This chapter is such a sad one.

As always, Zephyr belongs to Queztionz, Sakura belongs to SakuraDragomir, Paitlyn belongs to ForeverTexas3, and Kale belongs to StonerShyla.

Thank you for reading! I hope all of you are having a good January 2023.

~ Meghan

Arena - Day XI

Zephyranthes Creed, 16, District 11

I don't remember my dream when I wake up, but I know that I'm somewhere between District 11 and the arena.

Instead of Twila, I'm here with Rose. She's on the ground holding her stomach. And then we're in our small house back home, the sound of the horn signaling the start of the workday, and Rose is leaning over her art. She's drawing the arena. I can see the golden horn, I can practically smell the blood, and the panic I can feel rising settles in my bones. I try to grab her. I try to pull her from the paper, but then we're back in the arena and Rose is shaking her head at me.

"Why are you letting me die?" she whispers, but her voice echoes off the dark trees.

I don't startle when I wake up. Instead I open my eyes slowly, like I'm afraid that she'll be there in front of me. Instead it's just the shining rays of morning. It's a pretty sunrise, one with crisp air, and it makes me hate the Gamemakers even more. Nothing should look beautiful in this place. Especially not with Twila like this.

She's sleeping right now, curled up in my sleeping bag at the base of a tree trunk. Usually she sleeps up in one of the trees, but with how she's feeling, I don't even think she could climb.

"Morning."

My eyes find Kale.

He's leaning against a fallen log, the sword crossed over his lap. His eyes have deep purple bruises under them. I probably don't look much better, and wipe the cold sweat from the nightmare off my forehead.

"You should sleep," I say.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep. Kale was taking watch, but still, I hadn't been able to sleep for a while. I had stayed awake listening to Twila's breathing and making her drink water. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep at all - and I hadn't been sure if I wanted to.

Kale shakes his head, apparently feeling the same way. "Can't."

I peer over at Twila. Her curls are visible but otherwise she's snuggled in the sleeping bag like it's a nest. I hope she's having better dreams than me. "Anything happen while I was asleep?"

"She had a little dried fruit, but she wouldn't eat anything else," Kale says softly.

We both sit in silence. For once in my life I have nothing to say. The morning air feels heavy, warming up as the sun starts to burn off the mist, and I feel like I need to pull at the collar of my windbreaker to breathe. My fingers brush the chain of my necklace. I press a hand against the stone sun, and Rose's whisper comes back to my thoughts no matter how much I try to shove it away.

Why are you letting me die?

The words tumble out of my mouth without me thinking about it. "She's dying."

Kale winces like I've just hit him. "She's... just sick-"

"She's dying," I say again. "She needs some kind of medicine or something... she needs a doctor."

"She just needs time... She'll get better."

I stare at Kale, and his blue eyes look back at me. I can tell he doesn't believe his own words, but I know he wants to. I can see it. But I know how much the truth will come barreling in, and pretending otherwise isn't helping us.

I want to blame myself. I want to think that if I had just spend longer at the poisonous plants station at the Training Center that maybe I'd know what to do. If I had ever paid more attention to the people in District 11 who knew the name of every threat in the soil, and how to fix it, that maybe I'd know what to do. I want to blame the Capitol for putting us in here, for letting her die, for not sending us the cure that they must have. I want to blame Sakura because I know she has something to do with this.

But blaming someone won't make Twila better. It won't save her life.

Will anything now?

I push up my sleeves and stand. "We should eat something. We won't be any use if we're both starving." I walk over my backpack - well, Sakura's, the one she left after stealing mine. I rifle around and find a couple packs of dried meat. I toss one t Kale. "Eat."

He stares at it beside him. "I'm not that hungry-"

"Bullshit," I mutter. "You're always hungry."

He narrows his eyes at the dried meat, and then looks at me. "What's that mean?"

I rip open my package of food and take a bite. It isn't great, but the dried chicken is better than nothing. "C'mon, Kale. I know you were raised with a full stomach. I know you try not to act like you're hungry when we catch rabbits or find plants. If you want to stay awake on watch, you need to eat something."

"Don't," he says softly and glares at the package of meat.

I frown. "Huh?"

"Don't act like you know everything about me," Kale says, looking up at me from his place on the ground. "I'm not pathetic."

"I didn't say you were," I say, and I laugh even though there's nothing funny.

Kale runs a finger along the smooth sword hilt. I notice he's cleaned it off. The blood from the Career boy is gone, and suddenly I wonder if that's part of what kept him up all night. He'd almost been killed by the boy from District 1. Then he stabbed him through the heart with the sword. I could tell something was wrong after that, but I figured it was just the adrenaline from the feast.

Or, no I didn't. Not really. I knew something more serious was going on. But I didn't want to have to think about it.

"It's been... a lot these past two days," I say quietly. "We've been through some stuff."

Kale stares at me. "Some stuff?" His voice breaks. "I killed someone, Zephyr."

I'm quiet. Suddenly I'm not that hungry either. "You did it to save us. He would've tried to kill us all. You did what you had to."

"Do you know what it feels like? To know you're the reason someone suffered?" He presses his thumb against the blade of the sword and I think I see it prick his school, a cherry-red bead of blood falling to the ground. His eyes drift to my forearms, and I realize he's staring at the scars on them. "Do you?"

Anger flares in me. "What? You think I hurt someone?"

"She said..." he trails off.

"What? Who said?"

Kale's eyes flick up to meet my gaze. "Sakura. She's said that Briony told her you'd been whipped by Peacekeepers before. A few times. You shouldn't act like you know anything about me when I don't even know anything about you."

"Anything about me?" I say incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about? You seriously believe that traitor over me?"

"Briony was the one who told her," Kale says softly. Doubt flickers across her face. "Or... that's what Sakura said-"

"She's a liar!" I say, and realize I'm yelling.

"So you never had the Peacekeepers after you?"

I open my mouth to yell, but I pause when I can't deny it. "Briony doesn't know everything." I stand up taller and stare down at him. "Fine. I used to get into fights at school. I hit a guy once, hit him so hard his skull almost cracked. I regret it. But I was younger and I was a dumbass. They whipped me in the square, in front of my parents and my little sister. After that, the Peacekeepers just had it out for me. I stole a bit of food because we were short a week? Whipped. I mouthed off to a Peacekeeper? Whipped. I don't know everything about you, and I shouldn't act like I do, but don't assume you know me either."

Kale lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I thought we trusted each other," I finally say.

He looks back at me and stands up. "I don't regret it. Killing the Career, I mean. I'd do it again if it meant keeping you safe."

We watch each other, neither of us saying anything else, and I realize that I don't just view him as an ally anymore. He's my friend. He feels like a brother. And I can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees me the same way. We'd live for each other. Maybe we'd die for each other.

But I don't want it to come to that.

Twila stirs in her sleeping bag. She turn on the ground and opens her eyes, peering up at us.

For a moment, it isn't Twila. She's Rose.

My little sister looks up at me, and I know I can't save her.

I don't want it to come to me and Kale being left together in the arena. I couldn't fight him. I won't fight him. But there's only one victor.

Twila's eyes slip closed and she falls back asleep. She looks peaceful like that, not in pain and not dying. She is, though, as much as Kale wants to deny it, as much as I want I want blaming someone to make it better. I want to be angry. I want to burn down everything here, if only it would mean saving Rose - saving Twila. But I can't. I can't do anything but stare as her life burns down.

"I can't watch," I whisper.

Kale looks at me confused. "What?"

I turn away. "There's only eight of us left now. They'll be all that interview stuff, they'll be expecting us to start hunting each other down... We can stay together like this." I reach down my backpack and start putting my supplies in it.

"I don't understand." Kale takes a step closer.

But I know he does. "You can keep the sleeping bag." I stand up and realize that the bottom of the backpack is sewn up with white thread. Little stitches I can almost barely see close the rip that was in the bag. I look over at Kale questiongly.

He swallows. "I... I sewed it up. While you were sleeping."

The thought of him slowly sewing up the bag for me makes me so sad, so intensely desperate, that I almost stay. And then I imagine us being the final two, left alone in the arena, and I look away. When I look at Twila, and see her sleeping, I know without a doubt that I'm running. I don't want to watch her die, and now I'm making Kale face it alone. But I just can't do it.

"Zephyr," Kale says.

I force myself to start walking before I can stop myself.

"Thanks for everything," I say and hold my sun shaped necklace so hard my hand aches.

Sakura Dragomir, 14, District 10

I sit on the podium I started the Games at.

The clearing is quiet. The table from the feast is gone, leaving only the cornucopia sparkling under the warm afternoon sun. Bugs I don't know the name of flit around above the grass, their wings glistening in the light, buzzing faintly. A breeze blows by so light it's like a whisper. Everything here feels so still compared to what was happening yesterday.

I lean back. The silver metal of the podium feels hot against my neck but I just stare up at the blue sky. My best friend, Zoey, always said that she could see shapes in the clouds. After school, we'd lie on the burning metal roofs in District 10 with a blanket under us, just watching the clouds go by. She would point at them and give them names, like stars. I've never understand that. Clouds just look like clouds to me, and I can't ever see anything taking shape in constellations.

For a moment, I almost hope one of the white clouds will have some image hidden in it. But they don't.

It had been satisfying last night to see the faces of the two Careers in the sky. I hadn't been the one to kill the boy, but I still smiled at his picture, remembering how he died reaching out to kill me. He hadn't survived, but I did.

I hold a hand up above my face. My sparkly red nail polish from the interviews has almost entirely chipped off now. Blood from the District 1 boy is under my fingernails.

Sitting up, I grab the backpack I'd taken from Zephyr. It's full of enough water bottles and food to last me a while. I can spare some water.

I take my time pouring out water slowly onto my nails and scrubbing them with my black shirt sleeve. I end up scraping the last of my polish off, but the blood washes away too. I take a long drink of my water after, and pull out some dried fruit and canned kidney beans. I was starting to get sick of eating roots and berries for my meals. This feels like a real lunch, and I eat until I'm full.

As I relax after, I peer around the podiums and try to remember who was on which one. The one still smeared in bloodstains is clearly the one from the District 9 boy. I still don't know if he'd jumped or just been stupid enough to fall. There's mine, and the one to the left belonged to the District 1 boy. The one on the far right was where Tasi had stood.

Tasi.

I tried to place my feelings as his name rolls over in my mind. He'd been so massive, such a shoe-in for sponsors and the Careers. But he'd been so starkly determined in his ideals it was practically unrelenting. He'd told me on the train how he'd dropped out of school to work full-time on the ranches. He even showed my the scars on his leg where a tree had fallen when he was twelve, breaking the bones and tearing the ligaments so bad he still walked with a limp. That had surprised me. Here we were, on the train headed to the Capitol, and he was telling me one of his weaknesses. I'd thought he might just be dumb, but it didn't take long for me to realize he was just... genuine.

He was so genuine he'd died rather than die as someone he couldn't recognize.

I wasn't sad when I saw his picture appear in the sky that first night. Briony had looked at me like I might be, but I wasn't. I had known that if I was to go home, he would have to die, it wasn't his fault. But I wasn't happy to see him dead, either. I guess I was just relieved there was no way it could come down to the two of us at the end. I wouldn't have wanted to be the person to watch him die.

Another name comes to mind, and I shove it down. It comes back up, though, like a bitter taste.

Her smile and curly hair isn't far behind.

Twila.

She'd already haunted my nightmares last night, and I don't need to rehash it during the day. It's like I had expected the sun to burn off the feelings from the nightmare, but they just come back anyway.

I'd tried to sleep in the dry riverbed last night. I figured it was a place no one else would be checking - what use would they have for a river without any water? But the whole night I kept drifting in an out of sleep until I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. Twila crawled out of a grave, and then she was crawling out of the rocks in the riverbed, begging me to save her.

"You did this!" she cried, her face straked with dirt.

"I didn't meant to!" I'd tried to yell, but it didn't matter. She kept finding me in the riverbed until I woke up to the dawn.

I stare up at the shapeless clouds above me.

I really hadn't meant to. Not to give her the poison, at least.

It was meant for Zephyr. It probably wasn't enough to kill him, but enough to make him sick, and then I could've just gone to the feast alone with Kale. It would've been easier enough to abandon Kale at the feast and let the Careers kills him. Twila wouldn't have questioned me about it, and even if Zephyr was suspicious, another meal with the castor beans, and then another, wouldn't have him saying much.

I had never gotten far enough in the plan to figure out what I'd do with Twila. I had expected her to be clueless kid just hiding in their shadows, but she wasn't. She's funny and she reminds me of myself more than I want to admit. She seems capable.

I close my eyes. If I'm going to get home to my own sisters, she has to die too.

Maybe dying from poison is easier. She won't have to get hunted down. There won't be another tribute attacking her, no mutt trying to kill her, no panic as she realizes that a deadly threat is about to catch up to her. She won't have to die alone. Zephyr and Kale aren't the type to leave her side.

Suddenly, I feel lonelier and more exposed than ever.

I hadn't been betting on anyone trying to explore today after the feast, but now sitting in the cornucopia clearing seemed like the worst idea. I'd never been the best strategist, but even I could see now how open it was, how I shouldn't be letting my guard down that easily. I had survived the entire Games so far by never letting myself relax and I can't start now that it was just a handful of us.

I jump off the podium and swung the backpack over my shoulder. I start walking towards the meadow in the distance. This side with the golden cornucopia is where Rye died, then Briony, and probably some of the others remaining. Not me, though.

As I cross the dry riverbed, the colorful pebbles crunch under my feet.

My nightmares follow me and keep my gaze fixed on the meadow. Otherwise, I'm worried I'll start seeing Twila crawling out from the stones, an arena grave, reaching for me like the boy from District 1.

Once I cross into the meadow, I take a deep breath scented with wildflowers.

Was it just a week ago that the boy from 5 had pulled from the river? For the first time, I let myself wonder what would have happened if I had stuck around with him. He didn't seem strong enough to be the killer type, at least not at the beginning of the Games. I still didn't know how he had died. Maybe an accident or a mutt or something else. There was no telling.

I trail my fingers over the soft petals of the flowers. Butterflies in jewel-tones drift over the blooms like they're dancing.

My little sister has always loved the butterflies back home. Kurenai would stared at them for hours outside if we'd let her, chasing them but never quite able to catch up. She'd love a meadow like this - a safe one, that isn't in an arena.

As I walk further, I try to keep my footsteps quiet. I don't see any trampled flowers around, so it doesn't seem like anyone else is here in the meadow, but I still don't want to be too careful. The flowers are tall enough, though, some rising up to my waist, that if I sit down I'm hidden from view. I take a break and sit down. Sipping my water, I close my eyes and listen to the distant birdsong.

Only eight tributes left. What is my family saying during the interviews? I'm sure my twin sister is gushing about me, she's always been the sweeter one of us two, and my brothers are probably talking about how capable I am. Did they expect me to even get this far? Does anyone in the Capitol expect me to win? Was Aru going around and trying to get more support for me? Surely the pair from 1 had lots of admirers, but the feast must've shaken things up.

The brown-haired girl at the feast who'd run up to the table passed through my thoughts. She was smart to wait until there was a fight at the feast, banking on us being distracted long enough and too surprised by her to bother chasing her instead. I hadn't expected much from her, she had laid pretty low during training, but District 3 was always known for having brainiacs as tributes. They were the type to have something hidden up their sleeve.

So it was just the girl from 3, the boy from 2 with the girl from 4, the boy from 7, and then Twila, Kale and Zephyr. Who knew how much longer Twila would be alive for, though...

I shift uncomfortably and grabbed a flower, snapping it off at the stem, and started picking off petals to occupy myself. There was always something to do back home, some chore to get done, that the overwhelming feeling of idleness here felt odd. District 10 was always so loud, and our house was so full. There was too much room here for thinking.

"Everyone thinks you're so quiet, but when they get to know you they'll see you never shut up," Nick had laughed one day when he was trying to help me with my homework.

I had stuck my tongue out at him and he'd just laughed again.

I could tell he was tired from working at the tannery that day, one of the hard shifts. I had been talking to him instead of focusing on the anatomy of the animals I was supposed to be filling in for class. He hadn't told me to be quiet, though, and I had gone back to rambling. He'd smiled at me like every I said was interesting. I knew, sometimes, that he was trying to be more a father than a big brother. Ever since our parents had left, all I had ever known of a parental figure was Nick.

Purple petals fall from my fingers.

I realize, for the first time, I've never told him thank you.

As if he's speaking in my head, I know exactly what my brother would say. Make it home, stay alive, and you can thank me in person.

"I will," I whisper.

Paitlyn Weaver, 16, District 3

I hear the footsteps before I see anyone.

Two days ago, I would've hid behind a tree, trying to quiet my breathing, and hope they wouldn't see me. I would've been worried that it was one of the Careers. Maybe the big tribute from 2, or the girl from 4, even the one from 7 with an ax. I would've been terrified.

Now I turn the knife over in my good hand. Jade's knife. It's mine now, though, rinsed and clean, as if it never had our blood on it.

From the pattern of the footsteps snapping twigs, it's only one person coming.

I can take them. Maybe it's false confidence just from having a weapon now. But I lean against the tree trunk I've been resting against, staring at the rustling brush across the grotto. Of course, this water - if I can even call it that - is still here. It doesn't seem to have been connected to the main water supply going into the arena, but rather seems to be piped in separately from the Gamemakers. It still bubbles gently, soothingly.

Someone emerges from the thickets.

The boy from 11 doesn't see me. His dark eyes are immediately trained on the grotto. His eyebrows knit, puzzled, and he pushes his inky hair from his eyes.

Out of all the tributes, he's one of others I least expected. I saw him on the sixth day with the pair from District 8. He was even with the boy yesterday at the feast, fighting the girl from 11. What was he doing here alone now? A minute passed, then two, as he inspected the grotto. No one else appears. The boy wears a backpack and has a dagger tucked into his belt. Maybe their alliance had broken apart? Or maybe he's scouting for them?

Somehow, I already know the boy wasn't the type to attack me. Even though I've never spoken to him, he'd minded his own business in the Training Center from what I could remember. I can't recall his name, but the memory of him at the interviews resurfaces. He had seemed so careful, grinning. What had he said? Trouble is just another word for fun. He looks a bit older now, like he'd aged in the arena. Maybe I look like that too.

He kneels down at the grotto and peered at his reflection. He reaches a hand out. The water ripples.

Then he cups his hands together and dipped them into the clear pool. I know what he's probably thinking. Surely, he'd gotten supplies from the feast, but the idea of such cold, fresh water is tempting.

He lifts his hands to his lips.

"You don't wanna do that," I say.

His head snaps up, dropping the water as his hand goes to his dagger. He pauses when he sees me. I watch as his eyes lock on the knife glinting in my hand, and then drift to the sling wrapped around my wounded arm.

"Why shouldn't I?" he finally says, his voice tinged with a District 11 accent.

I arch an eyebrow. "Do you like being poisoned?"

He stares at me in confusion before realization dawns on his face. He peers down at the water. "I think I've had enough poison for a while, actually." He sits back on his heels and looks back at me again. "How did you figure it out?"

"No animals drink from it," I say.

The boy nods. "You're from District Three. Right?"

I nod. "Paitlyn Weaver. You?"

"Zephyr Creed." He sighs. "I guess you just saved my life, Paitlyn. I should probably say thanks. Why'd you do it?"

I realize with a start that this is the first time I've spoken to someone since the Games began - fighting with Jade doesn't count. And he's so blunt, so to the point, it surprises me almost as much as my own voice does. I can't help the smile that crosses my lips. When was the last time I smiled?

"I'm in a good mood, I guess," I say. When he tilts his head disbelievingly, I shrug. "You were allied with the two from Eight right? I don't think a cold-blooded killer would be allied with a little kid. I just couldn't justify doing nothing while you die from a trap. If you had wanted to kill me, you would've done it yesterday at the feast."

Zephyr nods at my arm. "You didn't have that yesterday."

I shrug my good shoulder. "A gift from the girl from District One."

He gives me a look like I just said I invented a high-end processor. "You... You killed her?"

"She ambushed me after the feast," I say.

I stumbled through the woods that night. It was the darkest I'd seen the arena, but I was positive I was going in the right direction. I couldn't afford to go the wrong way. Blood had slicked down my arm, streaming down my fingers until I tied the tourniquet tighter. Even though I couldn't see well, I was sure that if someone had wanted to track me, they could just follow the trail of blood I was leaving.

I almost cried once I reached the grotto and saw it still flowing with water. I hadn't been sure last night if it would still be there.

Falling next to it, I submerged my entire arm in the water. The pain leeched out until it wasn't searing anymore, just a dull throb. I laid like that for hours. I even fell asleep. When I woke up, the birds that come out at dawn were singing. I looked at my arm and found that the stab wound was a cut now, still deep, but no longer life threatening. I couldn't move my arm very well, though. That made me think she'd cut a tendon or two. The grotto probably couldn't repair anything that serious. But it was better than nothing.

I had spent that morning cutting up and folding the rest of my olive jacket. It made a functioning sling now. I couldn't help but think how good it was that Jade hadn't managed to stab my dominant arm.

"Did you feel guilty?" Zephyr asks. "Killing her, I mean?"

"Not at all," I say truthfully. I had thought I'd feel responsibly if I ended up killing a tribute, but I don't feel a drop of remorse for Jade. She didn't feel guilty for any of the tributes she'd killed.

He finally grins.

"Weren't you with other tributes at the feast?" I ask.

Zephyr looks away for the first time. "Things changed."

He doesn't say more, so I don't push it. I can't help but think about how the pair from 8 are the only the district allies left now. Zephyr's in the same position I am: no one left from home with him. Was he close with the girl from his district? Guiltily, I realize I can barely remember her face. It feels like the tributes who died during the first week are such a distant memory.

"So why are you hanging around a poison puddle?" Zephyr says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I hesitate. I must be the only person who's aware of the healing quality to the water. Whatever medicine the Gamemakers are using here, it's powerful. I already did him a massive favor by not letting him drink the water, so no one could blame me for not saying more...

Connor's face floats to my mind's surface. His blue eyes smile. I reach a hand up to my locket at my neck, running my thumb over its cool surface. I know what he'd do if he were in my place.

"It's medicinal," I finally admit.

Zephyr glances at me disbelievingly. "It's... medicine?"

I nod. "It healed my arm. Well, not completely, but enough."

He turns, suddenly staring at the grotto like it's going to give him some answer he's been needing. "Do you think... What else could it work for?"

I shrug. "I'm guessing it would be poison to drink, but it'll help physical injuries."

Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders fall, like what I just said disappointed him.

Zephyr stands up. "Well. I won't bother you much longer." He adjusts his backpack and nods at my arm. "Good luck with that. And thanks again."

He starts to walk off towards the evening sunshine streaming through the woods, and the idea of him vanishing seems unbearable. The idea of being all alone again, right after I just had a normal conversation with someone like we were both still people... it's too much. Even if I don't him that well, he doesn't seem like the type to stab me in the back.

"You can stay!" I call. I struggle to my feet. I hadn't realized just how much yesterday had taken out of me, but I sag against the tree. "You don't have to leave."

Zephyr stops and looks over his shoulder. "No offense... but I'm kind of done with the whole ally thing."

I shake my head. "We don't have to be allies. Just... have a truce. I won't kill you if you don't kill me."

He doesn't move. For a second, I think he's going to turn my offer down and keep walking, but he faces me instead.

"Just one night," he says.

I don't even try to fight my smile.

We listen to the grotto babbling as the evening light deepens into orange. We each eat some of the foot we got at the feast and, though I don't know how we even got on the subject, talk about home.

"My dad's pretty strict," I say as I eat some dried jerky. "But he loves us. My brother, Tyler, is a couple years older than me, but we're pretty close. We tell each other everything."

A slight smile flits across Zephyr's face. "My little sister's like that. Rose is one of the most independent people, I don't think know anyone more trustworthy. She's gotten into art lately. Every time she draws something, I'm the first person she shows."

I hum happily. "My best friend Aubrey loves to draw too. I don't think she's meant for District Three, she's never really gotten a hang of the technical things. But she's one of the best people I know."

"What do your parents do?" Zephyr asks. "Do they work in factories too?"

I shift on my spot sitting on the ground. "Um, my dad does. My mom died when I was seven."

"Oh," Zephyr says. "I'm sorry."

I can tell he's being from genuine from the way his expression gets serious. I shake my head. "It's okay." The word murder is one that's been out of my vocabulary for a while now, and even now I know I won't tell him the reality of the situation. How someone else killed my mom. How ever since then, my Dad has been teaching me and my brother how to use knives to defend ourselves. I don't think he ever imagined I'd be using it against other kids, though.

"So," I say, hoping to change the subject, "where were you headed before you stopped here?"

Zephyr shrugs. "Anywhere else, I guess."

"Running from something?" I say with a smile I hope shows I'm just joking.

He's quiet. "Something like that," he finally says.

Kale Stormes, 16, District 8

As the sky darkens, the birds sing. I realize for the first time that I don't the name of the birds.

Their songs tangle together. It's one I've heard every night since I got in the arena, but tonight it's all I hear. There isn't any chatter at our campsite or laughter. Zephyr's voice is gone, and I sit on the ground, trying to stoke a fire to keep Twila warm. The wood crackles and snaps, flames consuming the wood. Maybe I should be more scared of someone watching for smoke. But all I can think about it Twila shivering on the ground, wrapped up in Zephyr's sleeping bag.

"Hurts..." she says again. Her eyes are screwed shut.

"I know," I say, just above a whisper, my voice hoarse. The smoke from the fire stings my eyes and I tell myself that's why they're red.

Rays of dying light shine through the breaks in the trees. Everything glows orange and gold under a bruise-colored sky. The smell of the arena - that smell of earth I've been getting used to - is different, but it was just like this a few days before the reaping.

District 8 was balmy and warm, and the sun was setting outside of our house. The reaping was coming in three days, but my house was lively and happy, full of the smell of cake. My 16th birthday was a small affair. My parents had cooked a dinner for me, and my little siblings were playing tag, running with colorful streamers around me like rainbows. I wasn't one for a big party. Some of the kids at school would hold huge ones in old factories, sometimes, but I liked the quiet. I invited Mayciee, though, but she was always around. I didn't have to invite her for her to know she was welcome.

"I still think strawberry is better," Mayciee said, swiping some frosty off the cake and eating it off her pinky finger.

"Vanilla buttercream is superior," I said, grinning at her as I set the candles in the cake. Sixteen little wax sticks sat in the sparkling icing, waiting to be lit. They were the primary colors, red and blue and yellow, a tradition in our district.

Every color comes from these three, my grandmother used to say. She'd push white cloths into bowls of dye smelling like vinegar. There's an infinite amount of colors, if you just know how to mix them.

"You're so lucky you have a summer birthday," Mayciee sighed. She sat down in a chair at the table. "I always have school on mine. Or everyone's snowed in."

"Hey, that snowball fight last year was the best," I said.

She laughed. Behind us, the open windows let in the humid air. Even at dusk it was hot out. The sheer curtains fluttered, white, looking like they should be dyed. From here on the hill, I couldn't smell the factories that my parents were the heads of. I always knew that we were one of the more well-off families in our district, even if District 8 didn't have same level of poverty of some others, like 11 or 12. Suddenly I felt lucky to have a cake. I felt lucky to have my friend sitting with me.

I ran my fingers over the friendship bracelet that Mayciee had given me. I couldn't even remember when she had given it to me, just that it had been there for as long as I could remember - just like her.

When they had lit my birthday candles, I had one hand on the bracelet as I blew the fire out. I made a wish as the smoke curled towards the ceiling. My family and Mayciee clapped and their faces glowed with smiles.

As the sun faded in the arena, I pull on the frayed ends of the bracelet. It's stained now, mixed with dirt, sweat, and blood. I can't even tell if it's my blood or someone else's.

When my name had gotten called at the reaping three days later, and the shock wore off, I had known that I would be taking the bracelet in the arena with my as my token. She had cried in the Justice Building, her arms tight around me, her head against my chest. I had needed something from Mayciee still with me. Even now, watching the sparks from the fire glimmer in the air, I wish she was able to tell me what to do. Her dad works at the hospital near us, she would probably know what to do, how to help Twila.

I peer over the fire at Twila. For a moment, panic pulls at me when I can't tell if she's breathing or not. But then I remember that here, in the Hunger Games, even our heartbeats are counted. There would be a canon if hers wasn't pulsing anymore. Somewhere in the Capitol, there's bound to be a screen some Gamemaker is watching, showing them her vitals. They'd be able to see my heart too, still keeping me alive.

I look up at the violet sky.

Our mentors have to be watching too. Demetri and Cecelia have to know what's happening. So why aren't they doing anything about it? Surely there's something in the Capitol that could save her, make the pain stop, make her heal from whatever poison is in her.

Twila hacks and struggles to push herself up, scrawling from the sleeping bag.

I'm next to her in a flash, reaching for her. "What's wro-"

She leans the side and throws up. Even in the flickering light of the fire, even in the darkness, I know she's vomited blood again.

My stomach churns, but I hold back her hair and let her cough, and whisper words I hope are comforting. Once she's done coughing, I grab the water and make Twila drink several sips. She's too weak to hold the bottle herself, so I tilt it to her mouth like I used to do with her little siblings. After she drinks the water, I can see the tears shining on Twila's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't apologize," I say, more fiercely that I mean to. The idea of her feeling bad for this, for pitying me or feeling some kind of responsibility, makes my throat tighten.

She wraps her arms around her stomach. She's swaying and her face is paler. "Where's Zephyr?"

I say the same thing I've said every time she's asked. "He's out getting us food. He'll be back."

"Don't leave," she sobs, and opens her eyes to look at me. Does she see me? "Please don't leave me, Kale."

"Never," I say, and wrap her in a hug.

She leans against my shoulder, and I remember her talking once about older brothers. Are her siblings watching the television right now? Are they watching as their baby sister is suffering and I can't do a thing to stop it? Do they hate me for it? I try to imagine my little brothers or sister, and the idea of someone trying to keep them alive while I scream at a screen, unable to hold them myself.

Tears sting my eyes, or maybe it's the smoke from the fire again, and I stare up at the sky. "Do something," I whisper. "Please."

If Demetri or Cecelia hears me, nothing happens. The birds keep singing. The sun keeps dying.

Twila's breathing is shallow. I keep hugging her, but her hands are still cold, like the fire is doing nothing to push the chill away. It shines in red and yellow against her face, lighting up her curly hair, and she looks so much younger now - too young. As Zephyr had left, he'd looked at her the way I've seen people look at sick babies. Like they're so young, so fragile, that it's the scariest thing they've seen.

Twila cold hand clamps onto my wrist. She looks up, brown eyes bleary. "Kale... Kale?"

"It's me," I say.

"Where are we?" Twila asks, her breath quickening. She looks around wildly. "Where's Mama?"

I blink, confusion making my thoughts muddled for a moment. "Who?"

"Where am I?" she asks, digging her nails into my wrist. "We need to go. The girl from Two... she's coming, she's chasing me, Kale-"

She tries to get up, but I keep Twila held, scared that if she were to try to stand she'd just fall. Her neck jerks and she stares up at the sky.

"Twila?" I say, and even I hear the panic in my voice.

Her legs jerk, and then her arms, her jaw clamped and eyes staring up at the sky, unseeing. I don't have to be Mayciee to know what's happening - to know that this is a seizure.

My vision goes spotty, and my head spins, but I force myself to stay here. I remember what Mayciee told me once, what to do when people get seizures, to not hold them down and turn them on their side. I gently move Twila, dodging her arm, and lay her on her side away from the fire. People usually wake up from seizures, and then they can get help-

But we're alone here in the arena. I'm alone. No parachute is coming down with a cure for Twila.

She gasps and struggles to breathe as her body shakes.

"Please," I say, and I realize I'm crying.

Twila stops breathing, shaking silently.

"Please breathe!" I say, leaning over her. My thoughts spin and I don't know what to do - how do I keep her alive?

My tears drip onto her face, but she won't breathe, eyes open and staring out at nothing.

I remember how bright her eyes were at the Training Center. The way she laughed and seemed to float around the gymnasium, uncaring about the Careers going around trying to intimidate everyone else, and helping me making a fort at the shelter station.

Allies, Kale, she'd said with the biggest smile on her face.

When we ran from the bloodbath, and my arm bled where the boy from 2 had cut it. Twila had forced me to stop walking, taking a sewing kit out of the backpack with a calm precision, and threaded a needle.

Sit down. I'll stitch it up.

When the Careers had found us on the second day, and Zephyr saved me in the tree. How Twila had welcomed him when he came back to our makeshift campsite and sat with us, sharing our food. How, when the Careers found us again, Twila came back with someone else's blood on her. I'd sewn up her windbreaker and Zephyr had braided her hair as he hummed.

You should hum more often. It's nice to listen to.

When Sakura had appeared a few days ago, and how Twila had welcomed her so easily. How she told us about the Careers and their burned out camp, and we didn't trust her, but Twila had stepped past us and accepted her with a heart full of trust. How I had taken credit for killing Shaiden so that Twila wouldn't have to. How Twila had talked so comfortably to this new tribute she'd never met before.

I have a lot of siblings, but a twin sounds special.

When the feast was announced, and Twila had sat with us to plan for it. How she had wanted to come to the feast and help us. How Twila had listened to Sakura, and had foraged for our last dinner together. The way Twila had looked at the dead rabbit we ate.

I can't wait until I don't have to forage for my dinner. I mean... if I get out of the Games, I mean.

I front of me, Twila shakes.

When it finally stops, I'm still crying, and she's so quiet that I can't hear anything but the birds still singing. Everything around is still and it feels like even the fire has gotten colder. My breath hitches in my throat as I lean towards her, kneeling next at her side. I can't see her face anymore.

"Twila?" I whisper. I reach out my hand towards her. The friendship bracelet on my wrist brushes her cheek.

Boom.

The birds fall silent.

8th Place .:. Twila Applestone (12) - District 8: This is one of the first characters whose death makes me feel a bit of a loss for words. I think it's obvious that a tribute this young wouldn't survive, but that didn't stop me from getting attached to Twila. She is such a strong character. Her profile was one of those lost in the SYOT Purge, but I remembered certain small things (like the flies and darts, and how she's supposed to look like Madison Pettis.) Her character grew so much in this rewrite, and I was impressed over and over again by her resilience and wisdom. I didn't want her to be a Rue figure, I wanted her to be her own person, and I really hope I've written her well.