Chapter Fifteen

"Thomas." Thomas said, and jerked his head in Newt's direction. "Newt."

The boy didn't react, simply blinking that impassive stare. And then he surprised Newt so much he almost dropped the bundle of leaves he was scattering over the ashes. The asian boy very slowly tucked the blade of the knife into a loop on the leather that criss-crossed his chest, holding out a hand to Thomas. After a moment's hesitation Thomas lowered the bow, holding both it and the arrow in one hand as he accepted the offered handshake.

"Minho." the newcomer said. "Got any water tablets? I got a flask and i found water but some shank bitch sliced my pack and i lost my tabs."

Newt was surprised at how casually the boy asked, and that Thomas almost smiled in reply. Okay so he wasn't smiling at all, but Newt could see in his eyes that he wanted to. Newt had the tablets in his pack, so he looked to Thomas for direction. The younger boy was so calm and together in a way that Newt couldn't even remember feeling, he was so jacked. It felt automatic to trust Thomas's judgement, and so far they'd survived nearly till nightfall without too much trouble so Newt would continue to follow his lead. Thomas's dark eyes landed on him and when he tipped his chin he nodded back.

Minho grinned when Newt tossed him their spare bottle, and when he did it changed his whole face. His blue eyes were something closer to royal blue than oceanic, and his eyes creased at the sides. He looked like he liked to smile, Newt thought. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks. You shanks cope okay without them?" He looked between them both, his smile turning bizarrely playful. "Don't look so surprised. I'm a friendly guy, you just don't know who ya can trust out here, y'know?"

They did know, and Newt found that something about Minho put him at ease. If they were to decide to take on allies after all, he'd be one that Newt would choose. He looked to Thomas again, shooting him a look when he saw that Thomas had gone back to handling his bow with both hands. Even if it was lowered. Newt thought it felt kind of, well, rude. Thomas rolled his eyes at him but shouldered the bow with a sigh. He kept a hold of the arrow though, rolling it absently between his fingers. Newt wasn't fooled.

He'd seen the evidence of the damage Thomas could do with just the arrow, he didn't need the bow.

He kicked more shrubbery over the remains of their fire before he felt satisfied that he'd tried his best to hide the evidence that they'd been there. Thomas was so much better at this than he was, thinking of everything and taking it all in his stride. Newt was freaking out on the inside, burning up with fear, and yet Thomas seemed to just adapt as though a switch in his head put him into Game Mode.

It was weird.

But then again, he'd always found Thomas an oddball; he was friendly and caring and yet he chose to distance himself from people. It occurred to Newt that maybe that practice at keeping distant was what was making this so much easier for him now.

When Thomas stepped over beside him Newt smiled, touching a hand to his arm in thanks before handing over one of the little parcels he'd made with the film and the duck. Thomas grinned his thanks and set to unwrapping it, obviously starving. Newt lifted one for himself from the pack before glancing over at Minho, feeling awkward.

The asian boy was looking out through the trees as though on alert, but Newt could see the hunger in his expression. He hesitated for a moment before he tossed a parcel at the boy, who turned to catch it with reflexes that seriously messed with Newt's comfort level. Minho had his hand on the handle of one of his knives, had the blade half-drawn from the leather straps he wore.

Minho looked up at Newt in clear surprise, before he smiled at him again. Newt was sure then that he would choose Minho as an ally, and thought about raising the issue with Thomas then and there. Minho was obviously lethal with those knives of his, and Newt couldn't help but think that they'd be better with that lethal beside them than before them. He bit his tongue at the last minute though, caution catching him. Perhaps it'd be best to wait and see if Minho could be trusted first.

"So what happened to the others from your district?"

Thomas's voice was level but Newt could hear the curiosity. Until the first Cannons went off at Midnight they had no idea how their opponents were faring. Thomas had been quick to get them away from the others. Besides the screaming tribute they'd heard fall at the Bloodbath, the one Thomas had seen killed behind Brenda, the scream when they were in the trees and the girl that Thomas had had to kill they knew pretty much nothing about anybody else except that Minho wasn't dead. Minho shrugged, settling himself on a rock far enough away from Newt that he didn't make him nervous. He set to peeling back the thin film, looking so strangely at ease that Newt felt more uncomfortable.

"No idea. Hope they got Gally already though, he's a right crank and it'll be hard as shuck to get to him without getting killed. Harriet and Beth are a whole other story. They're good fighters in fair circumstances but not if they're outnumbered. Probably already dead."

He bit into the cooked duck that Newt had given him, seeming and sounding as if it didn't really bother him. Newt shifted, suddenly unable to finish his own meagre portion. Thomas threw him a glance that told him they'd be watching out for Minho. He may not necessarily attack them at any moment but his nonchalance at the thought of his fellow district tributes made Thomas as nervous as it did Newt, he was sure. As if he could feel the look Minho lifted his head, looking between them.

"You two sure stuck together though. Hoping to break the Glader rule?"

Newt shrugged, fiddling with the plastic film as he dragged it tightly back over his food. He was trying not to let himself think too far ahead. In the moment, one minute at a time, that was how to do it. Thomas bristled though, taking evident offence to Minho's words.

"What kind of people ditch their own? Don't you feel anything?"

Minho looked surprised and then his face went carefully blank again, before he levelled a heavy gaze at Thomas.

"Where are the female tributes from your district, Thomas? Did you ditch them?"

Thomas opened his mouth with a glare, but Newt stepped in with his arms spread before Thomas could spit out what Newt knew would be fighting words.

"Fair enough." he reasoned, as loudly as he dared in the growing dimness. "We split. They weren't big on the idea of bein' easier to hunt down because we were all together. We did want to stick together but you can't force that."

Thomas backed off when Newt spoke, his outrage gone as though the blonde had flicked it away with the gesture of his arms. Minho glanced between them. Then he nodded, and shrugged again. He had relaxed and he went back to finishing off what was left of the food Newt had given him.

"It's just logical. One person's easier to hide and easier to clean up after than two, or four."

He licked the grease off his fingers, looking thoughtful as he did so. Thomas had sat down close to Newt, their shoulders almost touching. The chill sweeping over the Arena grew as the darkness gathered and the warmth radiating from the younger boy soothed Newt in a way that food and water hadn't managed. They watched Minho curiously.

"Nobody to watch your back if you're on your own." Newt muttered carefully.

He avoided pointing out the obvious that he would probably have been killed if he'd been on his own, without Thomas. Thomas shifted, pressing their shoulders firmly together in response. He knew his friend had his back. It scared him to think of the danger Thomas would likely have to put himself in over however long they lasted here. Thomas was ridiculous like that. He was horribly certain that Thomas would die for him, and he didn't like the odds that he would have to.

Minho's blue eyes had returned to them at Newt's words, and he was studying them both very seriously. Thomas was staring back stonily, but Newt could see his brain working behind his eyes. Minho raised his eyebrows slightly and pulled a face that said he thought Newt had a fair point. Eventually he met Newt's eyes before he turned his gaze on Thomas.

"You shanks saved me a grisly death from bad water."

He looked down at the ball of film in his hand with thoughtful eyes. He held up up as though to show them it.

"And from being outed in the dark by a growling gut."

He tucked the ball into a pocket on his leather harness before he looked at them again, cocking his head as his eyes flicked between them.

"Maybe you got a point, sticking together. Maybe. I sure as shuck can't go slitting your throats now that you've done that." he shook his head slowly. "Wouldn't be right. I'll go now, hands up and no funny business, on my word."

He paused, as though debating something before he continued.

"But i'm pretty sure i'd find it interesting to see how you shanks get on. Can't be much harder to cover up after three than two." Here he flashed a wicked smirk that made Newt feel edgy. "Especially if two of 'em are klunk-footed Gladers."

Newt looked at Thomas, sure that regardless of what he himself wanted Thomas would make the right decision, the safest choice. Thomas was watching Minho silently, evaluating. Newt swallowed, looking back at their potential ally.

"Maybe we should, Tommy." he murmured.

He wouldn't say anything else on the matter, he wouldn't try to sway him either way. He had sworn to himself he would follow Thomas's lead, that he wouldn't question it. They wouldn't fall apart as a unit because he disagreed with anything. He would make sure they were in this together till the end because the thought of being out here, in the Arena and surrounded by death - in the form of the GameMakers or the tributes didn't matter - without his Tommy by his side was just out of the question. Thomas looked at him and Newt met his golden brown eyes evenly, letting him know he was with him. No matter what the decision. Thomas turned back to Minho.

And then he just stood up and shouldered his pack, picking up the arrow from where it had fallen at his feet and tucking it between one strap and his shoulder. Newt mirrored him, gathering up their things in silence. Eventually Thomas threw a glance at Minho. The asian boy hadn't moved, simply sitting calmly and awaiting Thomas's decision. Thomas smirked, jerking his head towards Minho's discarded rucksack.

"We best get going. Dangerous to stay in one place too long. We need to find somewhere to catch some sleep."

Minho flashed his wicked grin again and jumped to his feet, tossing his pack over his shoulder and standing before them like a soldier awaiting orders. Newt smiled. They'd be safer in a three, he was sure of it. Extra footprints or not, Minho's knife-skills were an asset they couldn't afford to pass up. A glance at Thomas told him the brunette felt the same.

As one, the three boys skirted the little crop of trees they had been camped in and set off at a quiet slow jog. There had been a definite change in the light that filtered through the canopy of the trees since he'd entered the treeline. Shadows were longer, more substantial. By his estimation it was around six, maybe seven. In around ten hours it would officially count as morning. Newt was beginning to allow himself the hope that they would indeed break the long-standing Glader rule.

Maybe a Glader could survive a night in the Arena after all.