"RUN! Split up!" Maverick shouted from behind Pascal. "GO GO GO!"

Pascal's heart leapt into his throat as his legs moved without thinking. He ran to the left, towards the ruins, and presumably Raine dashed off to the right, but Pascal didn't turn to look at what Maverick was warning of or where Raine went. He just ran.

This was it. They had split up. There was no way they were going to be able to find each other now. He couldn't protect Raine anymore. His anxiety at the thought only made his legs move faster.

A scream echoed behind him- high pitched and frightened.

Raine. It had to be.

Pascal slowed. He was going to turn around, to sit with her, hold her hand. Maybe she would be okay.

The sound of the canon echoed off the crumbling buildings.

A shiver ran down Pascal's spine as he continued his sprint to the city ruins. He wiped at his stinging eyes as he ran.

When he couldn't run anymore, he collapsed against the side of a brown brick building, gasping for air. His lungs burned along with his eyes.

Two more canons fired in quick succession. Maverick was dead too. And he had taken their attacker with him.

His stomach churned at the thought of Raine being killed, of Maverick dying. A ferocious nausea overtook his being, from running, from loss, from the anxiety of being all alone.

It was not the kind of nausea that made you sick, it was the kind that stuck around for hours, for days, and made a person miserable.

The last time he had felt it was when Rowena died. It hadn't come on immediately, it had come on that night when he stumbled into his house and fell to his knees in the living room, when the day caught up to him. It was only soothed when he held Ada, but even she couldn't make it go away entirely. Ada wouldn't be able to calm him now.

He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, trying to take deep breaths. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he rubbed at his face to try and calm down.

He didn't care that he was out in the open, or that his crying was loud, or he looked like a fool sobbing into his knees like a child, this was too much.

Beetee was wrong. He couldn't make it home. He was weak, so weak.

He didn't have a scratch on him, but the emotional pain would tear him apart if someone didn't find him and kill him first.

The rest of the day had passed with Pascal rooted to the spot, frozen with anguish, occasionally praying for Raine and Maverick and Agnes and the other tributes lost.

He didn't dare speak the prayers aloud, not in the arena. Religion was illegal in Panem, but both sides of his family had been Catholic years and years ago, and his dad often said that the on running joke for years on his side was that Catholicism always finds a way. Pascal and his siblings had been raised with as much religion as their parents knew and dared to teach them, it was limited to mostly praying and some estimated holy days, but it wasn't strict by any means. Pixel, his big sister, had been kissing girls since she was thirteen and Pascal had a long term boyfriend once and their parents never batted an eye. The idea of a loving God comforted Pascal, who spent his entire life worrying, and so he prayed for his fellow tributes because God loved them too, right? And surely God understood the circumstances their situation and would take them to a better place.

There were no more canons that day.

The anthem played and Pascal slowly turned his face to the hologram of a sky where they would show the fallen tributes. The boy from District Four was pictured first, followed by the imposing figure of Maverick. The boy from 10 had killed a career single-handed.

Amos' picture was shown next. Pascal couldn't believe it had been less than 24 hours since that incident had happened. It felt like an eternity had passed.

Raine was pictured last- small, with an uncertain look on her face. Pascal felt a pain in his heart as the projection disappeared, taking Raine's sweet face with it.

"I'm sorry," his whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. He had failed her. She had died alone.

He had wanted to be alone in the Games initially, but not like this. Never like this.

Beeping radiated from above him and a decently sized parachute landed gently beside him. Pascal examined it with interest.

He had sponsors? But why?

He wiped his face with his sleeve and his glasses on his shirt before opening the parachute:

Food and supplies from a generous sponsor, as you no longer have access to a pack. Be strong, remember who you are. -BT

Below Beetee's message was a hand scribbled note:

Thank you for being good to Raine. -Haymitch Abernathy

Haymitch Abernathy was District 12's old drunk mentor, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and 12's second ever, and only living, winner. He didn't seem to care much about anything from what Pascal could tell, so the very idea that Haymitch cared enough to send his thanks was shocking.

Pascal folded the note and shoved it deep into his pocket before going through the rest of the parachute. Sure enough, there were packets of food, a knife, a length of rope, a water bottle with water, ointment for potential wounds, and a small black backpack. Someone believed in him. Maybe his time wasn't up.

"Thank you," Pascal said, loud enough to be sure the cameras would pick it up, before packing his bag carefully.

He shakily got to his feet and started off to find an entry point into the red brick building. He was trembling all over, but he had made up his mind. And Pascal Fierwel was nothing if not stubborn.

Applause filled the air as the girl from 2 rose from chair aided by Caesar Flickerman. She disappeared from the stage on the tv as she appeared through the door. She sneered at her fellow tributes as she passed them.

Pascal was ushered forwards.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Pascal Fierwel from District 3!"

Pascal stepped out onto the stage where he was greeted by an uproarious cheer. The lights were blinding, but he made his way to the chairs.

"Welcome, Pascal," Caesar said, shaking his hand. "Please, have a seat."

Pascal sat in the chair beside the man decked out in bright green. Pascal himself was wearing a silver suit that seemed much too reflective under the hot stage lights.

"Now, Pascal. You're one of our oldest tributes this year. There are only three 18 year olds, including yourself. Do you think this gives you an advantage at all?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I'm certainly not the strongest or most well prepared." Pascal responded easily. Be likable, pull the pity card. He stole a glance at the obnoxiously colorful crowd who looked riveted to hear him speaking. His prep team had cooed over him, calling him handsome and cute. He wasn't sure how he felt about all that. Pascal twisted the bracelet around on his wrist as Caesar spoke again.

"That is a fair point. You did score a 7, however, so you must have a decent grasp on something. Isn't he being modest?"

The crowd cheered.

"Truthfully, I did a little bit of a few different things… and I guess that was good."

"Interesting strategy." Caesar said. "I've noticed you toying with that bracelet on your wrist. Is that your token?"

Pascal looked down at the accessory and then back up. "Yes,"

"Surely it has special meaning for you to bring it here. Is it your mother's? Or perhaps a sister's?"

"No, it- it's…" Pascal looked up again, where he could just barely make out Beetee nod at him from the front row of the crowd. "It's Rowena's."

"Rowena?" Caesar questioned, with an amused tone. "Why, I didn't know you had a little lady waiting for you back home! Though it doesn't come as much of a surprise. You're a fine young man, but go back the victor and she'd be ridiculous to leave you!"

The crowd cheered and laughed.

"She's not… she's, she died." Pascal explained, looking back down to his bracelet. The crowd fell silent.

"Oh, my condolences." Caesar replied, looking genuine. "That bracelet must be very important to you if it belonged to her."

"It is very important. The most important part of her I have is back home, though. I couldn't bring it."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"My daughter. Ada Grace."

A pitiful sounding murmur went through the crowd.

"Daughter?"

"Yes. Rowena… died due to complications from childbirth almost two years ago and I…" Pascal felt tears prick his eyes. "I have our daughter. And I love her more than anything."

The crowd cooed.

Ada was Rowena's daughter by blood and his daughter by love. It didn't feel like much of a lie to call the toddler theirs.

Pascal fingered the bracelet once more.

"Pascal, I think I can speak for all of us here tonight in saying that I hope you can make your daughter proud. Let's hear it for Pascal from District 3!" Caesar said, standing up. Pascal joined him and allowed Cesar to hold his arm high in the air as the thunderous applause crashed over him.

He didn't feel like the Games were the place where he could make anyone proud, least of all his baby girl.