Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final eight" poll if you haven't already. And your friendly neighborhood math teacher would like to remind you that 2 doesn't equal 8.

Day Four
Intent

Kyra Presper
District Twelve Mentor

She hoped Brennan knew what he was doing.

Kyra glanced around at the group that was forming as Victors trickled in one by one. There didn't seem to be much of a pattern to who had been invited to join them. A lot of them seemed to be more recent Victors, but there were a few who didn't fit the pattern. Brennan, Mags, Harakuise, Felix. Quite a few of them were Careers, but she certainly wasn't, and neither were Basil, Presley, Violet, or Duke. Tosh, Imalia, Camden, Oliver, Harriet, and Jasper sat on one side of the group, forming a small cluster of the most recent Career Victors. Harakuise stood on the edge of the group, watching them all with a satisfied smile, waiting for … something.

What, exactly, she wasn't sure. Brennan hadn't explained what the others had wanted. Maybe he didn't know himself. After a few moments, Vice President Brand joined them. Eldred. That was what the other Victors kept calling him, but she still wasn't quite used to that. The man was the vice president of Panem. Before long, he would be the president. The idea that the majority of the Victors were on a first-name basis with him was … odd.

No odder, of course, than the fact that he had spent the past few days serving them drinks. Yesterday, though, she'd noticed that he'd been at the bar less and less, and that his daughter had taken his place behind the counter at the moment. He smiled as he approached the Victors, but there was something different about his attitude. He was tense. Very tense.

She'd seen that kind of tension before in the Games. She'd felt it herself, every time she'd made an important decision. A decision that could either save her life or backfire and get her killed. And the vice president … well, his decisions could have consequences across the districts. Whatever he was about to do, it was important, and everyone in the corner could feel it.

Eldred rested his hands on the back of one of the empty chairs, leaning against it a little, perhaps trying to appear more relaxed. "Good morning. I know this isn't a particularly good time, but I'm sure all of you realize there is no good time during the Games. I did consider waiting until after the Games were finished, but I'm sure that once you've heard what I have to say, you'll agree that it's better to act quickly."

Kyra glanced around at the others. He was being vague. That was probably deliberate. Right now, after all, any of the other Victors who were listening could hear what they were talking about. So why had he bothered to gather a separate group at all?

"That said," Eldred continued, "I want to assure you that nothing we're about to discuss will affect your tributes in this year's Games one way or another. What I am offering, however, could have ramifications for future Games. It could have a positive impact on your districts – all of them." He leaned forward a little. "However, what I'm proposing comes with a risk. A risk to you if you agree to participate, perhaps, and a potential risk to your loved ones in the event that things go wrong. If all goes according to plan, only a few of you will be taking that risk, but I'll need support from the rest of you in order to make this work."

"You'll have it," Camden answered immediately.

Eldred smiled. "Easy there, Camden. It's not quite that simple. I know I'm asking a lot and giving very little information, but discretion is something that's going to be necessary in order for this to work. I don't want anyone rushing into a decision they're not ready for. Like I said, this could be dangerous. If you're not interested, now's the time to get out. You have my word that no one will be harmed if you decline now. Take a little while to think about it. If you'd like to know more, meet me on District Five's floor in three hours. If not … enjoy your drinks."

"If we'd like to know more," Duke repeated. "And if we hear more and then decide we don't want to be part of … whatever this is?"

Eldred nodded. "That's where things get trickier. If you want out, now's the time. If you hear what I have to say and choose not to participate, you have to understand that steps will be taken to keep any confidential information from making its way into the wrong hands. You won't be harmed unless it's absolutely necessary, but secrecy is going to be important … one way or another. If you can't handle that, now is the time to say so. You have three hours to decide if—"

Duke chuckled. "Don't need three hours, Eldred. Thanks, but no thanks. I already played the Games once and won. I'm out." He turned and headed back to where Nicodemus was watching the screens and trying to pretend he wasn't listening to them. Violet soon followed, shaking her head.

It was Felix who finally spoke up next. "Why us? Why this group of us in particular? Why not ask all the Victors?"

"A reasonable question," Eldred agreed. "I was looking for Victors who I can trust to carry out what I have planned, or at least trust to keep their mouths shut. Victors who I can trust, but who will also trust my judgment, and Victors who would be resourceful enough to think on their feet in a tight spot if things start to go wrong. And Victors who might agree that the potential gain is worth the potential risk." He glanced around. "But that list isn't set in stone. If you have someone else in mind, as I said, I trust your judgment, as well. Pass along what I've told you, and if they'd like to join us … As I said, District Five's floor in three hours. Any more questions?"

Silence. Kyra glanced up at Brennan, who nodded. She didn't even have to ask. He was in. He was in because he was curious. And she had to admit that she was, as well. But was she curious enough to risk … well, whatever Eldred thought they would be risking?

But they could always back out; that was the impression Eldred had given. As long as they agreed to keep their mouths shut, they could back out later. Kyra nodded as Eldred headed back to the bar.

There was always a way out.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

She was offering him a way out.

Retro's mind raced as the girl drew her knife away from his throat a little. She was giving him the chance to talk his way out of this, to offer her something in exchange for his life. Why? Why wouldn't she just kill him? Her knife was already at his throat. It would be an easy kill. All it would take was one flick of her wrist.

But she hadn't done it. She hadn't killed him. Maybe she was getting desperate. There was a look in her eyes that was almost … almost hungry. But surely she wasn't hungry for food. The bag on her back certainly looked full. From the look of things, she had all the weapons she could want. So what was she looking for?

Whatever it was, he had a chance to give it to her. To offer her something better than the chance to kill him. Maybe she had simply realized that he wasn't a very impressive kill. That the audience wouldn't think much of her killing a fellow twelve-year-old who hadn't even had the chance to draw a weapon. Maybe she was hoping he could lead her to something a bit more exciting.

And maybe he could. He knew where some tributes were, after all. He couldn't be certain about where the Careers were, but she probably wouldn't care about that. She was part of their pack, after all. For all he knew, they had split up to explore the tunnels.

Except…

Except the other Careers had all been in a group. Why would she be off here by herself? Had she left on her own, or had they kicked her out? Maybe she was trying to prove herself to the audience. Maybe that was what she was looking for.

But he didn't know where the other Careers were now. He only knew where they weren't. They weren't back where the mutt was … if the mutt was even there anymore. But he did know where three other tributes were.

"Well?" The girl's impatient voice broke through his thoughts. Retro swallowed hard. Vashti was his district partner, yes, but if he didn't give the girl something soon, she would probably just kill him, instead. Besides, Vashti had two allies with him. Maybe they would stand a chance against a twelve-year-old Career.

And if they couldn't … well, that wasn't really his problem, was it? It wasn't as if Vashti was his ally. Yes, he was his district partner, but one of his district partners had already tried to kill him. What was to say that Vashti wouldn't do the same thing, given the chance? "I know where some of the other tributes are," Retro managed to get out, his voice a little squeakier than he would have liked.

The girl smirked. "Go on."

"They're back that way," Retro continued. "I was running from a mutt when I ran through the room where they're staying. They're probably still there, since they didn't chase after me. There were three of them. One of my district partners, one of the girls from Eight, and one of the boys from Nine."

"Were they armed?"

"I didn't get a good look," Retro admitted. "But I didn't see any weapons. Looked like they had a bit of food, though."

"Looks like you do, too," the girl pointed out. "Where'd you get it?"

"The cornucopia. There wasn't anyone there. Probably still isn't, if you want to head back there."

The girl shook her head. "I've got plenty. Besides, I have three tributes to hunt." She pulled Retro to his feet, her knife still pressed against his throat.

"Let's get going."

Consus Caepio, 15
District One

They would have to get going soon.

Consus shivered as the rain continued to pour. All of them were already soaking wet – their clothes, their hair, every inch of their skin. The temperature in the arena hadn't seemed particularly cold before, but now that they were wet … If they didn't find a way back inside soon, things could get bad very quickly.

"There has to be a way back in." Only once the other two turned to look at him did Consus realize he's said it out loud. "They wouldn't just let us stay out here and freeze to death, would they?"

Maybe. Maybe they would. But that wouldn't be very exciting. They'd already escaped drowning once. Aleyn had killed Wes. That had to be enough to satisfy the audience.

Didn't it?

So why couldn't they find a way back in? They'd explored as much of the roof as they'd dared in the dark and the rain. Everything was slippery, so they hadn't ventured too close to any of the edges for fear of falling off the castle entirely. Maybe once there was more daylight…

But it was daytime now. It was just too stormy to be able to see properly. Consus rubbed his eyes. How long had it been since they'd gotten any sleep? None of them had been able to sleep in the rain, and they hadn't slept before that, either – not since they'd realized they were trapped in the dungeon. He was exhausted, but he didn't dare fall asleep out here, even if he thought it would be possible in the rain. They would be easy targets for anyone who happened to find their way up to one of the towers.

There seemed to be five of them, from what he could make out in the dark. Five towers, stretching high into the sky. Maybe they could climb one. If they could make it to the top, there might be a way back inside. But that didn't seem like a good idea, what with everything being so slippery. Maybe once it stopped raining…

Once it stopped raining. Once it was lighter out. Consus shook his head, frustrated that there didn't seem to be anything they could do now. They'd finally escaped the dungeon, only to be trapped up here instead, in the pouring rain. Was this really any better?

Was it worth losing Wes?

Consus crawled a little closer to the center of the castle roof, and the others followed without question. They were probably just as tired of sitting still as he was. But he didn't dare stand up; it would be too easy to lose his footing in the rain, and even this far from the edge of the castle, he didn't want to slip. It would be a long way down if any of them fell off the side of the castle.

"Maybe the sponsors will send something," Charu offered hopefully. But they all knew better. The chances of getting two sponsor gifts that close together were pretty slim, especially since the last one had been so useful. Without the breathing tubes, none of them would have survived in the water. They'd had help getting out of that predicament; they would have to get themselves out of this one.

They were on their own now.

Genevieve Odele, 17
District One

She was on her own now.

Genevieve gasped for breath as she finally stopped to rest at the end of a tunnel. Well, not quite an end. The tunnel kept going in two different directions up ahead, but she needed to catch her breath. She needed a moment – just a moment – to collect her wits.

But thinking about what had happened … that was even worse. She could still hear their screams, over and over again in her head. Maybe she should have stayed. Maybe she could have helped them. Maybe…

No. No, there was nothing she could have done. Not really. If the Gamemakers wanted them dead, then nothing she could have done would have made a bit of difference. But why would the Gamemakers want to kill them?

And why had they let her go?

Maybe it was a warning. A hint that she should get moving and start doing something. But what could she be doing that they hadn't already tried? They'd been out looking for tributes; they just hadn't found any. They'd followed the map that the sponsors had sent Mae, and it had led them right to the mutts. What more did they want?

What would she want?

Genevieve glanced around, still clutching her dagger tightly. If she was watching the Games, and the Career pack had just been decimated by mutts, what would she want to see? Would she want to see the remaining Careers running for their lives, terrified that they might be next? No. No, she would want to see them do something, take a risk, prove that they were still worth betting on.

Okay.

Okay.

Genevieve took a deep breath. Justus was gone. Mae was gone. Macauley had left her. Or maybe she had left Macauley. They'd simply run in different directions, neither of them concerned about the other at all. Her allies were gone. Her district partners … well, maybe Consus was still alive, but even if he was, she was probably District One's best chance. They would all be rooting for her now.

She just had to give them a reason.

Genevieve straightened up, adjusted her bag, and took the right-hand fork in the tunnel. She had no idea where it would lead, but it wouldn't do her any good to stay here. The audience still expected her to act like a Career, and that meant acting like she knew which way to go, even if she had no idea. Maybe if she could convince them that she had a plan – any plan – the Gamemakers might lead her to someone.

Maybe that had been their mistake – admitting that none of them really knew what they were doing. They'd stopped to rest, debated their next move, questioned their own decisions. Yes, they had been trying to do something, but it had taken them too long to actually decide to do it. She didn't have that luxury now. There was no one left to debate things with, no one to bounce ideas off of.

But that also meant no one would tell her that her idea was wrong. No one would tell her when to stop and rest, or when to keep going. It was her choice now – for better or worse. Her ideas didn't have to meet anyone else's approval. Well, except the audience, but as long as she kept moving…

That was what she had thought before. That as long as they kept moving, kept doing something, they would be fine. She had been wrong. They had all been wrong. Maybe it wasn't as simple as she'd thought.

Maybe nothing was.

Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four

Maybe she wasn't coming back for him after all.

Ronan took a deep breath, bracing himself against the wall as he forced himself to sit up. If the last pair of faces on the wall had been accurate, Shanali was still alive. But that didn't mean she was coming back for him. Or maybe she had been coming back for him, but one of the two cannons since then had been hers. There was no way of knowing, really; even when the faces appeared, the next group would be the faces of the killers, assuming they kept following the same pattern.

Either way, he couldn't count on her coming back. And he couldn't stay here forever. Eventually, someone would find him, and in his current condition, he would be easy pickings. No one else was going to help him, so he would have to help himself.

Water seemed like a good place to start. Careful not to move any more than he absolutely had to, Ronan reached into the nearest pack. Shanali and Kilian had left theirs when they'd run from the mutt, leaving him with all the supplies. If nothing else, that seemed like a good reason for Shanali to come back, unless…

Unless she'd decided the cornucopia was a better place to get more supplies. What were the chances that the Careers were still there? Hell, if there were tributes running around riding a griffin mutt, what were the chances that the Careers were still alive? If he had an enormous mutt at his disposal, the Careers would probably be one of his first targets.

Ronan drank a little of the water, the idea swirling around in his head, refusing to let go. There would be supplies at the cornucopia. There might be medicine, or at least bandages. He'd used a few strips of fabric from his shirt to bandage his head as well as he could, but he could do better if he had some proper supplies. He was pretty certain he could find his way back to the cornucopia.

If he could make it that far. Ronan's stomach churned at the thought of getting to his feet. One thing at a time. He drank a little more water, then ate a few crackers. He would probably be able to keep those down. Then he reached for his mace.

The weapon felt good in his hands, even if he knew he wouldn't be able to do much with it at the moment. The last time he'd thought about using it, he hadn't had the nerve. Now … now he didn't have a choice. If any other tribute came across him now, they would attack without question. He was an easy target. He had to be ready to defend himself.

Slowly, little by little, Ronan struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. Finally, he managed to stand. Okay. Okay, that was progress. He took a hesitant step forward, away from the wall, leaning on his mace. He didn't fall; that was something, at least. His next few steps were wobbly, but slowly, he made his way to the door and peeked through.

He didn't see anyone, which was good. Right now, his mace was more useful as a crutch than a weapon. He made his way through the room with barrels, leaning on one and then another as he approached the door that led back to the cornucopia. Once he was close enough to the door, Ronan glanced around the corner. This was it. If any of the Careers saw him…

But there was nothing. No one. The room was empty, except for the pile of supplies. There was no guarantee, of course, that it would stay empty for long. He would have to be quick.

Right. Quick. That was easier said than done. Ronan staggered forward into the room, painfully aware of how slowly he was moving. If anyone found him, he was as good as dead. But there didn't seem to be anyone nearby.

Suddenly, he heard something. A noise. Almost like footsteps, but the sound wasn't coming from the other rooms. It seemed like it was coming from the ceiling. From the roof of the castle. Was someone up there? Ronan crouched low near a pile of what appeared to be medicine. As long as they stayed up there, he would be safe.

He would just have to be quick.

Annemae Carty, 18
District Two

They would have to be quick.

Mae gripped her bow as the three of them hurried up the stairs. They were moving as quickly as they could; all of them were out of breath, and Margo was starting to fall behind a little because of her leg. But they couldn't risk stopping. They had no way of knowing how long the tributes would stay on the roof of the castle. As long as they were there, it probably wouldn't be too hard to take them out.

Or, at least, it wouldn't be if they were actual Careers. If they'd had any real practice with the bows they were holding. She'd practiced a little, and she knew Margo had, too, but this was different. It was raining. Their targets would probably be moving. And they only had one quiver full of arrows.

The audience would expect them to hit something. She'd scored a ten in training, after all. What the audience didn't know was that she'd bluffed her way through her session, positioning the knives in the target while the lights were out. The Gamemakers obviously hadn't been fooled, but maybe they'd appreciated her creativity. In any case, it had been enough to earn her a high score.

But she wouldn't be able to bluff her way out of this one. The audience was expecting them to be able to shoot, and the truth was she had no idea what she was doing. None of them did. Well, unless Margo or Darian had some secret hidden talent with a bow, which didn't seem likely.

Maybe they would get lucky. Maybe the audience would appreciate the fact that at least they were trying. They couldn't expect the three of them to suddenly become expert archers, could they? They knew they weren't really Careers, didn't they?

Except … except they'd been acting like Careers. Insisting they were a real Career pack. Now they had a chance to prove that was exactly what they were. And they would have to do it quickly. They were nearing the top of the tower. She could hear the rain beating down outside. Mae and Darian exchanged a glance as they waited a moment for Margo to catch up. This was it. They would have to come up with something, and quickly.

Margo nodded as she made her way up the last few stairs. "Okay. Let's do this." Mae pushed the door open, and the three of them climbed out onto the tower. The rain was pouring, but through the storm, she could see the roof down below, and three figures huddled in the center of the roof. None of them were looking in their direction, and even if they were, it would be difficult to see them through the storm unless they knew exactly where to look.

Slowly, so as not to attract attention, the three of them drew their bows. "You should go first," Darian suggested, turning to Mae. "You got the highest training score; you've got the best chance."

So he wasn't hiding any archery skills. Mae put on what she hoped was a convincing smirk. "Didn't use a bow for that. I used knives. I'm a bit rustier with this thing." She turned the bow over in her hands.

Margo shrugged. "Who said we have to take turns? We have three bows. Three of us. We all shoot, and whoever hits someone, hits someone. How many arrows are there?"

Mae counted quickly. "Twelve."

Margo nodded. "That's four each. Four chances, and we have a better target if we all shoot while they're sitting still. As soon as arrows start flying, they'll run."

As long as the arrows end up somewhere near them. But she didn't say it. They had to seem like they knew what they were doing. Mae nodded her agreement. "All right. Four arrows each." She handed them out, then set her first arrow to the string.

"Here we go."

Etora Nanovi, 12
District Two

"Here we are."

Etora pressed her knife a little tighter against the boy's throat as they approached the doorway. She couldn't hear any sounds coming from the next room, but that could just mean that they were being quiet. They had seen the younger boy run through the room, after all. They could be trying not to draw attention to themselves.

Or they could just be gone. Maybe he had startled them enough that they'd decided to leave while they still could. "All right, then," Etora whispered. "Let's have a look."

"A look?"

Etora nodded, drawing her knife away from his throat. "Go on. Just have a quick peek around the corner. If you didn't scare them away the first time, seeing you again won't seem too threatening." She twirled her knife. "And no funny business, or you're done for. Understand?"

The boy nodded. He understood. Trying to outrun her was no good, and she'd already taken the knife he'd had stashed away in his pocket, along with the other weapons he'd been carrying. Besides, it wasn't as if she was asking him to do anything particularly dangerous. Slowly, silently, the boy peeked around the corner. "Still there," he whispered.

Etora smiled. He could be lying, of course, but why? She would find out soon enough, anyway. She pulled out her blowgun. "All right, then. Decision time."

"Decision time?"

Etora shook her head. Was he just going to keep repeating everything she said? "That's right. You want to live a little longer? One of them dies." She handed him the blowgun. "Assuming you can manage to hit one of them. If not, you die."

The boy turned the blowgun over in his hands. "Don't try anything stupid," Etora warned. "I have the antidote for the poison right here." She tapped her pocket. It was a bluff, but hopefully a convincing one. "Shoot me, and you're dead. Refuse to shoot, and you're dead. Miss, and you're dead."

"How many…" He didn't seem certain how that sentence should end.

"How many tries to you get?" Etora smirked. "I've got eight darts. But I can tell you right now, the more times you miss, the more likely they are to realize you're not a good shot and decide to take their chances coming after you. And you're the one they'll be coming after."

The boy swallowed hard, peeking around the corner again. "They're wearing armor. Or at least, two of them are. And they're blocking the third."

"Helmets?"

"One of them."

Etora raised an eyebrow. Smart. She removed the rest of the darts from her bag, shrugging a little. "Then I suggest you aim for the other one."

The boy took a moment to process that, but finally nodded. He held the blowgun up to his lips, peered around the corner again, and took a deep breath.

The dart went flying.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

The first arrow struck a few feet away from them.

Aleyn leapt to her feet before it even occurred to her that she would be a bigger target standing up. "Run!" she called, and they did – away from the arrows that were still whizzing towards them. She counted at least four as they ran, but none of them found their mark. Still, it wouldn't be good to press their luck.

Suddenly, she heard a scream. Charu wasn't beside her anymore. Aleyn's gaze flew around the roof, but Charu hadn't been shot. She was just … gone.

Then she looked down.

There was a hole in the roof a few yards away. A trap door that Charu had apparently triggered. "Consus!" Aleyn called, and he raced towards her. Aleyn dropped to her hands and knees, peering down into the hole. Charu lay in a heap on the floor in the middle of a pile of supplies. The cornucopia. The trap door led to the cornucopia – or where the cornucopia should have been. "There has to be a way down," Aleyn hissed.

Another arrow nearly found its mark. "We have to jump," Consus insisted.

Aleyn pointed to Charu, still motionless on the floor. "Like that?"

But Consus was already swinging himself over the side of the hole, feet-first, trying to position himself just right. "Tuck and roll," he managed to get out before losing his grip on the stones and falling to the floor below. Aleyn held her breath as he hit the floor, but he scrambled to his feet and took off running as a cannon sounded. Charu's, maybe? Or did he think it was hers? As quickly as she could, Aleyn swung herself over the edge, even as an arrow flew past the spot where she'd been crouching only a moment before.

Tuck and roll.

She let go of the edge, still holding her breath. She struck the floor with a thud, and pain shot through her already injured leg. But she managed to get to her feet and hurry after Consus. The cannon must have been Charu's, because she wasn't moving. There was blood around her. For a moment, Aleyn thought about stopping to make sure. But whoever had been shooting, it wouldn't take them long to figure out that they would have to head back to the cornucopia to finish them off. The more distance she could put between them, the better.

Besides, Consus was already running. Aleyn hurried to catch up. She didn't dare call to him to wait. There was no telling who else might be nearby, and they'd already attracted enough attention.

They had to leave while they still had the chance.

Vashti Rii, 16
District Five

They should have left while they'd had the chance.

Vashti resisted the impulse to jump to his feet as soon as the first dart flew by. It whizzed harmlessly through the air, but the second one struck Mariska in the neck as she leapt to her feet, ready to run. Almost immediately, Mariska dropped to her knees, her eyes wide. Barlen made a move towards her, but she shoved him to the floor as another dart flew through the air. Vashti ducked as low as he could as a cannon sounded, and Mariska's body went limp on top of Barlen's.

It was Retro. It had to be. Out of the corner of his eye, Vashti could see a shape by the door. A small shape, but a deadly one. Mariska was dead, just like that. Barlen was shaking, and it took Vashti a moment to realize that he was trembling, as well. They had been easy targets, just sitting out in the open, assuming that Retro would just keep running from whatever he had been running from.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd underestimated his district partner, and now they were all paying for it. Vashti took a deep breath, lying as flat as he could on the floor. A dart hit his armor and bounced off. At least he'd had the sense to keep his helmet on. But Barlen…

Barlen had just gotten lucky. He'd been sitting in the right spot, with Mariska blocking Retro's view of him. And now, buried under Mariska' body, he was about as safe as he could hope to be. "Stay there," Vashti whispered before Barlen could try to squirm out from under the body. Barlen's eyes were wide, but he did as he was told.

At least he had that much sense.

Finally, the darts stopped flying. He wasn't sure exactly how many there had been, but it had seemed like dozens. Vashti met Barlen's gaze. The boy didn't even have to ask the question; it was plain as day in his expression.

Now what?

Vashti wished he had an answer.

They couldn't get up. Not yet. There was no telling whether Retro had stopped because he had run out of darts, or because he was trying to make them think he had run out of darts. Vashti had underestimated him once; he couldn't afford to make the same mistake again. He had to think. He just had to think this through.

But it was hard to think when his heart was pounding so fast, pounding in his ears, his breaths gasping as he wondered how long he'd been holding his breath. He was alive. Mariska was dead, but he was still alive. And so was Barlen.

He could use that.

"Stay put," Vashti hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "I have a plan, but you have to do exactly as I say. Got it?"

Barlen squirmed a little beneath Mariska's body, and for a moment Vashti thought he might be trying to crawl out from underneath. Instead, Barlen wriggled around until he could reach his pocket, pulled out his pen, and held it to his arm, ready to write.

In any other circumstances, it would have been funny. As it was, Vashti had to fight to hold back a laugh. "All right, then," he whispered. "I need you to write down something very important." He smirked.

"But it's going to be a lie."

Charu Varma, 18
District Six

She couldn't just lie there forever.

Charu blinked a few times as everything came flooding back. She'd fallen through some sort of trap door. She must have hit her head, because everything was blurry. Blurry and fuzzy and far too bright. It took a moment for her to realize where she was. She was back at the cornucopia, back in the center of the throne room. Water was dripping in from the ceiling, but the rain seemed to be dying down a little bit.

Sure. Now the rain was dying down. Now that she was safely inside, in a room that didn't have much chance of flooding. Now it wasn't raining as hard.

Okay. It could be worse. She was still alive. Her ears were ringing, and her head ached as she started to sit up, but she was alive. And Aleyn and Consus … Where were they? Were they still on the roof? Maybe. She didn't dare call up to them. Not yet. Not when she wasn't sure who else might be nearby.

Then she saw him.

The boy from Four, slowly making his way towards her. Where had he been hiding? Maybe he'd been hurt, too. He was moving slowly, staggering a little, as if he was dizzy or injured. He had a mace in his hand, but he seemed to be leaning on it for support rather than preparing to actually use it. Charu reached for a spear that was lying nearby. Maybe she could scare him away…

Her hand closed around the spear, and she pulled it closer. It seemed so heavy, but maybe that was just her mind playing tricks. She lifted the weapon as high as she could. "Look, we don't have to fight. Just walk away. We can both just go."

For a moment, the boy hesitated. But only for a moment. "I made that mistake once." His voice was low, almost a growl. "I'm not going to let it happen again."

Then he swung.

The blow was clumsy, but so was her attempt to dodge. The mace barely missed her shoulder, crashing against the floor as the boy tumbled forward, propelled by his own momentum. He landed on top of her, pinning her arm before she could make a move with the spear. "Wait," Charu gasped as one of his hands found her throat. "Please, just wait."

But he didn't. His palm pressed down against her throat, despite her best efforts to squirm away. "Please," she gasped, but she already knew it was useless. Was this what Wes had felt, she wondered, when Aleyn had killed him? When she and Consus had let Aleyn kill him? Maybe. Maybe they had decided to leave her, too. Part of her hoped they were safe, but another part – a part that was quickly overwhelming the rest – didn't care anymore.

She was just so tired.

Maybe it would be good to rest…

Margo Devereaux, 18
District Two

She just needed to rest.

Margo clenched her fists as the second cannon sounded. She was fighting to keep up with Darian and Mae as the three of them hurried down the stairs, but it was probably too late to do any good. They hadn't expected there to be a trap door in the middle of the roof. If they'd known about that, they could have left someone at the cornucopia to wait for the other tributes to fall through. They would have been easy pickings.

Instead, she was stuck clambering down the steep stairs, doing her best not to trip, fighting the pain in her leg as Darian and Mae raced ahead. "Damn it," she muttered as another wave of pain coursed through her leg with each step. She hadn't been prepared for this. None of them had. They weren't archers. They weren't sprinters. And they certainly weren't Careers.

But they had told the audience they were, so now they had to keep up the lie. The act. Margo gripped her bow in one hand. That was all it was – an act. The audience wouldn't take it kindly if she simply stopped to rest. But if she put up a good act…

She had to make it look good.

She waited until Darian and Margo were just out of sight around the bend in the stairwell. Then she lost her footing. Or at least, she hoped it looked like she had lost her footing. She tumbled down a few stairs, careful not to hit her head, landing near Mae's feet. "Are you all right?" Mae asked.

Margo nodded, gasping. "I'm fine. Go. I'll catch up." Darian, who hadn't even thought twice, was still racing down the stairs. After only a moment, Mae followed. Margo waited a moment for their footsteps to fade into the distance. Then a moment more. She could afford to wait now. The audience would be watching the two of them, and she would look like she hadn't wanted her injury to slow down the chase. By the time she got to the cornucopia, the fight would probably be over.

If there was a fight. There had been two cannons when the tributes had fallen through the roof. There was no way to be certain that both of them had belonged to the tributes they'd been shooting at, but even if they'd survived the fall, they would almost certainly be running away if they could. And if they couldn't … well, then Darian and Mae certainly wouldn't need her help finishing them off. She could afford to wait a little longer.

But not too long. She didn't want to make it look like she was a weakling, even if that was exactly how she felt. Her leg felt as if it was on fire. She was out of breath from the part of the stairs she'd already made it down. Mae and Darian were in a much better condition to fight, if it came to that.

Margo slowly forced herself to her feet, leaning on the bow a little. It wasn't as if the weapon had done her much good, anyway. Twelve arrows, and none of them had managed to hit their target. They were just lucky the tributes had decided to run. They could probably have just stayed put and waited out the shooting.

But they hadn't known that. The other tributes had assumed that anyone shooting at them knew what they were doing. As long as they kept acting like they knew what they were doing, they could probably continue fooling the other tributes. And as long as they could fool the other tributes, they could probably fool the audience, as well.

They just had to give them a good show.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

Boom.

Barlen flinched as the sound of the cannon shook the air, echoing off the walls, vibrating off the sides of the pit nearby. He could see the pit, but he couldn't get any closer. Something was on top of him. No, not something. Someone. Well, someone's body, at least. Mariska. Mariska was dead. And Vashti…

Barlen looked around as well as he could. Vashti was lying nearby, motionless. Was he dead, too? Barlen could feel a lump growing in his throat as he caught a glimpse of what was written on his arm. Mariska and Vashti's names had been crossed out, along with Leo's. So they were dead. They were all dead.

He remembered Leo. The look on his face as he'd told Barlen to run. He remembered killing … someone. The details were fuzzy, but it was there on his arm. He'd killed the girl from Eight. And he remembered Mariska falling on top of him. How long ago had that been? Minutes? Hours? But Vashti…

Why couldn't he remember what had happened to Vashti?

Barlen peered a little closer at his arm, his vision blurry from the tears that were welling in his eyes. Written on his arm below the three crossed-out names was a message. Stay quiet and wait for help.

Help? What sort of help? Who was coming to help him? All of his allies – all of his friends – were dead. Barlen felt around in his pocket. There was a pen and … something else. A knife. A small knife, dried blood still caking part of the blade. Was this what he'd used to kill the girl from Eight? Maybe.

Maybe he could do it again.

Barlen took a deep breath. Help wasn't coming. No one was going to help him. Not when all of his friends were dead.

Slowly, carefully, he turned the knife over in his hands. It felt good. Certain. No one was going to help him, but maybe he could help himself. If someone had killed Vashti and Mariska, they were probably coming back for him. He would have to be ready.

He would be ready.

Nicodemus Ford
District Six Mentor

He was never ready for this.

Nicodemus wrapped an arm around Kit as the two of them watched the screen silently. The anthem began to play, but he knew better than to think he would see Charu's face, or that Kit would see Mariska's. It didn't seem fair, robbing the tributes of even that last bit of dignity, of having their faces displayed so their allies would at least know that they were dead.

It was a silly thing to be upset about, perhaps, when children were dying. When both the tributes from his district, as well as both from Kit's, were already dead. Would Charu really care whether Aleyn and Consus knew that she was dead? They'd assumed she was dead, after all, the moment the first cannon had sounded. They'd had no way of knowing the first cannon had been Mariska's.

And even if they had, would things have gone any differently? Maybe. Or maybe they would simply have left her. She'd barely been conscious, after all. She certainly hadn't been in any condition to keep up with them. At best, one of them might have taken the initiative and killed her, rather than leaving her for Ronan. At worst … well, at worst, things might have turned out exactly as they had.

"She never had a chance," Kit muttered. Nicodemus nodded. He was probably talking about Mariska, but the same statement could just as easily have applied to Charu. She certainly hadn't been expecting to fall through a hole in the ceiling, just as Mariska hadn't expected to suddenly be hit by a dart. There had been no warning. No chance for either of them to do anything. It had just happened.

It was a strategy he was all too familiar with. He'd spent most of his own Games hiding in the caves beneath the arena, only emerging at night to strike unsuspecting tributes. They'd never seen him coming. They hadn't known what hit them until it was too late.

Just like it had been too late for Charu. Too late for Mariska. And as much as he tried to tell himself that it was better that way – that at least their deaths hadn't been long and painful – the truth was that there was no good way to die. There were no good deaths in the Games – just ones that weren't quite as bad.

Duke shook his head as he plopped down beside the pair of them. "Well, I guess that's that." He took a long drink. "Another year, two more dead kids. I hope Vernon's happy."

"Duke."

"What? You know as well as I do that neither of those two shoulda been reaped."

"If it hadn't been them…"

"I know. I know. It would've been someone else. Someone who probably would've died too. But they never had a fair chance – not like the others who got reaped. The cards were stacked against 'em from the start."

Nicodemus said nothing. There was nothing to say. Duke wasn't wrong; there just wasn't anything they could do about it. They'd had the same discussion last year, and the year before, and it always ended the same way. Too many people in District Six agreed with what Vernon was doing, and even more simply didn't care. As long as they kept their noses out of trouble, it wasn't their problem.

"There has to be some way to change it," Duke muttered, almost to himself. Then he stopped, and his gaze hardened. "Damn the man. He was right."

Nicodemus raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Eldred. Whatever he's planning, he said it could have a positive effect on our districts, or somethin' like that. If we go along with his plan."

"Which is?"

"He didn't say."

Nicodemus nodded. "But he did make you an offer."

"Not just me."

"But he included you. And not me. Think about it, Duke. What does that tell you?"

Duke smirked. "Maybe he likes me better. Or trusts me more. Or maybe whatever he's planning, he'll need people who are physically … well, up to it. No offense."

Nicodemus couldn't help a smile. That last comment had been more for Kit's benefit than his own. He knew Duke hadn't meant any harm, but Kit tended to get defensive. "It could be any of those things," he agreed.

Duke sighed. "But?"

"But I don't think so. He trusts people more than he should at times, and I have no doubt he trusts me. But he also knows people better than you might give him credit for. Whatever he's got planned, he knows it's something I wouldn't go along with – for whatever reason. But he thinks it's something you'd be able to handle." Nicodemus leaned back a little in his wheelchair.

"And he's probably right."

"I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition."