Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.

Note: Yeah, this is what happens when I'm stuck at home during a month that was Camp NaNoWriMo anyway. Remember to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't yet.

Day Six
Almost

Tamsin Lane
District Eleven Mentor

She had been so close.

Tamsin sighed and took another drink as Violet sank into a seat next to her, spilling about a third of her own drink. "Kinda funny, don't you think?" Violet asked. "How close he got?"

Tamsin raised an eyebrow. "How close who got?"

"Six, twenty, and thirty-one, he said. One dead on, and one only one off. You think that's a coincidence?"

Tamsin shook her head. "Still not following. Who are we talking about?"

"Mayor Hamish!" Violet practically shouted, as though it should have been obvious. That got a few confused looks from some of the younger Victors, but the seasoned ones knew better than to pay too much attention to drunken outbursts. Out of the corner of her eye, though, Tamsin saw Harakuise making his way towards them.

"What are you…?" Tamsin started before the pieces finally slid into place. "Those numbers he wrote at the reaping? That's what you're on about?"

"He said twenty," Tamsin persisted. "And where does Wes place? Twentieth. He said six, and Shanali placed seventh. That's so close."

Tamsin rolled her eyes. "He also said thirty-one," she pointed out. "Killian placed twenty-first. What do you make of that? Bad handwriting?"

"Bad guessing," Harakuise reasoned, sliding into a seat across from them. "The Games aren't that predictable. His brother made the same mistake. Thought he could predict every move of the game a dozen steps in advance. He couldn't, and neither can Mycr. If I had to take my own guess, he's probably just trying to keep you from getting your hopes up." He shook his head. "Six tributes left, and I still wouldn't claim to know where ours are going to place."

Violet looked up. "You don't think they're going to win?"

Harakuise chuckled. "Oh, I certainly hope one of them is going to win. But as for which, or whether either of them actually will … nobody knows. Anyone who claims otherwise is kidding themselves, and we all know it." He shook his head. "How many people would have predicted you would win, Violet? Or you, Tamsin? Or me? We can take a guess. We can hope for the best. But the truth is that no one really knows."

Violet's mind finally seemed to catch up with the other half of the conversation. "How do you know Mayor Hamish?"

"I don't – not really. I knew his brother, Sher. We were in the Games together."

"Allies?" Violet guessed.

Harakuise shook his head. "They really don't air highlights of the older Games very often, do they."

"Not everyone pays attention even when they do," Tamsin pointed out. "We're not all Career districts looking for an edge, you know. Most of us like to forget about the Games for the rest of the year."

"Fair enough," Harakuise conceded. "No, we weren't allies. I killed him. At the time, it seemed like such a terrible waste. He was a fascinating young man, with a brilliant mind. A better mind than mine, even I had to admit in the end. But it didn't save him."

"So you … you think the Games are a waste of life?" Violet asked, confused, struggling to keep up. That clearly hadn't been something she'd expected to hear from a Career.

Except Harakuise wasn't a Career, Tamsin reminded herself. District Five hadn't become a Career district until long after his Games. And to her surprise, Harakuise didn't seem to mind the question. "Of course they are. But they're a necessary waste, a reminder that helps us avoid an even bigger waste. Without the Games to remind us of the price of rebellion, we would have even more waste." He leaned forward a little. "Like what we saw after the 41st Games. And none of us want that."

His eyes flicked over to where Nicodemus was sitting at the bar. It was a brief flicker, and Violet probably missed it, but Tamsin noticed. She shook her head. "You really believe that, don't you."

Harakuise nodded. "Of course. But it doesn't bother me that you don't. The Games don't need everyone to believe in them in order to function; that's the beauty of it. They just need enough people to accept them. And you do."

Tamsin held her tongue. He was right. She hated it, but he was right. District Eleven, like most of the districts, had accepted that the Games were the price they had to pay for peace. She and the other Victors tried to make the best of it, and the rest of the district did their best to ignore the Games and hope no one they knew would be picked. It had been a long time since anyone in Eleven had actively opposed the Games.

They all knew better.

Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four

He knew better than to let her get close.

Ronan dodged Aleyn's spear as his district partner lunged again. The spear gave her a longer reach, but it was also clear that she was struggling to control it. It was too big for her, really. She'd probably picked it thinking it would help to keep an opponent at arm's length, but if she couldn't really control what it was doing…

Still, he knew better than to get too close to the end. He dodged again, and she swung, driving him backwards. Back towards the wall. Ronan gripped his mace tightly. Not yet. After his first blow, Aleyn had immediately started lunging, trying to take him out quickly. Not a bad plan, really. A lengthy fight would probably result in both of them being injured, and would lower the chances of whoever survived making it much farther.

But a longer fight also meant she would get tired. Sweat was already dripping from Aleyn's forehead. Ronan stepped backwards again, feeling for the wall with his free hand as he swung his mace, deflecting Aleyn's spear. Aleyn drew back a little, then charged, driving the spear forward. Ronan sidestepped just in time, and the tip of the spear struck the wall. Ronan immediately dropped his mace, grabbing the shaft of the spear instead, wrenching it from Aleyn's hands.

Even as he did, though, Aleyn dove for his legs, snatching up the mace he'd dropped. Even as he stabbed downwards with the spear, she squirmed out of the way, swinging the mace as hard as she could. It struck his knee with a terrible crack, and Ronan couldn't help a cry of pain as the spear slipped from his grasp and he toppled to the ground – right on top of Aleyn. Aleyn let out a squeal, but he had her pinned. Now he just had to reach a weapon—

But Aleyn had been quicker. She'd had something in her pocket – some sort of small knife. In one quick motion, she buried it in his side. Ronan's hands wrapped around her neck as she drew it out again. She didn't bother reaching for his neck; her arms were shorter anyway. But she also knew that he wouldn't let go.

Ronan squeezed harder.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

He squeezed harder.

Aleyn gasped, struggling for breath, but Ronan's grip was too tight. She stabbed again, a little higher this time, but from her position beneath him, she couldn't reach his chest – or even his arms to try to get him to let go. But she could tell her knife had sunk deep – maybe even deep enough to be fatal, even if he killed her first.

Now that was a funny thought.

No. No, it wasn't. Under ordinary circumstances, it wouldn't be funny at all. But she could barely breathe. Probably just a lack of oxygen. Aleyn's next gasp came out as more of a laugh, and that was enough to make Ronan hesitate. "What's so funny?" he growled, as if maybe she had an ace up her sleeve.

She didn't. She simply twisted the knife deeper into his side. "Got you, too," she hissed.

Ronan's eyes met hers. He knew. He knew he was as good as dead now. Even if she hadn't damaged his kneecap when she'd swung his mace – and she was pretty sure she had – he was almost certainly going to bleed out now. And once another tribute came across him, he was a goner.

And he knew it.

Briefly, the pressure on her throat loosened. Just a little. Just for a moment. Maybe he was having second thoughts. Maybe he was realizing that if he died – no, when he died – she was the best chance of someone from District Four making it home. She hadn't seen any of District Four's other tributes since the bloodbath. This late in the Games, that probably meant they were dead. The chances of three tributes from District Four making it this far were slim.

"It's not funny," Ronan hissed, but there was pain in his voice. Blood coated her hand, flowing quickly from his side.

"No, it's not," Aleyn rasped.

"Damn you."

"You too."

Ronan's weight shifted a little as he squeezed again. Maybe he had meant to; maybe he hadn't. Either way, he'd left her arm a little freer. Instead of stabbing his side, her next blow sliced deep into his wrist. His grip finally loosened, and she pried his other hand loose, scrambling out from under his grip as he collapsed.

She could breathe.

She was alive.

But there hadn't been a cannon yet. Aleyn let her knife fall and snatched up the spear from where it lay. There was barely a sound as she drove it into Ronan's throat; he'd already lost too much blood to put up a fight.

The cannon sounded almost immediately.

Aleyn sank onto her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. She was still alive. Had he … had he let her live? Had he let her win, once he knew he was going to die, just to give District Four a chance? Maybe. Maybe he'd just lost too much blood and was getting delirious. Maybe it didn't really matter which.

She was still alive.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

He was still alive.

Retro held his breath as another cannon sounded. Five tributes left. For a moment, he'd thought he'd heard a scream nearby, but that could just have been the way that everything echoed off the walls. It wasn't quite as bad as the echoes down in the tunnels, but it was still more than a little disorienting.

Just a little longer. There were only five tributes left. If he could hold on just a little longer, if he could make it out of here, then he would be safe. Just four more cannons. Just four more.

He could do that.

He'd made it this far.

Retro glanced around the room again. There wasn't much that would be useful – just a lot of armor. Near the beginning of the Games, he would probably have snatched it up. He would have been grateful for anything that would make him feel even a little bit safer. But now … would armor really do him any good? He'd had more success so far by being quiet, by being able to sneak up on people. Armor would probably just make him slower.

Probably.

It was a risk. A gamble. But everything in the Games was, once it came down to it. It was really just one big game of chance. There was nothing that would really make him safer – not for long, not for certain.

Maybe some boots, at least. He'd lost his shoes in the goo in the tunnels and had been going barefoot ever since. He glanced around, trying to find a pair that might be his size. Finally, he slipped on the smallest ones he could find.

That still felt wrong.

Retro slipped the boots off again. Maybe it was better to keep going barefoot – better at this point than wearing boots that were a little too big, that he wouldn't be able to move as well in. He picked up his hatchet, trying to wipe off a little of the blood. But it was too sticky now. The time to wipe it off would have been hours ago, but he hadn't even wanted to look at the blood then.

He still didn't. Not really. That was why he'd been trying to wipe it off in the first place. But maybe it was better that he couldn't. This way, anyone who saw it would know that he had killed someone.

Maybe. From the look of the light that was filtering in from the window in the next room, it was almost night. Soon, they wouldn't be able to see much of anything.

Retro held back a yawn. He wanted to rest. He wanted to sleep for a long time and forget about the blood on his hatchet. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not when there were only five of them left. He couldn't afford to rest now. It would be too easy for someone to find him, even in the dark. And if he was going to die, he didn't want it to be like that.

He wanted to fight.

It was a strange thought, really. If he'd asked himself at the beginning of the Games how he would prefer to die, dying in his sleep would probably have seemed like a pretty good way to go. Painless, unaware, peaceful. But now … He didn't want to die helpless. He'd come this far; it would be a shame to give up and die that easily.

Retro rubbed his eyes and paced across the room. He couldn't sleep. He wasn't really hungry. He just wanted this to end. But the only way it was going to end was if he found someone else – or if they found him. Maybe he could wait a little longer here – maybe another cannon or two – but he couldn't hide here forever.

It was only a matter of time.

Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five

It was only a matter of time.

Macauley shook her head as she made her way back through the room she and Darian had crashed into. Part of her had been hoping that he would be foolish enough to come back here. Part of her just wanted to put as much distance between her and Retro as possible. She had spared him once, but once was all she could afford to give him. If she found him again, she would have to kill him.

That shouldn't have been a problem. That was what she was here for, after all. But killing someone who had saved her life … that just felt wrong. She hadn't expected that. Of course, she hadn't expected anyone in the Games to save her at all – certainly not a twelve-year-old kid. It was her fault, really, for getting herself in that sort of position. She should never have been at such a disadvantage.

The trouble was, she hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. She had attacked exactly when she should have. She had been armed. She had been stronger. And yet the girl from Eleven had still managed to get the upper hand. If Retro hadn't stepped in – or if he'd chosen to step in just a little bit later – that would have been the end of it. She would have been dead. It would have been so easy for him to let it happen.

So why hadn't he?

It didn't make any sense. It certainly wasn't what she would have done. She would have waited – waited for the cannon, and then attacked. That would have been the smart thing to do. Had he been worried that maybe the other girl would hear him if he waited too long, that she would notice him out of the corner of her eye and decide to turn on him instead?

Yes. Yes, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. Because the only other possibility was that he had saved her life because he had wanted to. Because he didn't want her to die. But that was crazy. Maybe if they had been allies, it would have made sense for him to save her, but even the strongest alliances tended to crumble this far into the Games. And they hadn't been allies. They were just district partners. That didn't mean anything.

It couldn't mean anything.

She couldn't let it. Not when she was this close. She couldn't afford to worry about what her district partner was doing. For all she knew, that last cannon might have been his. Someone else could very easily have found him – someone who wouldn't feel sorry for him.

But she hadn't felt sorry for him – not really. She had been surprised to see him. Impressed. But not sorry. The fact that two of them from Five had made it this far into the Games was quite a feat, even if only one of them could make it out alive.

Macauley shook her head and made her way back out of the room. There was nothing here. Darian wouldn't have gone back up the stairs – not when it was obvious there was nothing up there. He would be doing the same thing she was doing – looking for any sign of other tributes. It was the final five, after all, and he was a Career. Obviously he would be on the hunt.

Macauley almost laughed out loud. When had she stared thinking of him as a Career? He certainly wasn't as much of a Career as she was, of course, but unless the most recent cannon had been his, he was still alive, and in the final five as well. Which meant that he was just as dangerous as any of the other tributes out there.

She couldn't afford to forget that.

Darian Travers, 14
District Two

He couldn't afford to stay put for long.

Darian paced around the room one more time, checking every place that a tribute might be hiding. But there was no one. He'd already checked every wardrobe at least three or four times, double-checking in the back behind the thickest clothes, every place that a smaller tribute might be able to hide. So far, he'd found nothing.

Which meant it was time to move on to another room. Darian glanced around the room one more time, but it was almost no use anymore. There was barely any light filtering in from the cornucopia; it must be nearly nighttime. Which meant there was no point in going back there, so that left the room full of food and the bedroom as the next place to look. Darian considered for a moment, but then headed for the pantry room. Maybe if the other tributes knew there was food there, they might decide it was a good spot to rest for a while.

Or a good spot for a trap.

The last thought only crossed his mind as he peered into the room and saw something moving in the dark on the other side. Darian froze. Maybe the other tribute hadn't seen him. He might still be able to get away. If they didn't know he was there…

No. No, that wasn't an option. He couldn't run away now. Not when there were only five of them left. The Gamemakers would never just let him get away. If he ran, the other tribute would almost certainly hear him. If he tried to sneak away, the Gamemakers would probably find a way to drive them together. Right now, he had the advantage; he knew where the other tribute was. He had to use that.

There wasn't a choice anymore.

As quickly as he could, Darian charged. Almost immediately, the shape moved towards him in the dark. So the other tribute had seen him. Running would have been pointless anyway. Darian couldn't help a smile as he charged almost blindly in the dark.

He'd made the right choice.

Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five

He was going to regret that choice.

Macauley grinned as the two of them were finally close enough for her to make out who her opponent was. Darian. Part of her had been hoping it would be him. It was certainly better than some of the other options. Well, one of the other options, at least. Besides, it was Darian's fault that she'd been chasing after the girl from Eleven in the first place. He was the one who had pointed her in that direction.

It was a silly thing to blame him for, really. She would probably have done exactly the same thing. Anyone would have. He'd set her up for a fight, which could have gone either way, and gotten out without a scratch himself. It was smart; she had to give him that.

But all it had done was buy him time.

Her rapier met his dagger in the dark; she could see just well enough to tell that that was probably the only weapon he had. Probably. She couldn't count on that. She couldn't afford to get cocky now – not now that she was so close. She dodged to avoid his next blow, stepping back toward the room with the trees to see a little bit better.

But only a little bit. The light that was coming from the next room was moonlight, maybe a little bit of starlight. The sun was long gone. Still, the dim light was glinting off their weapons, which was at least something to go by. And he couldn't see any better in the dark than she could.

She dodged his next blow and struck blindly in the direction it had come from. They had never trained for this. If she made it out of this – no, when she made it out of this, she corrected herself – she would have to suggest that to the others. There had been Games where it had been dark, of course – catacombs, tunnels, and so on – but the tributes, or at least some of them, had usually been given a way to see – either night-vision glasses or a way to light torches.

Of course, they'd had plenty of candles here, but they had all been blown out. Macauley grunted as she dodged another blow. She should have looked around for matches when she'd been at the cornucopia, instead of wasting her time looking for medicine she hadn't needed.

Darian lunged again, and Macauley barely dodged in time. Focus. She could worry about the rest later – about what she should have done, and what she would do once she was out of the Games. Right now, there were still four tributes standing in her way. And Darian was one of them. But at least it was just him.

Wasn't it?

She had no way of knowing, of course. There could be anyone lurking in the shadows. But by the same token, Darian had no way of knowing there was no one else, either. Maybe she could use that. All she had to do was wait for the right moment.

He charged. She dodged, then swung her own blade. She turned a bit as she dodged, positioning herself so that she was facing the cornucopia. Dodge. Strike. Dodge. Then—

"Over here!" she called suddenly, as loudly as she could, waving in the direction of the cornucopia. Darian turned – briefly, so briefly. But it was enough time for her to lunge.

Then she felt the blade in her stomach.

Darian Travers, 14
District Two

He drove the blade in as hard as he could.

Darian gasped for breath, barely believing it had worked. It had been obvious what Macauley was trying to do – get him to turn his back to the cornucopia, trick him into thinking someone was coming. But the only way for him to get the upper hand was to let her believe that he believed it. So he'd turned when she'd called out – just long enough for her to strike, and then he had ducked beneath the blow and driven the blade into her stomach.

But he hadn't thought through what came next.

Macauley staggered forward on top of him, blood spilling from her side as he drew the dagger out. He should have dropped the dagger, he realized as she landed on top of him. He should have left it, and retrieved it once she was dead.

Because she wasn't dead yet.

The rapier sliced across his chest as she fell, cutting deep. His blood mixed with hers as the two of them toppled to the floor together. Shit. He managed to wrench the dagger out of her side, but by that time, her rapier was buried in his chest.

It didn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would.

Not that he'd really thought about how much it would hurt to be stabbed through the chest. Still, it seemed like there should be something more. There was pain, certainly, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by the cold, the darkness, the silence. He could still see Macauley's face, though, barely inches away from his. She was gasping for breath, just like him, trying to staunch the bleeding from her stomach.

But it was too late for that.

Or maybe not late enough. If they'd been the final two, it would matter. It would matter which of them died first, because the Capitol would work like hell to save the other one. But fifth place or fourth? No, that didn't matter. Darian closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, everything growing cold.

He wondered which cannon would sound first.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

Boom.

Barlen nearly jumped as the cannon sounded. He'd been running anyway – towards the sound. Someone had shouted. It had been quick, but he could swear he'd heard someone shout "Over here!" He had to get there fast – before he forgot what he was looking for.

But what was he looking for? What was he hoping to find? The Games were over, after all. He was already dead, and whoever was shouting – they were probably already dead, too. So what did it matter if he found them?

Still … it did, somehow. The voice had sounded out of breath, desperate. If there was something he could do to help them, maybe that would be enough to help him … what? Move on? Wasn't that what ghosts were supposed to do? Maybe that was what the other ghost wanted – help moving on. Yes. Yes, that made sense.

Now he just had to find them.

Finally, he could hear breathing. Shaky, ragged breathing. Barlen peered through the door. There was something moving on the floor. No, someone. They were still breathing, but barely. But that didn't make any sense. The Games were over. There shouldn't have been anyone still dying.

Unless the Gamemakers somehow missed this one. Barlen crept closer. "Hello?"

Raspy breaths turned into a weak chuckle. "Just get it over with." The boy on the floor motioned to something beside him. A dagger. There was blood on it, shining a little in the moonlight.

Barlen shook his head. "I have my own." He held up the cleaver, and the knife. Friend. He could still read the word on both of them when he held them close. "They're good friends," he said softly.

"Right. Well, now you can have another." Weakly, he nudged the dagger a little closer to Barlen's feet.

Barlen scooped it up, but there was no way he was going to be able to write on it with all that blood. He would just have to remember. But he could remember that. "Thank you." He tucked the knife into his pocket. "What happened?" he asked. "Did the Gamemakers forget about you?"

"What?"

"When the Games ended."

"Ended? They're not over."

What? They weren't? "How many of us are left?"

"Four."

Four. He needed to remember that. "But I crossed out my name," he protested. "Why would I do that if I wasn't dead?"

The boy closed his eyes, his breathing growing shallower. "Damned if I know. Maybe you did something so awful you thought you should be dead."

Oh.

He hadn't thought of that.

Barlen glanced at the other names on his arm. What could he have done? Had he killed all those people? No. No, those had been his allies. His friends. He wouldn't have killed his friends.

Would he?

If he had, that would certainly explain wishing he was dead himself, trying to convince himself that he was. Barlen could feel tears in his eyes. But something else had stuck. "Four left," he realized. "And you're one of them."

"Now you're getting it." The boy's voice was barely a whisper.

"Then I'm sorry."

"No you're not," the boy rasped just before the cleaver found his throat. Barlen took a step back as the cannon sounded.

Maybe he wasn't.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

Maybe she wasn't going to have long to wait after all.

Aleyn shuddered as another cannon sounded. That was two since Ronan had died. Since she had killed him. Two more tributes dead. Only three of them left. It wouldn't be long now.

Almost immediately, the Capitol anthem began to play. Odd that they would wait for three deaths now, but there hadn't been much time between the last two. Maybe they had known the other one was coming soon.

The first face belonged to the boy from Two. One of the tributes who had been at the feast. Aleyn let out a sigh of relief. That was one less Career she would have to deal with. As long as these faces belonged to the tributes who had died. It was their turn, yes, but she wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to try to throw them off now.

But sure enough, the next face belonged to Ronan. Aleyn leapt to her feet when she saw the third face – the girl from Five. Another Career. The only other Career, as far as she knew. If they were both dead, who did that leave?

Her. That was who that left. Aleyn's head was spinning. It didn't matter who else was left. The Careers were the biggest threat, after all, and they were just … gone. Had they turned on each other? Had someone else found them?

That second thought made her stop short. If someone else had taken out both Careers, then she needed to be careful. On the other hand, if someone had been fighting two Careers, they were almost certainly injured themselves, while she was in pretty good shape herself. Her throat still hurt where Ronan had nearly choked her to death, but at least that was a distraction from her leg. She picked up her spear from where it lay on the ground and clutched it tightly. One way or another, she wouldn't have to wait much longer.

It was almost over.

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

It was almost over.

Retro stared as Macauley's face disappeared from the wall. Just like that, she was gone. How long had it been since he'd seen her? Only a matter of hours, and now she was dead.

It should have been a relief. After all, if she was already dead, that meant that he wouldn't have to fight her. Neither of them would have to worry about killing the other. But on the other hand, it meant he didn't really have any idea who might be left. He'd seen the boy from Four a little while ago, but his face had just appeared, too. Who did that leave? Maybe the boy from Nine. His face had appeared on the wall at the same time Retro's had, meaning he had killed someone. But there had been three cannons that time, and only two faces, so he couldn't be sure.

There was only one way to find out.

Retro turned his hatchet over in his hands. It was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers would start driving them together. He might as well get moving. The trouble was, he had no idea where to get moving to.

Okay. Okay, there were three doors leading out of the armory, but one only led to the room with the stained glass window that had shattered all over the floor. There was no other way out of that one, except where the window had been, which was too high to reach. One of the other doors led back to the room with the cauldron, and the other … He wasn't entirely sure.

Before he could make up his mind, however, he heard something rumbling. Some sort of noise, coming from the room with the window. Immediately, he took off in the opposite direction, but the rumbling was growing closer. Retro turned in time to see a tree branch just before it grabbed him.

A tree branch? Where had a tree branch come from?

He barely had time to wonder before he got the answer. The tree limb lifted him effortlessly off the floor and pulled him backwards – back towards the window in the other room. Retro stopped struggling. Okay. Okay, he'd seen this happen before. Sometimes when the last few tributes were too far away from each other before the finale, the Gamemakers would step in and give him a hand. The tree probably wasn't going to hurt him unless he tried to fight it.

And what good would fighting a tree do anyway?

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

He finally stopped fighting as the tree dragged him through the window.

Barlen clutched his cleaver tightly. He'd already dropped the dagger when the tree branch had grabbed him. He didn't want to lose the cleaver, too. He didn't want to lose his friend – not now.

But not his only friend. He could still feel the knife in his pocket. And something else was there, too. A vial of some sort, but he couldn't quite remember what it was or why he had it. If he still had it now, though, it must be important. The boy had said that there were only four tributes left. That meant they were close to the end of the Games.

Barlen wriggled a little, trying to catch his breath. The tree's grip was tight, but it didn't seem to want to hurt him – just to not drop him. Maybe that was just more proof that the boy was right, that he wasn't dead after all. His name was still crossed off on his arm, but there could be other reasons for that. What had the boy said? Maybe he had done something so awful that he'd thought he should be dead?

But he wasn't dead. Not yet. Barlen's eyes darted around as the tree lifted him higher, up towards the roof of the castle. He could see a few more trees now in the dim light. Moonlight and starlight, but it was enough to see by. Enough to tell that two of the other trees were also carrying people.

Tributes. Not just people, tributes. The only two people standing in his way of going home. Home. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? To go home?

But he could barely remember home.

Camden Sinclair
District Five Mentor

She remembered what this had felt like.

Camden leaned forward, gripping Harakuise's hand, as the trees stopped on different sides of the castle, evenly spaced, the branches that gripped the tributes extending inwards, getting ready to set them down. Positioning the pieces for the final stage of the game.

It made sense. The three of them had been nowhere near each other inside the castle. It could have taken them hours to find each other, and the chances of all three of them stumbling across each other at the same time were slim. No, this was better. This was fair. Rather than waiting to see who would find each other first, it would be a matter of who made the first move, and who they made it against.

Harakuise gave his daughter's hand a gentle squeeze. "Brings the memories back, doesn't it."

Camden nodded. Her finale hadn't been anywhere near this fair. She had been in good shape after leading a pack of koala mutts against the remains of the Career pack, and she had quickly found the last two tributes and killed them. Well, sort of found. She'd found the giant eagles that had carried her to the last two tributes, a page she'd borrowed from her father's book.

He'd never seemed to mind that – the idea that he'd started a tradition of District Five's tributes using the mutts in the arena to their advantage. Camden watched as the trees lowered the tributes to the roof of the castle, far enough away from each other to give them time to size up the situation and decide what to do before attacking, but close enough for each of them to see who their final two opponents were.

Aleyn looked pleasantly surprised. The other two were younger than her, after all. Two of the youngest tributes in the Games. Barlen glanced from one to the other, as if trying to figure out which one of them might attack him first – or maybe deciding who he should attack first. Retro nodded a little, gripping his hatchet, probably just grateful that he wasn't facing off against Macauley.

He'd probably been expecting to, before seeing her face on the wall. Hell, she had been expecting him to. That would have been something – the finale coming down to two of District Five's tributes. It had happened before, after all.

It had happened to Harakuise.

But not this year. Macauley had underestimated Darian, and then he had done the same. It was a fight each of them had thought they could handle, but she couldn't really blame them for that. She would probably have done the same thing. There hadn't really been any better options. They couldn't have teamed up again this late in the Games, and they Gamemakers wouldn't have let them simply walk away from a fight. There hadn't been any other choice.

Sometimes there wasn't.

But District Five still had a tribute left. Not the one most people had expected, probably, but one she was proud to call hers. And now there were only two more tributes standing between him and victory. Camden squeezed Harakuise's hand a little tighter. They were so close. So close to having another Victor.

At the same time, though, she knew two other districts' Victors were thinking the same thing, hoping for the same thing. Bierce and the other District Four mentors had gathered in a small group, waiting, hoping. Basil was leaning back on one of the couches, arms crossed, trying to pretend that he wasn't just as anxious as the rest of them, but Eloise and Crispin were nearby, leaning forward, watching the screen for any sign of how this was going to go.

All of them were waiting. All of them were hoping. Around the rest of the room, the other Victors were watching as well. Some of them were probably hoping their tribute's ally would win. Some of them were too drunk to care at this point. Behind the bar, Eldred poured another round of drinks. Whichever way this went, they were going to need them.

It was almost over.

"The day almost itself professes yours."