Disclaimer: I still don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: And here we are. One more chapter after this one, and this three-year, 35-tribute behemoth of a story is done. Normal-sized SYOTs after this - for a little while, at least. *Sideways glance at What You Fight Against* Okay, besides that one.

Anyway, here we go...

Lost and Won

Barlen Rimmonn
Victor of the 50th Hunger Games

There was something on top of him.

Barlen's eyes flew open, his arms flailing, trying to free himself. He had to get out. Had to get away from … whatever this thing was that was holding him down. He glanced around, frantically trying to get a feel for where he was.

"Easy, Barlen. Easy." A voice. A pair of hands easing him back down. It was only then that Barlen realized what he'd been struggling with was a blanket. "Easy," the voice repeated. "Take it easy. You're safe."

Safe.

But he wasn't safe. He was in the Games. He remembered that. But the Games … they wouldn't be in a room like this, would they? Barlen relaxed a little, glancing down at his arm. He could've sworn he'd written something there, but now there was nothing.

"Yeah, that's why they had to sedate you," the stranger explained. "You kept fighting them when they were trying to wash it off."

Barlen blinked. He didn't remember that. He remembered … He remembered falling. He'd fallen a long way. He remembered things falling around him – rocks, pieces of rubble. He remembered blood. Blood on his hands, on his knife—

His knife! Where was it? Barlen looked around desperately, hoping for some hint of where it might be. His pocket? That was where it had been. He felt around for it, but there was nothing in his pockets. They probably weren't even the same pockets. The clothes he was wearing were perfectly clean, and he wouldn't have made it out of the Games without getting at least a little dirty.

Wait.

Out. He'd made it out of the Games. That meant he had won. The stranger smiled, as if he could see Barlen piecing it together in his head. "There you go. You're safe. It's okay."

"I won."

"Yes."

"I won the Hunger Games."

"That's right."

"I … I killed people."

"Yes."

"How many?"

There was a longer pause this time. "How many do you remember?"

Barlen hesitated. He remembered a boy. A boy about his age, calling him a friend, saying they could work together. He remembered blood – blood on his knife. "I … I cut a boy's throat."

The stranger nodded. "Yeah, that was the last one."

Barlen closed his eyes, trying to remember. But did he really want to remember? "There was … a girl."

"Which one?"

More than one, then. Barlen opened his eyes. "She attacked me. I remember … I remember thinking she was dead, but I don't know why. I think I killed her, but…"

"Interesting. That was the first one. Maybe that made more of an impression." He leaned forward a little. "There were five. You would've found out eventually during the interview, so I guess it's better to be prepared. Well, as prepared as possible."

Barlen nodded a little. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He cocked his head a little. "You don't remember me, do you."

It wasn't even a question – just a statement of fact. Barlen shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Kid, you've got nothing to be sorry for. You remembered what you needed to. You remembered you were in the Games for six whole days. You remembered you needed to fight, to kill when you had to. You remembered that you couldn't trust anyone. What's so funny?"

Barlen couldn't help it. He was chuckling. Soon, he was laughing. "Nothing to be sorry for," he repeated. "I killed five people."

"You did what you had to do."

"Were you sorry?"

That question seemed to catch him off guard. "For what?"

"For killing during your Games."

"I thought you didn't remember—"

"I don't remember your name, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out you're probably my mentor. Who else would be here?"

The stranger actually smiled a little. "Well, that's certainly an improvement over the first time we met."

"It is?"

He nodded, then held out his hand. "I'm Basil."

"Barlen."

"Yeah, glad you remember that." He leaned forward a little. "Listen, physically, you're in pretty good condition. You got stabbed in the hand and the shoulder in that last fight, but other than that and a shoulder wound early on, you're to be just fine. That means the audience will want to see you sooner rather than later. A few days, maybe, and you'll be ready for an interview, and then we can go home."

Home.

District Nine. District Nine was home. Barlen swallowed hard. "I…" He stopped, not really sure how he'd meant for that sentence to end. He did want to go home. Of course he did. Wasn't that why he'd fought so hard, why he'd killed five people? Hadn't he done it because he'd wanted to go home?

Basil nodded. "You don't remember." His voice was almost a whisper. "You don't remember much about home, do you."

Again, it wasn't a question. Barlen shook his head. "I … My parents. They're there. And my…" He hesitated. "My sister?"

"Do you remember her, or are you guessing?"

Barlen swallowed hard. "I'm … I'm not sure."

Basil nodded, then reached into his pocket. "I thought so. So I pulled a few strings. Turns out the Capitol has files on pretty much everybody, especially once those people are tributes." He handed Barlen a picture. "This is your mother."

Barlen took the photograph. The woman in the picture did look familiar. So did the next one – his father, Basil said. And the last one was his sister. "Chita," Basil answered when Barlen looked up expectantly, unable to come up with a name. "She's eleven."

"And I'm … thirteen?"

"Unless you had a birthday recently you didn't tell me about," Basil chuckled. "I didn't think to double-check that."

"Do you have…?" Barlen hesitated. It was a stupid question, but if he was being honest, he just didn't remember. "Do you have a picture of me?"

Basil blinked. "Didn't think of that, either. But there's a mirror right over there if you think you can stand."

Barlen nodded, and Basil helped him sit up. Physically, he didn't feel that bad – just a bit fuzzy and very tired. "It doesn't hurt," he realized. Basil had said he'd been stabbed. That had to hurt, didn't it?

Basil chuckled as he helped Barlen to his feet. "The drugs'll take care of that until you're back on your feet. All right. Easy does it. Just take it slow, and … there you go."

Barlen looked into the mirror. There was a face staring back – a face that he should have recognized as his. Slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, down his cheek, across his chin. He blinked a few times. "I … asked you something earlier."

"Yeah."

"I don't think you gave me an answer."

"I didn't."

"What was it?"

Basil laid a hand on his shoulder – the one that wasn't bandaged – and gave a gentle squeeze. "You asked if I was sorry for killing during my Games."

"Oh. Are you?"

"Sometimes," Basil admitted. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm also glad that I'm alive to be sorry. And I'm glad you're alive, kid."

Barlen stared back at the face in the mirror. He took a deep breath. The figure in the mirror did, too. Then he nodded.

"I think I am, too."

President Silas Grisom

"I think you made the right choice."

Silas looked up from the screen, where he'd been watching Basil talk Barlen through what was happening. Tamika was standing there expectantly, waiting for some sort of response. He nodded. "I hope so."

"If I may ask…"

"You want to know if he was the reason I was thinking about asking you to interfere in the finale."

Tamika nodded. "Now that it's over, for better or worse … yes, I'd like to know."

"Yes, he was."

"And which way would you have asked me to … sway events?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not anymore."

Silas leaned back in his chair. "That's the question, isn't it – which way to nudge things. There's no denying he was a favorite with the audience. He was entertaining. He was funny. But more than that, he was resilient. That's an important quality for a Victor. And while the other two displayed resilience, he embodied it."

"But…"

A hint of a smile played on Silas' face. She knew. She'd been able to tell from his tone of voice that there was a 'but' coming. Because as much as he might have wanted to ask her to nudge the Games in Barlen's favor for the audience's amusement, there were larger matters at stake. "But he could also be dangerous."

Tamika raised an eyebrow. 'Dangerous' clearly wasn't the word she'd been expecting. "Him?" She nodded towards the screen, where Barlen was still studying his own reflection in the mirror as if meeting someone new.

Silas nodded. "Oh, not now, perhaps. Maybe not even in the next few years. But for a little while longer, at least, Tamika, I am the president of Panem, and I have to think farther than that. I'm not saying that he will be dangerous – only that he could be. He could be anything. He's a wild card, more than any Victor we've had so far."

That got a barely concealed scoff. "Misha?"

"Misha was paranoid long before he turned rebellious. He should have been kept as far away from mentoring as possible. I was there when the last quarter quell pushed him over the edge. It was unfortunate, but not completely unforeseeable. Few things are in hindsight, I suppose, but something could – and should – have been done about him sooner." He shook his head. "Nothing to be done about it now, but he's part of the reason this Quell desperately needed to mark a return to … if not normal, then at least something better than the last few years. It's time to get back on track."

"You're worried because he's not normal."

"Worried isn't the word I'd use."

"Then what is?"

"Curious, mostly." He smiled. "You asked why I was thinking about asking you to interfere with the Games. Do you know why I didn't?"

Tamika shook her head. "Why? It would have been easy enough."

"Oh, I'm sure it would. One tree collapsing a stone at the wrong time, and he would have fallen from that roof rather than jumping. It would have been so easy. It was tempting, even." He shook his head. "But I didn't."

"Because you felt sorry for him?"

This time, Silas actually laughed. "What? Well, yes, as much as I feel sorry for anyone in the Games."

"You do?"

"Tamika, before I was the president, I was a mentor – however briefly. It was one year, but that was enough. Yes, I feel sorry for them. So does the audience, in their own way. The Games don't work if they don't empathize with the tributes, at least a little. No, there was no reason to feel any more sorry for him than for Retro or Aleyn – not by the end."

"Then why?"

"Because he's a wild card, Tamika. And as dangerous as that could be, it could also be the opposite. We don't know. Maybe he'll wake up ten years from now, remember the wrong moment from the Games, and decide to try to burn the Capitol to the ground. Or maybe he'll remember that it was a boy from Two who saved his life at the start of the Games at the cost of his own, and a boy from Five who taught him how to survive, and maybe that'll lead to a certain bond with two very Capitol-supporting districts."

"You think that'll happen?"

"I don't know, and that's the point." He shook his head. "There's something one of your predecessors once told me. Not the one immediately prior, mind you. Or the one before that. Or … Snow did go through a lot of Gamemakers, didn't he."

"He did."

"The first few Games were the same way. No one could seem to get it right, until a man named Helius came along. He told me once what he thought the problem was with his predecessors. They tried to predict too much, he said. They believed that prediction was just a function of keeping track of things. If you knew enough, you could predict anything. They thought they could predict how the tributes would behave, he said, and more often than not, they were wrong. He said there were certain things that were … What was the phrase he used?" He smiled. "Inherently unpredictable."

Tamika shook her head. "So he didn't think there was any point in preparing for what a tribute might do?"

"Not exactly. People are still people. There are patterns. There are constants. But to believe that you know – know, for certain – what someone will do in a given situation is … well, presumptuous. Arrogant. And possibly more dangerous than any tribute could be." He shook his head. "Barlen is inherently unpredictable. But in the end, so is everyone – just to different degrees. His victory might be dangerous, but interfering has its dangers, too. Perhaps even greater ones."

"How so?"

"It sets a precedent. Oh, you could make the argument that this is a special case, a good reason. But once you have a good reason, a good excuse, you open the door to bad excuses. The narrower we make our definition of who is an acceptable Victor, the more we set ourselves up for failure later on when someone unsuitable inevitably slips through. Mistakes happen. Eventually, we will have another Victor like Misha, but hopefully by the time they come around, we'll have enough other Victors to keep them away from the action, keep them from causing trouble. That doesn't work if all of the other Victors are completely suitable, because it's a rare Capitol supporter who doesn't have either a bit of a blind spot when it comes to recognizing someone who might not be, or a tendency to assume that everyone else fits into that category."

Tamika nodded. "So what do you want me to do?"

Silas shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Do what you're already doing. Do your job. This year went about as well as could be asked for, so whatever it is that you're doing … keep it up. The rest will sort itself out." He smiled. "And keep an eye on Eldred for me, will you?"

"Pardon?"

"He's going to need some people he can trust. People who aren't plotting or scheming or … well, being politicians. He's not a schemer, Tamika, as much as he might want to think of himself as one. He goes with his gut, with his heart, and that can be as unpredictable as someone like Snow."

"I thought you were the one who—"

"Chose him as my successor, yes. I did. I had my reasons, and I'd like to think they were good ones. I want to believe that he's the sort of president Panem needs right now. They don't need another Snow, or even another me."

"You've done an incredible job, Silas. After what happened during the 41st Games…"

"They needed stability, yes, and I gave them that. A president like Eldred then would have been a disaster. But now … now maybe they're ready. I certainly hope so. I wouldn't want to keep doing this forever, even if I could."

"Really? Most people would say you're quite good at it."

"Well, thank you, but being good at something and enjoying it are two very different things." He shook his head, poured a pair of drinks, and handed one to Tamika.

"I'm quite looking forward to retirement."

Barlen Rimmonn
Victor of the 50th Hunger Games

He wasn't looking forward to this.

Barlen took a deep breath. Then another. It shouldn't be hard. It really shouldn't. He'd made it through the Games, after all. All he had to do was get through one interview – just one – and then he could go home. The pictures had helped. He remembered a little bit more of home now. Enough to know that he wanted to get back there as soon as possible.

He just had to get through this.

They'd given him a few days, at least. A few days to get back on his feet, to heal, to prepare for this. But Basil had assured him that it would be better to get it done and over with as quickly as possible once he felt up to it. He was probably never going to feel completely ready for it, but maybe that was normal. He hoped it was normal. He didn't really remember how other Victors had acted during their after-Games interviews.

Other Victors. He glanced down at his arm, letting the words he'd written there sink in again. You won the Hunger Games. He didn't remember all of how he'd won, but he remembered enough. He remembered how some of it had felt, and that was enough. More than enough, really. Part of him hoped he would just forget the whole thing. But part of him already knew that wouldn't happen. The details might fade, but the feelings … Could he ever really forget feeling this way?

Across from him, hidden in the other wing of the stage, Basil gave him a thumbs-up. He was holding a cue card. Just in case, he had said. Just in case he forgot something important – like what was happening. For the most part, Basil had said, he wouldn't have to do anything. The audience just wanted to see him, and that would be enough.

Sure enough, the audience immediately burst into applause as he joined Malchus onstage. Barlen waved, and a smile crept across his face. Maybe this wouldn't actually be that hard after all. He took a seat across from Malchus, who waited until the applause had died down. "Welcome back, Barlen. It's good to see you again."

"And it's good to meet you." That got the laugh he'd hoped for from the audience. Basil had reminded him, of course, that he'd actually met Malchus before, but he'd figured the audience would get a kick out of it and jotted it down on his arm.

Malchus beamed. "Well, first of all, congratulations on a truly impressive feat. Victor of a Quarter Quell at the age of only thirteen. How does that feel?"

Barlen shrugged. "Not much to compare it to, really. I don't exactly know how it feels to win at eighteen, or any other year."

"Good point," Malchus agreed. "Now Barlen, how much of your victory do you remember?"

Barlen hesitated, his gaze flicking over to where Basil had written two words. Be honest. "Some," Barlen admitted. "Bits and pieces. A lot of it's a jumble, but … I know I fought. I know I killed. And I remember … I remember thinking I was going to die, or that I was already dead, but I remember not wanting to be. More than anything, there's a feeling … a feeling of being willing to do anything to survive. To win. And … and I guess I did."

"That you did. Would you like to see how?"

Barlen nodded automatically. Malchus was obviously trying to transition into showing a video of the Games. And he had to admit he was curious. Not that that really mattered. They were going to show it whether he wanted them to or not, so he might as well look like he was interested.

It wasn't long before he was interested. The video started with a quick recap of the reapings, and some of the tributes looked … familiar, at least. He wouldn't have been able to place names, but he didn't have to. Names appeared on the screen along with a brief flash of each of the tributes at the reaping. One in particular caught his eye. "Well, isn't this fun? A dead man walking," a boy named Vashti muttered with a dry laugh.

Barlen couldn't help cringing when his own name was called, and it took forever for him to find his way to the stage until Basil leapt down from the stage and called him over, gently herding him in the right direction. "I'll take him," he heard Basil say after he and the other tributes had left the stage. "I reckon I'll be done with mentoring sooner than either of you this year."

Barlen froze. He hadn't heard that during the reaping. Or maybe he had, and he'd forgotten. His gaze strayed to Basil, who looked horrified at his own words. He quickly scribbled something on his cue card. I'm sorry. Barlen clenched his fists and looked away.

Basil hadn't expected him to win.

Basil hadn't even expected him to live very long.

And the worst part was, it was easy to see why. The screen showed a few clips from training, and Barlen watched as he wandered to and from the first aid station, getting up and leaving only to decide it looked like a good station to try. Finally, an older boy joined him – a boy who looked familiar. Leo, the name on the screen read, and Barlen's gaze instinctively flicked down to his arm. But the names that had been there were gone now.

Because all of them were dead.

Training scores flashed on the screen. He'd gotten a two, apparently. He wondered what he'd done. Most of the other tributes scored higher, but two of them – Merrik and Lena, according to the screen – had scored ones, and Vashti and Klaudia had scored twos, as well.

A few clips from the interviews were next, again with names helpfully flashing on the screen. Leo revealed that the two of them were working together. Vashti shrugged off the idea that sponsors might want to help him. "No, I'm as good as dead already. But you know what? I'm going to take as many tributes down with me as I can." Barlen wondered if he had. Then he saw himself rushing onstage to comfort the girl from Eight – Klaudia – who was crying after running away from her interview. Barlen drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

His own interview went smoothly. He showed off the pen he'd been using to write reminders on his arm, cracked a few jokes. The audience had enjoyed it. Barlen leaned forward as the screen shifted to their first glimpse of the arena. He'd ended up directly next to Leo. Barlen's forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember what had happened next. He didn't remember working with Leo much during the Games, so something must have happened…

It wasn't long before he got his answer. One of the girls from One charged at Barlen, but Leo stepped in the way, shouting to him to run. He didn't – not until Leo shouted again, even as a younger girl joined the attack, slamming a candleholder into his head. The older girl slammed Leo's head against the floor, and that was it. A cannon sounded, and a "35" flashed on the screen beside Leo's name and district – District Two. Barlen blinked. Did they always have the numbers and information up there, or was that to help him keep track?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. Leo was dead, just like that. That explained why he hadn't remembered working with him in the arena. The rest of the bloodbath flashed by quickly. "34" flashed by Lena, who was killed by a familiar-looking girl from Two. "33" flashed for David, "32" for Thomas, "31" for Orphelia, and "30" for Arabel, all of them killed by tributes from One, Two, or Five. Careers.

No, not Careers. Not really. At least, they didn't seem that way as some of them milled around the cornucopia, and the two who had killed Orphelia took off in a different direction. So they weren't all working together. Still, there were seven of them at the cornucopia – quite a large group.

Barlen watched with growing curiosity. What had happened to them all? If he was the one sitting here, that meant all of the Careers were dead. What had happened to them?

He didn't have much time to wonder, though, because the camera switched to one of his district partners, who was running away from the cornucopia with some supplies. Before she got far, however, she was ambushed by two familiar-looking tributes. Vashti. And … What was the girl's name? He glanced down at his arm before remembering that the names were gone. Just as he looked back up, the names Vashti and Mariska flashed helpfully on the screen, even though neither of them had died. So they were doing that for him.

"29" flashed for Aven, and Vashti and Mariska quickly gathered up the supplies she'd been carrying. Smart. Barlen's stomach churned even as the word clicked in his head. Yes, it was smart, but that was his district partner. He should care. He should be angry, or sad, or … or something.

But he wasn't. He didn't remember her. He wouldn't have remembered her name if it hadn't flashed on the screen, and he certainly didn't remember anything else about her. He didn't remember spending much time with either of his district partners during training. Sure, they both came from District Nine, but he didn't remember meeting either of them there, either.

Of course, maybe he wouldn't remember. He may very well have met them back in District Nine and just … forgotten. But somehow, that didn't matter. He didn't remember Aven. He remembered Vashti. He remembered Mariska. That was what mattered.

Or maybe it didn't, because they were dead now, too. He just didn't remember how or when. Barlen turned his attention back to the screen. A group of tributes had found a large pile of food. The Careers found Dinah, the girl from Three, who was hiding in the room with the beds, and soon a "28" flashed on the screen while her district partner made her way up the nearby stairs, where he ran into several older tributes. To Barlen's surprise, they let him go, and he kept running up the stairs while they waited for the Careers to leave the room below.

Meanwhile, Barlen could see that he'd made his way to a room full of instruments and started playing one. A harp. Barlen cocked his head. He remembered that – at least a little. He remembered feeling sad after Leo's death. No, sad wasn't really the right word. Lost. He had been lost. Confused. He hadn't known what to do, and playing an instrument – even an instrument he'd clearly had no idea how to play – had at least been something that he could do.

He hadn't given a second thought to the idea that it might attract other tributes. But he'd gotten lucky. No, it hadn't been luck, he could see now. The sponsor gifts must have been switched on purpose. "It's not a mistake," Vashti said with a smirk, just as Barlen was working it out himself. It was a message – a message to Vashti and Mariska, at least. "We felt we owed it to Aven," Vashti lied when Barlen asked why they hadn't killed him.

Barlen leaned back, watching as the version of him on the screen offered to work with them – unknowingly offering to help the people who had just killed his district partner. He hadn't known that, of course, but he couldn't help wondering what he would have done if he had. What would he have done about it? Tried to kill them? Surely he would have been able to figure out that he wouldn't stand a chance against the two of them.

Except…

Except he was alive, and they weren't.

Before he could wonder any more, the cameras switched to the tributes who had found the stockpile of food. A sponsor gift floated down, offering them an antidote for the poison they had apparently just eaten. Two vials of the antidote for the three of them. Barlen raised an eyebrow. Those bottles looked familiar…

His hand instinctively flew to his pocket. The vial wasn't there anymore, but that … that was where it had come from. That was what it was. But how had he gotten it? One of the boys from Ten attacked the girl, but she fought back, and soon a "27" flashed on the screen along with his name – Conner. The other boy fled into the next room, leaving the girl covered in her ally's blood. Before long, the girl also decided to leave, fleeing into the tunnels below the room.

Meanwhile, the Careers who had been left at the cornucopia when the others had gone hunting wandered off after a scream, leaving the cornucopia abandoned while a boy from one of the other larger alliances snuck in and grabbed some weapons. One of the Careers in the larger group that had gone hunting got impatient and wandered off on her own, inadvertently locking herself in a dungeon with another tribute.

It was a long fight, and the video showed most of it. Barlen sat on the edge of his seat, leaning forward, curious. He didn't recognize either of the tributes, which meant he had no idea which of them was going to win. Finally, the girl got the upper hand, plunging her knife into the boy's throat. A "26" and the name Emmett flashed on the screen.

But it wasn't his face that appeared, or the other boy who had died. It was the two girls who had killed them. Oh. A missing piece slid into place. He remembered thinking that he had been dead – that must have been why. His face must have appeared on the wall. Okay. At least that made sense now.

The Careers, woken by the cannon, also seemed to take it at face value that their ally was dead, and headed back to the cornucopia. Two boys found the room full of food that the other tributes had left, and the boy from Ten found a mutt. A big mutt with wings. Barlen watched, grinning, as he flew out of the castle and saved the boy from Three, who had fallen off the roof. Neither of them looked familiar. He wondered how far they had made it.

Meanwhile, he could see himself making his way through the tunnels that he, Vashti, and Mariska had found. They'd sent him ahead as a scout. "Don't get attached," Vashti told Mariska as Barlen disappeared into the tunnels. "This isn't going to last long." Barlen clenched his fists. Vashti hadn't thought he would survive, either.

Almost immediately, the cameras flashed to the girl from Eight, also wandering around in the tunnels. Oh. That was why she looked familiar. Barlen watched as she attacked him and, confused, he stabbed her in the throat. "You can't be here. It's a trick. It has to be. You're dead," he babbled. Barlen nodded as a "25" and Klaudia flashed on the screen. He'd thought she was dead, but he'd killed her anyway.

Wandering almost aimlessly, he made his way back to Vashti and Mariska and led them to the dead girl's body. Vashti searched the girl's pockets for anything useful, found the vial of medicine, and pocketed it. Before long, the three of them found the center of the underground maze, and the pit of goo.

Barlen leaned forward, trying to focus, but there was just too much going on, and it was all coming and going in flashes. 24. Elliot was stabbed in the back by his own ally, who joined up with the two other Careers who had attacked them. 23. Nephelle tried to sneak in and steal some supplies from a larger group of tributes, and was killed when one of them woke up and saw her. 22. His district partner Ti and the boy he was working with were found by one of the Careers, and the other boy fled into the tunnels.

21. The boys with the griffin mutt crashed through a wall, injuring one of the boys in the larger group and driving the others into the next room, where Killian was shot with a dart by a girl from Two who had left the larger Career pack, and finished off by the boys with the mutt. One of the larger groups, meanwhile, had gotten themselves trapped in a room filling with water. The sponsors had sent them breathing tubes, but not enough for all of them. 20. The girl from Four – she looked familiar, too – killed one of her own allies, leaving the three of them able to breathe as the water lifted them up to the roof.

The Careers, meanwhile – the ones who were left in a larger group – had made their way down into the tunnels. Unbeknownst to them, so had the other girl from Two. Two of the tributes from One – Justus and Mae – were killed by a large, three-headed dog mutt, while the other two fled. Meanwhile, the younger girl from Two found the boy from Five, who led her to where Barlen, Vashti, and Mariska had been resting.

Barlen leaned forward, watching as the Career girl gave the boy a blowgun and told him to kill one of them – or she would kill him. The boy started shooting. The first dart went wild, but the second one hit Mariska, who immediately threw herself on top of Barlen, shielding him. 17. She had saved him. Mariska had saved his life, just like Leo had.

At the same time, the tributes on the roof were being shot at by a group of Careers who had made their way up to one of the towers. A trap door opened in the roof, and one of the tributes fell through. The others jumped down as well, trying to get away from the stream of arrows. Assuming the cannon – Mariska's cannon – had belonged to the first tribute to fall through, the other pair fled, leaving their ally to be killed by the boy from Four, who had been nearby. 16. So that was where the other cannon had come from – the cannon that had made him think Vashti was dead, as well.

Well, the cannon as well as the fact that he'd crossed out Vashti's name on his arm. It had been Vashti's idea – to try to lure in whoever had been shooting at them. And it had worked. The boy from Five had come to investigate, and Barlen had attacked him. The boy hadn't fought back – not much. He'd wanted to lure in the Career girl, to give them an opportunity to kill her.

It worked. The girl from Two attacked, and Vashti lunged. He sank a hatchet deep into her neck, but not before she landed a blow to his knee. Barlen winced. He remembered that. Vashti had some sort of bleeding … thing. He didn't remember the name, but he remembered putting a tourniquet on his leg.

Sure enough, once the boy from Five ran off, Vashti collapsed, and Barlen bandaged his leg. Meanwhile, the boy from Four had found his ally again, and the pair of them headed off after the boys who had killed their ally, along with the dog mutt that had appeared when one of them received a whistle as a sponsor gift.

Revenge. Barlen cocked his head. That hadn't really occurred to him – or at least, he was pretty sure it hadn't. He had a bit of a picture now of the girl who had killed Leo, and he knew the boy from Five had killed Mariska, but the idea of going after either of them hadn't really crossed his mind.

Not that he could remember, at least.

In any case, the tributes with the dog mutt found the tributes with the griffin mutt. It should have been a fair fight, but it was obvious even from where he was sitting that the Gamemakers were favoring the tributes with the dog. 14. The boy from Three was killed, but not before giving his ally time to flee.

Just like Leo had done for him.

He remembered that.

An announcement rang out in the arena, inviting the tributes to a feast. Barlen raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember that. He was certainly sure he and Vashti hadn't gone – not in Vashti's condition, which seemed to be getting worse. In fact, only five tributes showed up to the feast – including a girl and boy who were already on top of the table when the packages began to arrive. They were interrupted by a pair of Careers who began to climb the table, and managed to run a spear through one before the other teamed up with a third Career who had arrived and simply lit the table on fire instead. The girl managed to get away, but the boy wasn't so lucky.

Meanwhile, Vashti gave Barlen the vial with the medicine in it, even though neither of them really had any idea what it was. Vashti confessed that he and Mariska had killed Aven. "Why are you telling me this?" Barlen heard himself ask.

Vashti shook his head. "Because in a few moments, you won't remember that I did. But what you need to remember – what you need to not forget – is not to trust anyone else."

"I need friends," Barlen heard himself plead. Vashti responded by handing him a knife. This is your friend now. He remembered the words just before Vashti said them. He'd remembered that. He'd managed to hold onto that thought, all the way through the rest of the Games. Barlen realized his hand had gone to his pocket, but the knife wasn't there. His friend was gone. Maybe he didn't need it anymore, but his pocket felt so empty without it.

The thought didn't have time to linger, because one of the Careers in the tunnels had found her way to where Barlen and Vashti were, only to get trapped in the goo that started rising as he and Vashti laughed. Barlen watched, surprised, as he attacked the trapped Career, forcing her head under the goo, stabbing her until the cannon sounded and an 11 flashed on the screen.

He had done that. He had killed a Career. But he and Vashti weren't safe from the goo, which was still rising because they were still laughing. The other tributes in the tunnels – the younger boy and the Career girl – had already made their way back to the main level of the castle, although the boy had lost his shoes in the process. Barlen watched as he and Vashti let the goo carry them to the roof and forced open the trap door beneath the cornucopia. He climbed through, and Vashti followed.

But the tourniquet on Vashti's leg had slipped. Barlen remembered that – at least a bit of it. He remembered Vashti yelling at him to leave. He had assumed Vashti was angry with him for messing up the tourniquet, but now … now he could see why Vashti had really told him to leave. Even as he was running away, a Career arrived with a spear, and after a bit of hesitation and no small amount of goading from Vashti, ran him through. 10.

Barlen's stomach churned. Vashti had saved his life by telling him to run. He'd realized that he was going to die anyway, and he'd saved Barlen's life.

9. The two Careers who had teamed up at the feast found Skyton at the top of the tower, and after being badly injured, he jumped to his death. 8. Barlen found Margo, the girl who had killed Vashti, and killed her in her sleep. Barlen blinked, shaking his head, certain he should feel something. Maybe satisfaction that he'd gotten revenge for Vashti's death. But he didn't. Vashti had been dying anyway, and he'd had no way of knowing that Margo had killed him. Maybe it should matter, but it didn't. All that had mattered was that she was the competition. Someone standing in the way of him going home.

Then the trees crashed through the window, and the Careers split up – one of them chasing the girl from Eleven and the other pretending to chase … someone. He wasn't sure who, but it worked. The girl from Five caught up to Shanali, and the younger boy from Five managed to sneak up from behind and stab the girl from Eleven. 7. But his district partner let him go, just like Vashti had.

The faces appeared on the wall, and Barlen crossed his own name off his arm after his face appeared. That … yes, he remembered that, and now he understood why he'd done it, and why his face had appeared. Because he'd killed, not because he'd been killed. 6. The pair from Four found each other, and the boy appeared to have the upper hand until the girl stabbed him in the stomach, managing to wriggle out of his grasp. 5. The Careers found each other again, and neither of them was so lucky. Each landed what would probably have been a fatal blow, but after the girl was dead, Barlen found the boy and finished him off. 4.

Trees scooped up the remaining three tributes and brought them to the roof. This he remembered. Well, he remembered more of it than the rest. He remembered throwing the vial at the roof, hoping it would do something. It hadn't, but the trees had been enough to make the other tributes think maybe it had done something. The three of them fought, and the other boy killed the girl. 3. Barlen watched himself leap from the roof onto the tree, and the other boy jumping after him. They both fell to the ground below.

He had gotten lucky. Nothing had landed on him, while the other boy was trapped. "We're friends, remember?" the other boy coaxed, trying to lure Barlen close enough to … What? What was he planning to do? He would probably never know, because he'd taken the opportunity to slit the other boy's throat.

Retro. That was the name that flashed on the screen beside the number 2. Then his own name, and the word Victor. He had won. He could see himself laughing, and then the video stopped. The crowd was cheering. Applauding. It felt strange. It almost felt good. During his interview before the Games, sure, they had enjoyed him. They had laughed at him – or maybe with him. But now … Now they were cheering for him. He had won.

Barlen stood up and took a bow, which only led to more applause. Beside him, Malchus was grinning, and for a moment, Barlen thought he looked almost relieved, as if this wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. But what else was he supposed to do?

What had they been worried about?

Basil Thatch
District Nine Mentor

What had he been worried about?

Basil relaxed a little as the crowd continued to cheer. Barlen took another bow – maybe he'd forgotten the first three – and the crowd ate it up like candy. They loved him. A smile crept across Basil's face as Barlen finally left the stage. Basil held up his hand for a high-five, and Barlen immediately obliged. Slowly, however, Barlen's smile faded into a look of concentration. "There was something … something I wanted to talk to you about."

Basil nodded. He could lie. It would be so easy to lie, to make up something else, but it had been obvious what Barlen had wanted to talk about. It had been clear the moment he'd stopped looking at Basil offstage during the video of the Games. "Let's find somewhere a bit quieter," Basil offered. Just in case there was about to be shouting or … or something.

Something. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, just like he wouldn't have been able to place exactly what he had been worried Barlen was going to do during the interview. Break down and cry? There had certainly been Victors who had done that before. Start yelling about how all of his allies were dead and it was the Capitol's fault? Maybe. Maybe that would have been a problem, but the Capitol had dealt with that before, too.

Basil finally managed to steer Barlen in the direction of the elevator. Once they were inside, Basil took a deep breath. "The thing you wanted to talk to me about … It was something I said after the reaping. I said I wanted you as my tribute because that way I would be done with mentoring sooner – sooner than either of the others."

Barlen blinked. "Why?"

"Because you couldn't even find your way to the stage until I started calling to you, and I figured—"

"No, that's not what I meant," Barlen interrupted before he could get any farther. "Why would you tell me that, just now?"

"Why not?"

Barlen hesitated. "Because … because it would have been easier for you to lie, or just pretend you didn't know what I was talking about. You could have lied, but you told me the truth. Just like Vashti."

It was Basil's turn to stand there, blinking. "What?"

"When he was dying, he … he told me that he had killed my district partner, and I asked him the same thing. Why would he tell me that? But he was trying to help me. He wanted me to know that I couldn't trust anybody."

The elevator dinged, but neither of them made a move to get out. Basil nodded a little. "And I told you the truth because I want you to know that you can. That it's safe to trust people now. The Games are over. And I don't mean … I'm not trying to say that people don't lie outside the Games. And I'm not saying you should trust everybody, but … Well, I guess I don't know what I'm saying."

"You're saying I can trust you."

Basil shrugged. "Once we get back to District Nine, kid, it doesn't really matter whether you trust me. But I want you to know that you can trust your family, your friends, the people who were important in your life before the Games. They won't be trying to kill you, or manipulate you. And if they're lying to you, chances are, it's because they're trying to help you or protect you."

Barlen's face hardened a little. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not. I just meant that—"

"I didn't mean now. I just meant … even if it's easier, even if you think it might help me or protect me, please don't lie to me. I just want … I want one person I can trust to tell me the truth, even if I forget it."

"Your parents—"

"Would want to protect me. My sister's … younger than me?"

"Yes, she is."

"They would try to help me, to keep me safe, even if it meant lying to me. I want to know that there's someone who won't. Please." His expression softened, and Basil could see a few tears in his eyes. "Please," he repeated. "Promise you'll tell me the truth."

Basil laid a hand on Barlen's shoulder. "I promise."

Barlen nodded. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "And I forgive you."

Basil raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For assuming I was going to die."

Basil chuckled. "Fair enough. And thank you. And … thank you for winning."

"What do you mean?"

Basil shook his head. "Look, the reason I didn't think you were going to win … I didn't want to get my hopes up. I've seen what that does to mentors. Crispin and Eloise, they put on a brave face, but the truth is they dread mentoring every year, and Tobiah … he's even worse. I didn't want to get attached because I didn't want to end up like them. I still don't. I didn't want to be disappointed when my tribute died, but … you didn't die. You won. I know that's not why you wanted to win, but … thank you, anyway."

Barlen smiled. "You're welcome." He glanced around. "Is the elevator broken?"

Basil burst out laughing. "No. No, we reached our floor a while ago. Are you ready?"

"Probably not. Is there something else tonight?"

"No, but tomorrow … tomorrow we can go home."

Home. He watched the word register on Barlen's face as they left the elevator. Basil had shown him pictures, but how much did he really remember about home? Would he recognize his family? His friends? Basil shook his head as they made their way down the hall.

Only time would tell.

Barlen Rimmonn
Victor of the 50th Hunger Games

"Tell me what happened."

Barlen shook his head, trying desperately to wipe the blood off his hands. "I don't know. I don't know. I just remember her lying there, and I … I had a knife in my hands. I ran to find help. I knew you would help. I knew it. Please … please help me. Help me."

"Barlen." Basil's voice shook him out of his panic, and a pair of hands gripped his shoulders. "Barlen, I want to help you, but I need you to focus. Where did you find her?"

Barlen hesitated. He was pretty sure. "My house. My … my room, I think. But why would another tribute be in my room?"

Basil shook his head. "It wasn't another tribute. There are no other tributes here. You're not a tribute anymore. You won. Do you hear me?"

"Then who did I…?" He let the sentence trail off. Had he killed someone? Someone he hadn't needed to kill? Tears welled up in his eyes.

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

It didn't take long to make their way next door. His parents. His parents were standing outside, with a girl. A girl a little younger than him. Her shoulder was bleeding. "Chita!" he realized. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I—"

She backed away, hiding behind their father. Barlen almost took a step closer, but Basil's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Wait," Basil hissed, and turned to Chita. "What happened?"

Chita shook her head. "I … I just wanted to help. He was screaming. Crying. I could hear him from my room, and I thought if I woke him up, told him he wasn't in the Games anymore, he would calm down. I didn't know he had a knife."

His mother shook her head. "Barlen, we talked about this. Knives are dangerous."

"I know!" Barlen didn't realize he was shouting until he saw the look on his mother's face. "I know, and I'm sorry, but … but I can't sleep. Not without knowing that I'm safe. And my friend…" He trailed off when he saw the look on their faces. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

His father laid a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Come on. We're leaving."

Basil took a step forward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. Where are you going?"

"Home."

Barlen opened his mouth, but nothing came out. They wanted to go home. They wanted to be safe. That was the same thing he'd wanted, and now … now he was the reason they were in danger. He was sorry now, but the same thing could happen again. Anytime. Anywhere. All it took was a moment – a moment where he forgot that he wasn't in the Games anymore, that he didn't need to kill to survive.

So he watched them go. Then he took a shaky breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What … what do I do now?"

Suddenly, Basil was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, pulling him in close. A pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as tears soaked his shirt. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

"Don't lie to me," Barlen hissed through tears.

Basil pulled away a little. "All right. You're right. It's not okay. You just stabbed your sister. But she'll be fine. I'll send someone down to have a look and make sure, but she seemed more frightened than hurt."

"Frightened of me."

"Yeah."

"Will … will they always be?"

"Probably."

Barlen shook his head. "I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't realize who she was. I thought…"

"You thought you were protecting yourself."

"But I didn't need to." He took the knife out of his pocket. "I don't need this. I'm not in the Games. I haven't been for…"

"Three weeks," Basil finished when he trailed off.

"Three weeks," Barlen repeated. "I don't need it. I shouldn't need it. But…"

Basil nodded. Then, slowly, as if trying not to startle Barlen, he pulled a pocketknife from his own pocket and flicked it open. "Neither should I. But I do." He tucked it back in his pocket. "Look, they're probably gone for a while. I'd say a week or two at least. If you don't want to stay in an empty house … there are plenty of rooms in mine."

Barlen looked up, surprised. "Your family won't mind?"

Basil shook his head. "They moved into one of the other empty houses a while ago. Technically, they're probably not supposed to do that, but it's a big Victor's Village, and there are only five of us, so…"

"Us."

"Victors."

"Victors," Barlen repeated, as if hearing the word for the first time. "Winners?"

Basil gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Winners in some ways, losers in others, I suppose. Survivors, really." He managed a half-smile. "What do you say?"

Barlen glanced down at the knife in his hands, still dripping with blood. "What makes you think I won't do the same thing to you?"

"Because I won't be that stupid."

"Chita's not—"

"No, that was the wrong word," Basil admitted. "But she should have known better. She still wants things to be the way they were before the Games. And before the Games, you would never have thought about hurting her – or anyone. Now…"

"Now I'm dangerous."

Basil shrugged. "Maybe you always were. Maybe everybody is. My point was, she made a mistake – a mistake that I won't make."

Barlen nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Barlen took a deep breath as he followed Basil home. He'd won the Games. But he'd lost … what? His family? No. No, they were still there. They would keep their distance for a little while, maybe, but they were still there. But he had lost something, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.

Maybe it didn't matter. He was here. He was alive. Barlen relaxed a little as he followed Basil inside, and the older boy flicked on a few lights. Barlen tucked the knife back inside his pocket.

He was home.

"When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won."