives in the Games simply didn't seem as appealing now. Still, there seemed to be enough interest to keep the Career system from dying out completely.

Hazel held back a chuckle as Harakuise and the others acknowledged Mags. Mags had never been much of a proponent of Career training, but she hadn't openly supported the rebellion, either. Certainly not as much as Misha had. Still, as much as she might not want to admit it, she was just as eager as the rest of them to be where the action was, to have a say in how events unfolded. As much as she might try to deny it, she wanted to be in control.

They all did, to some extent. Hazel smiled a little. Even her. But her idea of control was different. She had a more realistic idea of what she would be able to accomplish. As long as she could keep herself from sinking into despair like some of the other Victors, as long as she could help Casper do the same, and as long as the pair of them could likewise help any other Victors they might come home with … that would be good enough for her.

She wasn't interested in trying to change the rest of Panem one way or the other. If more than four decades of mentoring tributes had taught her anything, it was how futile it was to try to control anyone else. She could help. She could guide. But, ultimately, others' actions were their own. She knew when to step in and try to help, and when to keep her nose out of things. Unlike some of the other Victors, she knew her place.

And she knew when to leave well enough alone.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

How long would the Gamemakers really leave them alone?

Aleyn twirled her hair as the four of them sat in silence. It was the silence that was disturbing, really. The others had stopped talking about what might happen, what the Gamemakers might do. None of them wanted to say it, because saying it would make it more real. But it was only a matter of time before something happened.

Something always did.

Ten years ago, the last three tributes in the Games had been in a similar situation. They'd made it to the end – three younger tributes who had been allies from the start. They had been the only ones left, all of them reluctant to turn on the others. But eventually, one of them had. They always did. Only one person could win.

The four of them, of course, were far from that point. There were still plenty of other tributes left to keep the audience interested. But how long would the Gamemakers really let them stay here? How long could they keep this up?

And how long would it be before one of the others snapped?

They had all promised not to hurt each other. They had all agreed. But when push came to shove, they all knew what promises were worth in the Games. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Aleyn took a deep breath, trying to push the thought from her head. These were her allies. Her friends. She wanted to trust them. She wanted to believe that none of them would hurt her, but…

But, but, but…

It was that thought, that word, that was still there, lingering at the back of her mind. The other three were probably having the same debate in their own heads, trying to work out how long it would be before one of the others decided to make a move. Aleyn held back a yawn. They were all tired, but none of them had suggested getting any rest. Because that would mean letting someone keep watch.

Someone. Someone they couldn't necessarily trust. Someone who might turn on them, and then…

And then what? Did they think that as soon as blood was spilled, the doors would simply swing open? Maybe. Maybe they would. But 'maybe' wasn't a good enough reason to turn on her friends – even ones that she had only known for a few days. A week, maybe. She wasn't really sure how long it had been since the Games had started. There had been four sets of faces on the wall, but they hadn't seemed to correspond to nighttime. Now that they were in a room with a window, she could tell that there was plenty of daylight out, and it had been only an hour or so at the most since the last time the anthem had played.

"Aleyn?" Charu's voice caught her by surprise. How long had she been calling her name?

Aleyn looked up, startled. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

Charu smiled. "So was I. I was thinking that maybe if we could put together enough strips of fabric, maybe we could make a rope long enough to reach the window. If we could hook something onto the end, we might be able to latch it onto something up there and—"

Consus raised an eyebrow. "And what? Even if we can get the window open, what are we supposed to do then? Jump to the ground?"

Charu blushed. "I hadn't really thought that far yet, but at least it would get us out of this room. What do you think?"

For a moment, she thought Consus might object, that he might point out how unlikely it was that a rope made of cloth would be able to support their weight for that long, even if they could manage to hook it around something by the window. How hard it would be to break through the window once they were up there, unless there was some way to open the window. Instead, he simply nodded. "Why not? I haven't heard any better ideas."

That was certainly true. And maybe as long as they appeared to have some sort of plan, some idea of what to do next, the Gamemakers would leave them alone. As long as they appeared to be making progress, maybe that was good enough.

But 'maybe' wouldn't last forever.

Merrik Haims, 15
District Three

He wished they could just stay there forever.

Merrik snuggled close against the griffin, his eyes still tightly closed. As long as he appeared to be sleeping, maybe Skyton wouldn't wake him. He'd heard the older boy stirring a little while ago, but for the moment, he seemed content to let Merrik sleep. And Merrik certainly had no problem with that. Because as soon as they were both awake, the audience would expect them to do something.

Something. That was a nice way of putting it. It was fairly obvious what they'd been brought here to do. There was only one way out of the room. There were probably tributes in the next room, waiting. Maybe sleeping, like they were. The Gamemakers were giving them the opportunity to make a move.

All they had to do was play along.

"Merrik?" Skyton's voice was little more than a whisper. Maybe he was trying to figure out whether Merrik was actually asleep. Maybe he just wanted to make sure that whoever was in the next room wouldn't hear them. Either way, the griffin stirred a little, letting out a low rumbling sound that was almost a purr.

Merrik rolled over a little. There was no more pretending. "Time to get moving?" he asked in a low voice.

Skyton's face was pale as he nodded. He was scared, too. But there was no way around it – not now that one of them had suggested moving on. And there was only one direction to go.

The griffin stood up to its full height, shaking out its feathers, fluffing itself up almost like a bird. Merrik almost laughed. He'd seen pigeons do that around larger animals, to try to make themselves seem more intimidating. But a griffin was already the largest thing around by far. What did it have to be intimidated by?

Certainly not whoever was in the next room – assuming there was, in fact, someone there. Whoever it was certainly wouldn't be expecting a griffin to come bursting through the door. It didn't really seem fair to attack without any warning at all.

Merrik clenched his fists as he stood up, stretching a little. The Games weren't fair at all. Lena had tried to make things fair during the private sessions, and everything had gone wrong from there. The Gamemakers were giving him a chance to prove that he was willing to play along. It was a chance he couldn't afford to turn down.

Skyton offered him a hand up onto the griffin's back, and Merrik climbed up alongside his ally. "Ready?" Skyton asked, his voice shaky.

No. No, he wasn't ready. He would never be ready. But they didn't have a choice. Whatever the Gamemakres had planned for them if they didn't play along now, it wouldn't be good. The griffin might seem like a large, friendly bird-like creature now, but it could just as easily turn on them if the Gamemakers lost patience. Merrik nodded shakily. "Ready."

Skyton stroked the griffin's neck. "All right, then. Let's go, boy."

The griffin nodded its head contentedly and turned to face the door. Merrik braced himself as the griffin backed up a little, getting a running start. He hadn't even thought about the fact that the creature probably wouldn't fit through the door. "Hold on tight," he whispered to Skyton, who nodded his agreement as the mutt barreled towards the door.

Still, the force of the impact almost knocked him from the griffin's back.

Kilian Romane, 17
District Eleven

The force of the impact almost knocked him off his feet.

Kilian couldn't help a shout as both the door and the wall around it shattered, sending pieces of wood and stone alike flying in every direction. He saw something strike Ronan, who crumpled to the ground. He was about to race over to help him up when he saw the mutt.

It was huge, with four thick, strong legs like a lion, but feathers around its neck and head like some sort of bird. "Run!" Shanali shouted, and Kilian barely thought twice. He still had his axe, and Shanali had a dagger, but neither of those would do them much good against the mutt. And they wouldn't be able to help Ronan if they were dead. The mutt let out a shriek almost like an eagle's, and he and Shanali raced out of the room.

The next room was empty, except for a large cauldron in the center. For a moment, Kilian thought maybe they could hide inside it, but the mutt was too close on their heels. It would be able to tell where they had gone. Hell, it wasn't as if the Gamemakers wouldn't be able to see where they were hiding anyway. If they wanted the mutts to come after them, they would.

But why? What had they done to upset the Gamemakers? Just earlier the audience had sent Shanali a sponsor gift. Why would a mutt come after them now? It didn't make any sense.

Then he saw the boys on the mutt's back.

Kilian gasped for breath as he and Shanali ran. So this had nothing to do with the Gamemakers after all. It was a pair of other tributes who were after them. That made things a bit different. They wouldn't be able to fool the Gamemakers, but maybe they could fool the other tributes.

Maybe.

Suddenly, something struck his neck as he ran. A prick of some sort. Kilian's hand flew to his neck, and his fingers brushed against something. A dart. But where had that come from? Surely if the boys on the mutt's back had darts, they would have used them earlier.

He didn't have time to figure it out. A wave of dizziness struck him, and he took a few more stumbling steps before his legs gave way beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Shanali was still running. Good. And there hadn't been any cannons, which meant Ronan was still alive. Even better.

Maybe he was the only unlucky one.

Kilian gasped, trying to catch his breath as the mutt came to a stop beside him. For a moment, the boys on its back waited, maybe hoping that the mutt would finish him off for them. But it simply lowered its head, pressing its beak against his chest, holding him down.

Not that it would have made a difference. Whatever poison had been on the dart must have been quick. Everything was getting darker. Blurrier. It wouldn't be long now, no matter what the boys decided to do. One of the boys pried the axe from his hand. The blade pressed against his neck, but the boy hesitated. The other one laid his hands on top of the first. "Together?" he asked quietly, and the other boy nodded slightly.

"Together."

Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten

"Together."

Skyton gripped the handle of the axe, Merrik's hands on top of his as the two of them pressed down. Blood spurted from the older boy's neck. The cannon was almost immediate. Skyton fought back a wave of nausea as the griffin gently nuzzled him.

It was sick. It was wrong. Skyton clenched his teeth, trying not to vomit. After a moment, it was useless, and he turned in time to avoid making a mess all over the body in front of him. The boy of the boy they had killed.

They had killed.

The words almost wouldn't form in his mind. He had killed someone. Exactly what he'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to do. He had been able to. It had almost been easy.

That scared him even more.

Of course, it hadn't been much of a fight. The boy had simply collapsed. Maybe he'd already been injured and simply hadn't been able to keep running. The girl had gotten away, but the griffin didn't seem particularly interested in going after her at the moment. It seemed content with the fact that they'd done what they had come here to do.

"Maybe we should head back to the other room," Skyton offered after a moment. He didn't want to look at the dead body any more than he had to.

"No." Merrik's answer was surprisingly firm. "No, we shouldn't go back there."

"Why?" Skyton asked before he could think it through.

Merrik hesitated. "If we do, who's going to come that way now? We made quite a mess when we crashed through both those doors. Anyone who's heading that way is going to know something's wrong. We should keep going the other way." He pointed at the door the girl had run through. "Besides, that doorway looks a little bigger. Pigeon might fit without having to smash through."

Skyton nodded. That made as much sense as anything else. But something seemed a little odd. "Pigeon?"

Merrik nodded. "Because of the way he fluffs out his feathers. Like a pigeon."

Skyton raised an eyebrow. "Pretty much all birds do that, you know."

"Really?"

"Really."

Merrik shrugged. "Not a lot of birds in District Three." He chuckled a little. Slowly, the chuckle turned into a nervous giggle. "Just listen to us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at what we just did, and we're sitting here talking about birds." More giggles. "As if that matters. As if any of it matters."

Skyton couldn't help a chuckle himself. It was a bit funny. Slowly, he got to his feet and climbed back on the griffin, helping Merrik up alongside him. He stroked the griffin's neck. "All right then, Pigeon." He took a deep breath.

"Let's go."

Etora Nanovi, 12
District Two

Now was definitely the right time to go.

Etora ducked lower inside the cauldron as the mutt – apparently 'Pigeon' – passed by the cauldron and headed for the door on the opposite side of the room. Sure enough, it managed to squeeze through the door without breaking anything, quite unlike when the tributes and the mutt had rushed into the room. In all the commotion, no one had taken any notice of her. Not even the boy she had shot in the neck with the dart.

She wouldn't get credit for the kill, probably. The two boys had been the ones to actually kill him. But it had definitely been the right move. If she hadn't shot the boy, he might have been able to outrun the others, and then the mutt might have come after her. It had been a risk, certainly; emerging from the cauldron long enough to blow one of the darts at the boy could have drawn attention. But if they'd noticed her, she could have slipped down the trap door.

She'd avoided doing so while they were in the room because of the noise it might have caused. But now that they were gone, she slid the trap door open as quietly as she could and headed down the stairs. The stairway was dark, but there was a faint light coming from somewhere near the bottom. Candles, probably.

Maybe her eyes were adjusting to having to see in rather faint light, because the candles seemed almost blinding when she finally reached the bottom. Etora glanced around. She wasn't sure exactly what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't quite it. The walls around her were bare, a hallway of sorts – or maybe a maze. Paths led off in a few different directions.

Etora took a good look around, getting her bearings. The stairs had been so winding, she wasn't sure which way anything was. Heading towards the center – in the direction of the cornucopia – would probably be the best idea. But she had no real way of figuring out which way that was. She'd gotten a bit too turned around on the stairs.

Maybe it didn't matter, really. If the Gamemakers wanted her to go in a particular direction, they would find a way to let her know. If the audience wanted to steer her one way or another, they could always send her something. If not, she would just have to assume that one direction was as good as another. Any other tributes who were down here, after all, were probably just as disoriented as she was. Just as likely to go one way as another.

Etora took a few tentative steps in one direction. Nothing happened. Nothing to confirm her choice, but also nothing to indicate she should have gone a different way. Etora glanced around once more, then kept going. There was nothing else to do, really.

Nothing but hope that she had made the right choice.

Shanali Theisen, 17
District Eleven

She hadn't had much of a choice.

Shanali gasped for breath as she made her way up the stairwell. She'd noticed it immediately upon entering the room, and it had seemed like the best option at the time. As far as she had known, the mutt and the tributes on its back weren't far behind her. She hadn't heard them pass through the room, but maybe they were being quiet.

Right. Like a creature like that was capable of being quiet.

Only once she'd entered the stairwell had she realized that Kilian wasn't behind her. By then, it was too late. Too late to go back. Too late to do anything but hope that the cannon she'd heard soon after hadn't been his. Maybe he'd split off and gone a different direction, knowing the mutt wouldn't be able to chase them in two different directions at once. Maybe he'd tried to double back to help Ronan.

Ronan. There had only been one cannon, which meant that they weren't both dead. Either he was still alive, or Kilian was. Or both. But 'both' didn't seem particularly likely. The mutt wasn't about to just give up, after all – not once it found them. The Gamemakers weren't going to let them all walk away unharmed.

Shanali slammed her dagger against the wall of the stairwell as she climbed. It wasn't fair. She'd done everything they'd wanted. She'd killed, and she hadn't made a fuss about it. They had even sent her a sponsor gift. So why would the Gamemakers send a mutt after them now?

What made it even worse was that she recognized one of the boys riding on the mutt's back. The boy from Three – the one they'd seen in the other stairwell near the start of the Games. Ronan had spared his life, and this was how he'd been repaid. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. He could be dead, all because he'd decided to show the boy mercy.

Shanali clenched her fists. That wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it. If she saw the boy again, he was as good as dead – and so was anyone else. Because there was no telling when an act of kindness might come back to bite her. There was no point in sparing anyone, when they would all have to die anyway. Anyone who was left alive by this point wouldn't hesitate to kill her if they had the chance. So she would have to do the same.

If she got the chance. She wasn't particularly likely to find anyone up here. Shanali slowed a little as she neared what appeared to be the top of the tower. If nothing else, at least she could figure out what time of day it was. It wasn't much, but it was something. And right now, something – anything – was better than nothing.

Carefully, Shanali slid the door open and stepped out into the fresh air. There didn't seem to be anyone at the top of the tower, which was probably for the best. The sun was sinking below the horizon in the distance. Or maybe it was rising. She could always wait and see. It wasn't as if she was in much of a hurry to go back down those stairs.

The mutt would probably be gone, of course, along with the tributes who were riding it. But where was she supposed to go? Back to Ronan? That was one possibility. But if he was still alive, he was probably on the move, as well, knowing that the mutt could very easily come back to finish him off. If he had decided to head somewhere else, there was no telling where he might go.

The same was true if Kilian was still alive. If he'd headed in a different direction to try to confuse the mutt, she had no way of knowing where he had ended up. He was probably thinking the same thing about her, if he was still alive. And Ronan would have no way of knowing where either of them was.

Shanali took a seat, leaning back against one of the tower's pillars. She could wait a little longer. Long enough to be sure that the mutt would be gone. Long enough to figure out whether it was dawn or dusk. Long enough to figure out what to do next.

But not too long. Waiting too long in one place was what had gotten them in trouble in the first place. They'd all been well rested long before the mutt had come crashing through the door. They'd had no reason to stay in the room that long, but none of them had wanted to seem too eager to get moving.

Now they would know better.

Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four

Now he would know better.

Ronan groaned as he rolled over, his head aching where something had struck him. A piece of the door, perhaps, or maybe a piece of the wall. He remembered the wall bursting into pieces behind him. He'd caught a glimpse of the mutt as it charged through the wall, and before he'd blacked out, he'd seen the boys who were riding on its back.

The boy from Three – he was the one who had caught Ronan's eye. He was pretty sure the boy had seen him, too. Even if he hadn't, it wouldn't take the boy long to realize that he was chasing the very tributes who had spared his life before. How long ago had that been? Not long enough for him to forget, surely.

No. No, the boy hadn't forgotten. He just hadn't cared. He'd chased after Kilian and Shanali without hesitation. Without mercy.

Without any hint of the mercy Ronan had shown him.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Not that he was likely to get the chance anytime soon. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and that was probably for the best. His head ached, and he felt dizzy as soon as he started to sit up a little. Whatever had hit him, it had been hard. There was blood on his hand when he pulled it away from his head. He didn't dare glance around to see how much blood he had lost. He probably didn't want to know the answer.

Ronan closed his eyes. Resting a little longer probably wouldn't hurt. If the mutt was going to come back and kill him, wouldn't it have done so by now? Maybe the boys figured he was already as good as dead. Maybe they thought he was dead. How long had he been out? He had no way of knowing if there had been any cannons, or whether any of his allies were still alive.

But there was nothing he could do about that – not yet. Not until he felt a bit stronger. For now, it was all he could do to sit up a little and get a look around. Ronan clenched his teeth, fighting the pain as he forced himself into a seated position, leaning back against what was left of the wall behind him. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The other wall had taken a beating, as well – probably when the mutt had chased after Shanali and Kilian. There was plenty of the wall left standing – just as there was of the wall behind him – but there was a large, mutt-sized hole where the door had once been. But there was no sign that the mutt had done anything but run in one door and out the other. If it had caught up with Shanali and Kilian, it hadn't done so in this room.

But in the next one…

No. No, he didn't have the strength for that yet. Or maybe he simply didn't want to know the answer to his question. As long as he didn't know for sure, he could keep hoping that his friends were still alive. And if they were still alive and decided to come back for him, then this was where they would expect to find him. If he headed off in a different direction, they would have no way of finding him again.

But by the same token, if the boys with the mutts decided to come back and finish him off, they would know exactly where to find him. His mace still lay by his side, but even reaching for it sent a wave of pain coursing through his body. Everything ached. There didn't seem to be much blood, but everywhere felt bruised. He wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight in this condition.

So the best thing he could do for now was stay away from fights, which – for the moment, at least – meant staying put and waiting for the others to come back. If they were coming back.

If not, it probably wouldn't be long before he found out. If the others were right about which faces appeared during the anthem, the next set of faces would belong to the tributes who had died.

Unless he'd already missed them. Would the anthem have woken him? Ronan took a deep breath, stretching his arms, trying to fight off the dizziness that struck again every time he started to move. Maybe it wouldn't have. He couldn't be sure of anything now – not even how many tributes were dead.

Or how many were left.

Margo Devereaux, 18
District Two

There were still twenty of them left.

Margo stuffed a little more food into her backpack as the three of them prepared to leave the cornucopia. Only a little while ago, there had been a crashing sound coming from one direction. Something big enough to make that sort of noise was probably a mutt, rather than a tribute, so there was no point in going after it. It wasn't after them, so why draw its attention?

Instead, it was probably a good idea to get as far away from it as they could. "Any idea what's in the other direction?" she asked Darian.

Darian shrugged. "Not really. The others went that way when they went hunting, but Elliot and I left before they came back, so your guess is as good as mine."

Margo nodded. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. Even if he'd happened to remember which tributes had gone that way at the start of the Games, they could very well be on the other side of the arena by now. "I guess we'll just have to find out for ourselves," she reasoned, resisting the urge to rub her leg as she shifted the weight of her backpack. They'd bandaged her leg as well as they could, but that was no substitute for rest.

But rest wasn't something she was likely to get – not for a long while, at least. There were still twenty tributes left. The Games were a long way from being over. For now, she would just have to deal with the pain. Unless there was something in the pile that could be useful…

Margo's gaze strayed to what appeared to be a pile of medicine. "Yeah, I thought about that, too," Mae agreed before Margo could even say anything. "But nothing's labeled. No way to know what might help with the pain and what might kill you."

Margo took a closer look. Mae was right. There were several small bottles of … something. But they had no way of knowing what. They might smell different, but she wasn't about to risk her life on the off-chance that she remembered what pain medication might smell like. That certainly wasn't a station she'd visited during training. If they even had a station for that. She didn't remember seeing one.

Darian made his way towards the pile of medicine, shrugging. "Might as well take some, then. You never know when it may come in handy. And who knows? We might have the chance to test it out and see what it is."

Margo forced a smirk onto her face in agreement. She knew exactly what he was suggesting – and so would the audience. If they came across another tribute, they could use them as a lab rat to figure out what was in the bottles. It was exactly the sort of thing the audience would enjoy, and Darian knew it. Margo clapped him on the back. "Good thinking," she agreed, tucking a few of the bottles into her bag.

Darian stuffed a few of the others into his own sack, then turned to Mae, who was watching them curiously. Margo gave her what she hoped was a sly smile. Come on. Play along. Finally, Mae took the hint and scooped up a few of the bottles herself. But she said nothing as they headed off in the opposite direction from where they'd heard the mutt.

Margo couldn't help a smile – a real one this time – as they entered the room. It was full of clothes, much too big for a human. Off to one side was a giant wardrobe. "Let's check in there first," she suggested. "If anyone's hiding, it's probably in there." That was where she would have hidden, if she'd heard someone coming.

Apparently, though, either no one had been in the room, or they hadn't had the same idea, because the wardrobe was empty. Well, not empty, but there weren't any tributes inside, which amounted to pretty much the same thing. "Maybe we could…" Darian let the sentence hang in the air. They could do exactly what she had suggested: hide in the wardrobe for a while and get some real rest.

It sounded like a good idea; it really did. But Margo resisted the impulse to agree. "We should probably keep moving," she suggested, and that was the end of it. If the person who was injured said they should keep moving, anyone who said otherwise would look like a weakling. Which was exactly what the audience would have thought of them if they'd decided to hole up inside the wardrobe for a while. They were supposed to be Careers, after all.

And Careers didn't hide.

Justus Freeman, 17
District One

Careers were supposed to know better than this.

Justus sighed as he realized what was up ahead. It looked exactly like the same corner they'd passed about an hour ago. He couldn't be sure – not completely sure – because all of the walls were starting to look the same. There were no windows. Nothing to give them any sense of direction. But he was pretty sure at this point that they were going in circles.

"I think we've been here before," Macauley said at last. Genevieve glared, and Mae said nothing, but Justus nodded along. She was just voicing what they'd all been thinking for a while.

"A hint sure would be nice right about now," Genevieve muttered, as if simply asking for a sponsor gift was going to make one appear. Maybe it wasn't the worst idea; they'd already gotten one gift without even having to ask. But were the sponsors really going to send them something else so soon? Probably not – especially when none of them had done anything to earn it since then.

Except Macauley, perhaps. She had three kills, and had been well on her way to getting a fourth when she'd happened to run into them, instead. Justus shook his head. He hadn't killed since the bloodbath, and neither had Mae or Genevieve. Macauley had insisted they would have time to catch up, but it was time that they were quickly running out of. There were only twenty tributes left, and the four of them were stuck going around in circles in these tunnels.

Suddenly, Mae spoke up. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Genevieve asked impatiently.

"Shhhh," Macauley whispered. "I think she's right. Listen."

Justus listened, and, for a moment, he did hear something. Something that sounded almost like whimpering. It was coming from somewhere off to their right – a direction he was pretty sure they hadn't explored. The only question, of course, was whether it was a tribute or an animal whimpering.

Or maybe … maybe that wasn't the real question. If it was a tribute, after all, they could either be whimpering in pain or fear … or because they were trying to set a trap, trying to lure in any unsuspecting tributes who happened to hear them. And if it was a mutt, the same thing was true. It could be hurt, or it could be bait.

"What do you think it is?" Macauley asked. Her voice was low, but there was an eagerness, a curiosity, in her tone. She wanted to find out what the noise was. She seemed almost desperate to know.

And maybe she had the right idea. Maybe she'd had the right idea all along. Macauley was the one, after all, who had wanted to keep moving rather than resting the first night of the Games. And she'd managed two kills since then, while the rest of them had been going around in circles both literally and figuratively.

Maybe it was time he listened to her.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Let's go find out."

Macauley was beaming as they set out. Genevieve looked a bit more reluctant, but she knew better than to say anything. They were doing something, which was what the Gamemakers clearly wanted, and anything was better than going around in a circle. Mae didn't look eager to get going, either, but she said nothing as they made their way towards the sound.

He just hoped they hadn't made a mistake.

Vashti Rii, 16
District Five

He just hoped they hadn't made a mistake.

Vashti gave Mariska's shoulder a shake, and she rolled over a little. They were a safe distance from the pit, but the opening still made him a bit uneasy. Not that he was about to admit it to any of the others, but it would be so easy for any of them to roll over the wrong way in their sleep and simply slide into the pit. They weren't right next to it, of course, but there was something off about it. Something dangerous.

But they were still here, because they'd needed the rest. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't begrudge them that. Mariska sat up a little. "Thought you told Barlen you'd wake him to keep watch," she teased.

Vashti rolled his eyes. As if their ally would actually remember that Vashti had promised to let him keep watch. Hell, they could probably get away with telling him that he had kept watch for a few hours and simply forgotten the whole thing. It was certainly a better idea than actually letting him keep watch. Who knew what the kid might do if they weren't keeping an eye on him?

Vashti chuckled at the idea before he realized he'd done it aloud. "What's so funny?" Mariska asked, in the same tone of voice she'd used before when she'd asked Barlen why he was smiling. Was she worried that he was losing it? Hell, maybe he was. Maybe they all were. They'd come across a big, gaping hole in the ground and they hadn't run the other way. There was definitely something wrong with them.

Vashti shook his head. "Just wondering what sort of mutt might be down there." It was a lie, but a reasonable one. It had certainly crossed his mind that there might be some sort of creature at the bottom of the pit – maybe something Barlen had disturbed when he'd dropped a candle down the hole. But if something was going to attack them, wouldn't it have done so by now?

Maybe. Maybe not. The Gamemakers certainly liked building suspense. And the audience was probably wondering the same thing – whether there was something living at the bottom of the pit, just waiting for the chance to strike. "Maybe that would be a good thing," Mariska shrugged.

Vashti raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if there is a mutt down there. Maybe it's something we could use."

Ah, so that was where she was going. It wasn't a bad idea, and certainly not without precedent. Quite a few tributes from District Five had taken advantage of the mutts in their arenas. Eagles, tracker jackers, prairie dogs. Come to think of it, Carolina's final opponent had been trampled by a mutt in the finale, as well. But was she Mariska's mentor, or had she been mentoring Klaudia? He didn't remember, and he certainly wasn't going to ask now.

In any case, it was a good idea, but not really one they could act on until a mutt actually decided to show itself. For now, they had no actual proof that there was something down there. All they had was speculation. Guesses. They didn't have anything concrete, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what was down there.

Not until he got some rest, at least.

Charu Varma, 18
District Six

All of them needed rest.

Charu held back a yawn as the light from the window continued to fade. How long had they been trapped in here? How long had it been since they'd gotten any sleep? She wasn't sure, and she doubted the others were, either. Still, no one seemed willing to suggest that it was about time they got some rest. Maybe no one wanted to arouse suspicion, give the others the idea that they wanted the rest of them to sleep so they could kill one of them.

That was certainly why she hadn't suggested it. She wasn't planning to kill any of them, of course, but paranoia was a powerful thing. If any of the others thought she was planning to strike, they might decide to make the first move. Of course, the same was true for any of them. They were all armed. They were all capable. Even Aleyn hadn't been badly injured enough to prevent her from trying to kill if she had the mind to.

But did she? Did any of them, really? Were they really going to turn into animals this quickly? After all, there was nothing threatening them at the moment. No reason to turn on each other now rather than waiting a while longer. Their food wasn't running low. There was plenty of ventilation coming from … somewhere. Maybe the window. They would have noticed by now if the air was growing thinner, wouldn't they?

Stop it. Of course they would notice. They were just tired; that was all. They'd spent a couple hours trying to put together enough cloth into a rope to reach the window, and they'd latched a hook onto the end, fashioned from one of the smaller pieces of metal they'd found on the table. But either there wasn't anything up there for it to hook onto, or they hadn't managed to snag it.

Finally, Wes sighed, got up, and made his way back over to where they'd left their makeshift rope. He gave it a good heave, and then another. And another. And another. Consus rolled his eyes, and even Aleyn shook her head, but Charu made her way over to join him. At least he was doing something.

Unless … unless he was only doing something to make it seem to the others like he was still trying to get them all out of there. Maybe he figured they were less likely to kill him if he looked like he was trying to be productive.

Maybe he was right.

In any case, it certainly wouldn't hurt to offer to help. "Want me to give it a try?" she asked after he'd flung the rope up a few more times, still as empty-handed as the first time.

Wes shrugged. "Why not?" Charu took the rope, drew her arm back, and flung the hook towards the window as hard as she could. Nothing. Again, and again, and again. Harder. Harder. Charu grunted in frustration as she flung the rope up again. What were the Gamemakers thinking? If they wanted them to kill each other, shouldn't they have forced them to actually do it by now? And if there was a way out, couldn't they at least point them in the right direction?

Suddenly, a soft pinging noise echoed across the room. Charu's eyes flew to the parachute that was floating down, but she was more interested in where it had come from. A hole had opened in the wall, just below the window. Just wide enough for the parachute to float through.

Charu immediately cast the rope again. It struck just below the hole. "Let me do it," Wes offered. Charu hesitated. She wanted to keep trying, but his throws had been a bit more on target. Reluctantly, she handed the rope over. The others were watching now, none of them the least bit interested in the parachute that was drifting to the ground. Wes took a deep breath, aimed, and tossed the rope again.

The hook passed through the hole, and immediately the stone above it dropped back down, securing the rope in place. Maybe the Gamemakers wanted them to be able to get out, after all! Charu grinned, giving the rope a tug to make sure that it was secure. "All right, then," she beamed, turning her attention to the parachute.

"Let's see what's in here."

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

He could barely see the Careers ahead of him anymore.

Retro took as deep a breath as he dared, still cautious of making any sound. As soon as the Careers had announced that they'd heard something, he had been certain one of them had heard him. He'd been careful, of course. He'd even taken his shoes off a while back and had been carrying them ever since, fearing they'd made too much noise. Even so, he'd barely breathed while the Careers had decided which way to go.

As it turned out, however, they hadn't heard him. They were following some sort of noise coming from the opposite direction, and Retro could only do his best to keep up. They were moving a lot quicker now that they actually had a goal in mind. It was certainly an improvement over going around in circles, but this was a lot more tiring.

He could always turn around, of course. They seemed to be going in one specific direction, so he could always head the other way and be fairly certain that he wouldn't see them again for a while. But something about that felt wrong. It was too easy. And it wasn't what the audience would want to see. He'd decided to follow the Careers, and now he was stuck with that decision – no matter what.

And it wasn't such a bad idea, as long as he could keep up. If they ran into something dangerous, after all, they would find it before he did. Of course, if they found something too frightening and decided to simply turn around and run the other way, they would run right into him.

That was why he was doing his best to keep his distance while still keeping them in sight. If they decided to turn around and come back the other way, he wanted as much time as he could to duck out of their way, maybe head down one of the other passageways or back up the trap door. He was pretty certain he could still find it.

Well, maybe.

Maybe it didn't matter. There were plenty of different directions to go. It wouldn't be too hard to lose them, as long as he had enough warning that they were coming back. Like a scream or something.

Right. A scream. That was exactly what he wanted to hear in a dimly-lit tunnel. Retro shook his head, shifting his shoes in his hands so that he could get a better grip on his knife. Not that it was likely to do him any good if four angry Careers came charging at him, but it made him feel a little safer.

And maybe that was the point, in the end. It wasn't about being safe. It was about feeling safe. About feeling like he had at least a little bit of control over the situation, even if he didn't. Retro gripped his knife tightly. Maybe he couldn't control where the Careers were going, or what they were following, or what he might run into in the dark. But he could do his best to be ready for it.

He just hoped his best would be good enough.

Kit Rawlins
District Eight Mentor

They were still far enough away.

Kit glanced over at Lander and Carolina, who were watching the screen intently. At the center of the tunnels, Mariska was still keeping watch near the pit while the others slept. The Careers were still a good distance away, and didn't appear to be headed in their direction. Certainly none of them were making the whimpering sound that the Careers seemed to be following. What was making the noise, he wasn't sure, but at least it wasn't drawing the Careers any closer to the only tribute District Eight had left.

Etora, on the other hand, was making her way slowly but surely towards the center of the tunnels. But given the choice between four Careers finding them and one Career finding them, he had no doubt most tributes would choose one. Would Etora even risk trying to attack all three of them at once?

Maybe. He could never be entirely sure what a Career would do. But she hadn't gone out of her way to attack Skyton and Merrick – although maybe that was because of the griffin at their side. And she'd only shot a dart at Kilian despite having the chance to target Shanali, as well. She was taking risks, but not crazy risks.

Not yet.

Retro, on the other hand, seemed intent on following the Careers into whatever situation they were headed towards. Not a bad plan, perhaps, at least on the surface. It meant he knew exactly where the largest and most dangerous group in the arena was. But it also meant he was close to the largest and most dangerous group.

Well, most dangerous at least. At the moment, the Career pack was the same size as the group in the dungeon. But they were trapped for the moment – although maybe only for a little while longer. And they were far away from Retro. Not that he had any way of knowing that.

Kit shook his head, watching as the group in the dungeon struggled to get the package open. It was surprisingly well-wrapped; sponsor gifts were almost always easy to open. But had the sponsors sent it, or…

Kit turned to Nicodemus and Duke, who were sitting nearby, watching the screen. "Did you send that?"

Duke chuckled. "I wish, kid. If anyone, it was probably Stellar or Bierce."

Consus and Aleyn's mentors. That made sense. Career districts were more likely to be able to persuade the sponsors to support even a tribute who was currently trapped in a dungeon. But something on the package caught Kit's eye. "But that's not a one or a four on the wrapping," he pointed out. "It's a six."

Nicodemus leaned a bit closer to the screen. "Where? Are you sure?"

Kit nodded. "There. Wait for them to turn it again … there! That's a six – or maybe a nine, but there's no one from Nine in the group."

Duke shook his head. "Damn it."

"What?" Kit asked. "Even if you didn't send it, it's probably something that'll help them get out of there, right? I mean, if it was a bomb or something, it would probably have exploded already."

Nicodemus chuckled softly. "I don't think it's a bomb. But as for something that'll help them get out of there … I don't know."

"Duke?" A voice behind them caught Kit off guard. Oliver and Camden were standing there, waiting for … something.

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Never rains but it pours. What can we do for District Five today?"

Camden took a step closer. "Harakuise wants a word with you."

"Me?"

"That's right."

Duke rolled his eyes. "Tell him to buzz off. My tribute might be about to get herself blown up."

Oliver couldn't help a chuckle. "I don't think so. But if you want to wait until after they sort that package out, I don't blame you. No rush, just—"

"Just come talk to Harakuise," Nicodemus finished. "Got it."

Camden shook her head. "Not you. Just Duke."

Duke leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

"Let's just say it's on a need-to-know basis." She and Oliver turned to go. "You know where to find us."

Duke shook his head as they left. "Great. Just great."

Kit drummed his fingers on the table. "What do you think they want?"

"Nothing with you, probably," Duke reasoned. "They would've said so. Probably something to do with Charu."

That didn't make any sense. "Then why not wait until after they finish opening the package?" He turned to Nicodemus. "And why wouldn't they want to talk to you? It's not like…" He trailed off.

"Not like my tribute's alive to pose a threat to their plans," Nicodemus finished. "I don't know, Kit, but I doubt it's about any of the tributes." He laid a hand on Duke's shoulder. "You be careful. Whatever they're planning … Just keep your eyes open, okay?"

Duke nodded. "Always. I just hope—"

He was cut off by a ripping sound as the package finally burst open, and something clattered to the floor. Nicodemus nodded a little when he saw what it was.

"Here we go."

"There's warrant in that theft which steals itself, when there's no mercy left."