A clap of thunder finally snaps my eyes open. Slowly the fog fades from my vision and I recognize the familiar confines of my den, sequestered safely behind the limestone. My body is curled protectively around my yellow backpack, almost spooning with it, and Thresh's machete is still firmly grasped in my hand.

I begin to sit up before noticing the throbbing around my left eye. I gingerly touch it, only to jerk my hand back at the pain. Oh right, the punch Thresh gave me. I can feel the swelling tightening around my line of sight and sending new waves of pain surging out into the rest of my body. I consider going out to check my reflection in the pool where I can accurately assess the damage. Unfortunately, I hear rain.

I inch my way forward and push the brush aside. Turns out, it's a little bit more than rain. It's pouring out. Thick drops of rain pound the earth incessantly, so quick the sound of one drop impacting is completely squelched by the sound of the next impacting and so on. The sky is nothing but darkened gray. It must be near evening, but with the sudden hidden, I can't be totally sure of the time.

With the pool being constantly disturbed, any attempt to examine my injured face would be completely pointless. And with the rain, I can't really go do anything…not that there's really anything to do.

That reminds me that I never checked my pack. I scurry back into the den and open the friendly yellow pack. I almost groan at the sight. Several loaves of rich bread, numerous apples, packets of dried meat, crackers and even some chocolate bars fill the bag with their delicious forms. Everything in me begs to start scarfing down every available morsel until I'm satisfied, but sense prevails. Claudius said this would be my last chance, which sounds like food is going to be scarce from here on out. They're probably trying to hasten the end of the Games. When people are starving, they'll take far more risks. I have to conserve this precious store.

I've got food. I've got shelter. And with this rain, I've got all the water I could ever want. I sit back and sigh with contentment. For the first time since I got in here, I'm sitting pretty. I've got every single one of my needs met, I'm relatively uninjured and I there's nobody around to stab me in the back. Given the circumstances, I'm probably the strongest player left.

Except maybe Cato.

The thought makes me shudder, horrible visions of his transformation returning. I wince as I remember his overgrown bones tearing through his skin, his horrible screams slowly morphing into roars as his mind vanished and something feral took over.

Special advantage my ass.

Fucking gamemakers. I knew they were assholes, but what they did to Cato? I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even…well Cato. I wouldn't have even wished that on him and to disguise it as an advantage and make us fight over it…I feel sick. I'm just glad he injected it and not me. True he's a lot stronger and probably deadlier now, but at what cost? Even if he wins, will he ever be able to be normal again? I don't know. I can't even imagine what that stuff did to his mind. The Hunger Games alone is enough to drive someone crazy, like that redheaded girl from District Four a few years ago. What happens when you throw in some awful body-morphing serum?

I feel bad for his family. Everyone's got someone who cares about them and whoever cares about Cato is probably in agony right now, seeing what the Games has done to their loved one. A small part of me says it's just karma for all those kids Cato killed, but who am I to say that? I've killed three people myself, even more if you count those I was involved in.

I failed to save Brooke.

I failed to save Rue.

In a way, I bear some responsibility for their deaths. Hell, either Clove or Thresh is dead and I'm sure the wounds I gave them didn't do them any favors. I guess you can add one of them to my total as well.

Brooke and Rue's are the hardest because they were my friends. I miss them both terribly. They both had a certain courage that I couldn't help but admire and they both stood by me in the face of adversity. But when it was time for me to help them, I let them down.

I feel my throat tightening up and decide to push the thoughts away. There's no point in doing this to myself right now. They wouldn't want me wallowing in my shame while the Games are still going on, especially while I have a decent shot at winning. Clove or Thresh is dead and the other, if they survive this rainstorm with their injuries, will be severely weakened. That doesn't leave much real competition. The girl from Five isn't a fighter, despite her intellect, and I know I could kick Peeta's ass if necessary. That just leaves the Cato-mutt and Katniss.

I'm honestly not sure which is the bigger threat. Sure the Cato-mutt is powerful and savage and deadly, but at least I wouldn't hesitate to kill it. Katniss still has some hold on me. Why else would I have saved her at the feast? Why else would I have allowed her to distract me when I was fighting Thresh?

These goddamn sentiments are going to get me killed if I'm not careful. They almost did at the feast. If I had any sense at all, I would've just let Clove finish Katniss off while I escaped with my pack. It would've been the perfect out. The one person who could exploit my feelings would be gone and my hands would be clean. All I had to do was let it happen.

But I didn't.

My mind drifts back to how I diverted my course from the table, savagely attacking Clove to save Katniss. I shouldn't have. Our alliance is over. Anyone else would've just let it go…but somehow I haven't.

I don't know if it's love. I don't think I would call it that myself. But I do know how much I care for her. That was made crystal clear by my actions at the feast. It illuminated just how cancerous these feelings are, gradually destroying me from the inside.

I've only made it worse on myself. By saving Katniss, I've only increased the chance of us reaching the final two and being forced to kill each other. The funny thing is, I don't think Katniss would kill me immediately now, not after I saved her life. If there's one thing I know about her, it's that she's keenly aware of what she owes people. Something like that would stick with her, which is good for me but doesn't completely solve my problem.

As I continue brooding, I replay every conversation I've had with Katniss in my head, from our introduction on the rooftop where I told her what she did for her sister was the most courageous thing I'd ever seen to our sad goodbye two days before the feast.

Could she really kill me?

I was so confident before. Katniss looked completely unreachable, determined to see her sister again by any means necessary. But as I look back on our conversations, on the time we spent with Rue and the time we spent with each other, I notice things. I notice the soft smiles, the gentle looks, the friendly laughter. If her performance during her interview is proof of anything, it was that Katniss can't act to save her life.

A smile creeps across my features at the thought that maybe those moments really will mean something to her. I know that she said she cared about me, but just saying that is one thing. Anyone can say stuff. Anyone can give someone else sweet placating assurances and confessions of suppressed affection. It's another thing for it to be real.

For some reason, I think it might've been real. I know that sounds crazy, especially since literally nothing is real in the Hunger Games. Not the trees. Not the river. Not the animals. Not even the sky. It's easy to forget that we're all just inside a massive building somewhere in Panem. Yet even through all the illusions, all the smokescreens the gamemakers and the Capitol put up, I've found some truths in here.

Brooke was friend.

So was Rue.

And so was Katniss…maybe even still is.

My thoughts scatter with the boom of a cannon, the second of the day. I hurry to opening of my den, machete in hand, and search the cloudy sky for signs of a hovercraft. I find none and exhale in relief. Whoever was killed wasn't killed nearby. I would say I'm safe, at least relatively, but I realize that's never really been true.

Safety is an illusion, like many things in here.

I stay near the den opening until the anthem plays. The projection is grainy, constantly disturbed by the clouds and the rainfall. Clove's scowling face appears first. No surprise there, especially with the wound Thresh gave her. I try not to focus on the fact that I'm probably holding the weapon that did it and instead cross my fingers that the Cato-mutt has died as well.

No such luck. Thresh's hard features replace Clove's and I feel a twinge of regret. I don't regret defending myself, but I wish I hadn't given Thresh an injury as bad as a knife wound to deal with. I'm sure it did him no favors against the creature that used to be Cato.

No other faces appear and the sky returns to its cloudy form. Unbelievable. We're down to five. Me, Cato, the girl from Five, Katniss and, surprisingly, Peeta.

I'm amazed I've lasted this long. Looking back on all the danger I faced, I really shouldn't have made it this far. They were so many times I could've bought and yet…something always saved me. Whether it was an ally or a timely distraction, I always cheated death. But how much longer will that last?

I've got to be strong now. We're in the home stretch and there's nobody on my side. Katniss and Peeta are the only ones who have that luxury anymore thanks to the rule change. Everyone else is going to be looking out for number one and I must do the same.

I don't think I'll kill Katniss. Whenever the thought crosses my mind, I feel my stomach tightening in apprehension, my mind screaming "NO" despite the pull of rationality. I'll still have to watch my ass around her, but some vague part of me, some undefined hopeful section, says she won't kill me either, especially since I saved her life at the feast. The crazy thing is, I'm starting to believe it. I'll still be careful, but I don't feel the sense of doom I did a few days ago.

The real problem will the Cato-mutt. Every clap of thunder makes me shudder, bringing back memories of its roars. I shudder as I see Cato transform again in my mind's eye, twitching and surging as his body turned into an abomination. I doubt he has any semblance of thought left. It sure didn't look like it.

Hopefully the rain will keep things quiet. I suspect that the gamemakers are doing it on purpose. They got a lot of action at the feast and if they want an exciting finale, all the remaining players will need some rest. I suppose nothing less would do for them.

With the finale closer than ever before and closer still with each passing second, I think of my family. I think of my father and how we'd sit up at night talking, him asking me how school went and keeping me entertained with ridiculous anecdotes. I think of my mother and how she'd hug me every morning before I left, without fail. Mostly, I think of Striker and how he was my shadow, hobbling after me and soaking up every detail about my training like a sponge.

My parents never asked me about training because they never wanted me to go. They respected me enough to let me make my own decisions, but inside I think it ate at them, the thought of losing their son in the Games like so many other parents had. They were no fans, but they watched like everyone else in our Hunger-Games-crazy district did and they knew the odds. Striker was the only one ever excited by it, partly because he was so young and, I suspect, partly because of the action; the movement.

I feel shame building in me. How much pain have my actions caused them? How could I do this to them? I abandoned them all to run off to the Hunger Games. For what? The old reasons of money and security seem hollow now. Things never would've been great for us. My father still would've had to work whatever shitty jobs he could get. My mother would've still had to clean for families like Glimmer's. Striker would've still had to use his crutches…but at least we would've all been together and alive.

I thought I was being selfless by coming here, risking my life to give my family a better one, but maybe I've only been selfish. They never asked me to do this. My parents never complained about their jobs. Striker never complained about his crutches. All of them persisted. They never whined or talked about wanting luxury. In the end, I think all they ever wanted was for our family to stay together…and I fucked that up.

For the first time since Rue died, I feel tears building behind my eyes. Instead of fighting them down, I let them go. I don't care anymore about image. I don't care if people think this doesn't make me look like a strong tribute. I don't want their respect. I don't want their money. I don't want their titles or their feasts or their honors or anything else they've dangled in front of me.

I just want my family. I want to go home. I want to live see their faces again. I want to joke around with my father again and I want to tell my mother I love her and I want to play with Striker in the park again and hear him ask me a million questions that I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to answer.

I won't do this for glory. I won't do this for money. I'll do this for them. I'll do this so I can go home and then I'll bury it forever.

There's only one path that leads to my family getting me back in one piece…and I intend to follow it.

A/N: An early Christmas gift for all my readers. I hope you all enjoy your holiday. The finale of the Hunger Games is coming next and it'll be the longest chapter of the story. Stay tuned.