Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite alliance" poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be up with the next chapter.

Also, a shout-out to my sister, MornieGalad Baggins, who just completed the Games portion of her first SYOT and is starting another - this time a Quarter Quell! Check out her profile for more info, and send some tributes her way.

Day Two
Choose

Lander Katzung
District Eight Mentor

This was always the worst part.

Lander silently drained his glass and set it down beside Carolina's. Watching one of their tributes hunting was one thing. Watching their tributes be hunted was worse. But the worst part, without fail, was when one of their tributes ended up hunting the other.

Not that Ivira knew she was hunting Adelia and her group, of course. She had no way of knowing exactly who was in the houses. Or, more precisely, who was on the houses. Adelia had split her group up, two to a house, and the six of them were now perched on the shallow rooftops. It was a good vantage point, and not a bad plan, but would that be enough to save them?

Maybe if Ivira and Presley were the only attackers. But Kendall and Brevin were close behind. Would Adelia and her allies be able to hold off all of them? Lander had his doubts, but he also knew that running would have been just as useless – if not worse. The audience wanted a fight, and they would get it – one way or another.

Lander watched as Ivira and Presley crept closer to the houses. Would they hesitate, he wondered, if they knew exactly who they were hunting? Would Ivira hesitate if she knew Adelia and Jediah were among their prey? Would Presley think twice if she knew Nadine was with them?

Probably not. They didn't have any more choice than Adelia and her group did – not really. They had to either keep up the act, pretend to keep hunting, or turn and face a pair of Careers. Neither was a good option, but they had probably made the best choice.

But sometimes the best choice wasn't good enough.

Ivira Spielreyn, 16
District Eight

They would have to choose.

Ivira glanced over at Presley as the two of them approached the group of three houses. She hadn't seen anyone recently or heard any footsteps over the rain, but she was certain they were still being followed. They couldn't stop or turn back – that wasn't the choice.

They simply had to choose a house.

But which one? Ivira gripped her hammer tightly. All three were giving off a faint glow, as if the lights were turned on inside. Were there tributes in all three? Or had they simply turned on all the lights to confuse any attackers? But why turn on any lights in the first place? If not for the lights, they might not have spotted the houses. Maybe the lights simply didn't turn off, or maybe the Gamemakers had turned them on.

Or maybe it was a trap.

Maybe. But if it was, it was still a better option than turning and fighting. Between glances, out of the corner of her eye, she had been able to determine that there were two tributes following them. Which wouldn't have been bad odds – except she was fairly certain they were the pair from Four. The same pair that had killed Presley's ally.

Which was why she hadn't said anything to Presley. If she knew, would that make her more frightened? Or would she want to turn and fight? Neither was a good option, so she had said nothing. But she couldn't keep their tracker's identities a secret forever.

Right now, though, she was more worried about what she didn't know – who might be in the houses. Quickly, she tried to run through a list of the tributes who were still alive. Had they ventured far enough that they might even run into some tributes from the non-replacement group? If so, then there were too many options. If not…

There was another group of Careers – she knew that much. But she hadn't seen them leaving the hovercraft. Did that mean they were still there? One of the younger tributes from Eleven was still alive, as were the girls from Ten and Seven. But she doubted any of them would pose much of a threat.

Adelia and Jediah's group, on the other hand…

Had they run this way? There had been six of them, and she didn't remember seeing any of their faces in the sky. If they were all still alive, and together, and here…

But would they really kill her? Did they have it in them? Or could she persuade them to let her join them – maybe buy their trust with the information that the Careers were right behind them. Maybe. Adelia and Jediah – they weren't killers. And, for all they knew, neither was she. They would have no way of knowing what she had done to Louis.

Louis. He had been her district partner, too. And that hadn't stopped her from killing him. Why should she expect anything else from Adelia and Jediah?

Ivira clutched her hammer. Adelia and Jediah weren't like her. They were softer. Weaker. And she could use that – for a while, at least. If it was even them. If there was even anyone here. Maybe there wasn't anyone at all.

She wasn't sure which option was better.

Adelia Luciano, 16
District Eight

She wasn't sure which option was better.

Adelia gripped her knife tightly, watching from her position on the roof as Ivira and her ally approached. She and Evander lay flat against the roof of the first house. Nearby, Aleron and Myrah held their position on the second house, and Jediah and Nadine on the third. She would rather have had Jediah at her side, but they had agreed that it was better to split up their best fighters, since they had no way of knowing which house any attackers would target.

Their best fighters. Adelia held her breath as the pair approached, hoping that was an accurate description. Given her position as the oldest, the others had naturally assumed she would be one of the better fighters. Jediah was the other obvious choice, given his size and his six in training. And Aleron had been quick to speak up and claim the third spot, assuming that since he had found the houses in the first place, he should be placed in charge of one of them.

She had her doubts about that, but she hadn't felt like arguing the point. At the time, she had thought, it would probably be a moot point. There was no guarantee that anyone would be attacking. She had simply thought it would be a good idea to practice. To be cautious.

And that caution had paid off. Two tributes were about to walk into what Adelia hadn't realized could very easily become a trap. She had intended for them simply to defend themselves in case of an attack, but if they were in a position to attack…

They had to take it. There wasn't a choice. Not really. After what had happened last year, no tribute could afford to pass up an opportunity – especially not when it would be six against two. It should be an easy fight. A pair of easy kills.

But why did one of them have to be her district partner?

Adelia swallowed hard, trying to tell herself it didn't matter. Ivira had done nothing but insult and harass them during training. Maybe she deserved whatever she got. Maybe. And that 'maybe' would have to be enough – enough to get her through what was coming. Because there was no other choice.

Adelia glanced at Evander as Ivira crept closer and closer to their house. Ivira ventured in first, then the little girl behind her. "Go," Adelia whispered. Immediately, she and Evander leapt down from the roof and rushed inside the house. A cry from another rooftop told her someone was trying to join them, but, as soon as she and Evander stepped through the door, it slammed shut behind them.

They were on their own.

"I was hoping it would be you."

Adelia held up her knife between herself and Ivira. That wasn't quite the response she'd been expecting. "Why?"

Ivira smirked. "Because together we might have a chance. There are two Careers right behind us, but if we join forces, we can fight them together. What do you think?"

Adelia glanced at Evander, who was clearly considering it. She had to do something – before Ivira and her ally took advantage of his hesitation. "What do I think? I think there aren't any Careers out there at all. I think you were coming here expecting an easy kill – maybe one or two tributes to ambush. And I think—" She smiled for the cameras. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

Without another word, she lunged.

Presley Delon, 13
District Six

She wasn't sure who was more surprised.

Presley stared, bewildered, as Adelia lunged at Ivira, who seemed just as surprised. The first slash from Adelia's knife caught her in the shoulder, and, immediately, blood started to flow. Presley gave a shout and charged at Adelia, hammer raised. But before she could reach the other girl, someone tackled her from behind.

Presley kicked, landing a blow to the boy's face, but he grabbed her legs and held fast. "Ivira!" she called, but Ivira wasn't faring any better. She was stumbling, trying to staunch the flow of blood from her arm while fending off the other girl's attacks. Presley watched, helpless, as the other girl backed Ivira into a corner. Desperate, Ivira dove low, aiming her hammer at the girl's legs, but the other girl saw the blow coming and kicked the hammer away.

"Please," Ivira gasped. "Please. I wasn't lying about the Careers. Let me help you. Please."

But it was no good. The other girl plunged her knife into Ivira's chest. Ivira screamed, but a second blow quickly silenced her, and then the cannon sounded. From her position on the floor, Presley simply stared. It wasn't fair. Alexi. Paget. Cordelia. And now Ivira.

And soon it would be her.

Presley thrashed harder, trying to escape the older boy's grasp. The boy held firm, but nothing more. He made no move to harm her. "Please," Presley whispered. "Please, just let me go. Now. Before she stops you."

For a moment, the boy seemed to be considering it, but, before he could act, the girl was at his side, her jumpsuit stained with Ivira's blood. "Do you want me to do it?"

Do it. It took Presley a moment to realize what the words meant. Do you want me to kill her? "No, please," she begged, tears coming to her eyes. "Please. Just let me go. I won't hurt you. I'll never come back here. Please."

The boy glanced up at the girl. "Adelia…"

"No," the girl said firmly. "We don't let anyone go. Either you do it, or I will."

The boy raised his knife. Presley thrashed, struggling to get free, but the girl knelt down, holding her in place. Helpless. Presley squeezed her eyes shut. Was this how they had felt – the people she had killed? Mr. Rafferty. His wife. The other teachers. The boy from Eight. Had they been this afraid?

Presley braced herself for what she knew was coming. Maybe what had always been coming. Had she ever really had a chance? Presley gasped as the knife entered her chest. If she had ever had a chance, it was gone now. Gone, like the lives of so many before her, and so many who would come after.

Gone.

There was a second blow, but it barely hurt anymore. Nothing hurt – not really. It was all going cold. Presley opened her eyes one last time. Her vision was blurry, but she could see the boy kneeling over her, holding a bloody knife. So he had done it, after all. Presley's gaze met his. "Good work," she whispered.

Then everything went dark.

Evander Mercado, 16
District Three

Good work.

Evander looked away as the cannon sounded, wishing he could block out the words. The sound. The blood. Wishing he could take back the blow that had ended the little girl's life. Wishing he could bring life back to the eyes that were staring at him, accusing and yet somehow, at the same time, approving his actions. Condoning what he had done.

Maybe even forgiving him.

But there was no forgiveness. Not in the Games. There was only death. So much death.

"Come on." Evander barely heard Adelia's voice. "We should get out of here. If she was telling the truth about the Careers, the others need to know."

Evander looked up, shocked. "You said she was lying."

Adelia shook her head. "I don't know if she was lying or not. But it doesn't matter. They wouldn't have been much help, anyway. And they would have turned on us the first chance they got. It's better this way."

Better. No. No, it wasn't better. But he didn't dare say so. Instead, he simply stood up and followed Adelia to the door.

But the door wouldn't open. Adelia tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Evander's heart raced. There was only one reason for the Gamemakers to lock them inside.

Ivira had been telling the truth.

"Aleron!" he called without thinking. "Jediah! Myrah! Nadine! Look out! The Careers are coming!"

The words were barely out of his mouth before he heard a cannon. Then another. Screaming. Some sort of pounding. Was someone pounding on the door? Or was it his own heart?

"The table!" Adelia shouted, toppling it over. Evander rushed to her side and, together, they lifted the table. "One. Two. Three!" Adelia called, and they rammed it into the door. Once. Twice.

The third time, the door gave way. Dropping the table, Evander and Adelia grabbed their knives and raced out into the night.

But it was already too late.

Jediah Bouvier, 15
District Eight

It was too late.

Jediah leapt down from the roof as Adelia and Evander raced inside the house after the two girls. But it was too late; the door slammed shut behind them. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he tried the doorknob. It wouldn't turn. Why would the Gamemakers want to lock them inside? Unless…

That was when he saw them – two more tributes, running towards the houses. Jediah glanced up at Nadine, Myrah, and Aleron, still perched safely on their rooftops. Where he should be. Where he would be, if he hadn't been so worried about Adelia.

But that didn't matter anymore. The Careers had almost certainly seen him by now. But maybe they hadn't seen his allies. If they thought he was alone…

Without thinking, Jediah charged.

As he neared the Careers, one of them swung a branch. Jediah dodged the first blow, then ducked beneath the second. "Is that the best you've got?" he grinned. "A couple of sticks?" Could it be that they weren't actually armed?

Could he really be that lucky?

Jediah gripped his knife as the girl swung again. He dodged her blow, but the boy's branch caught him in the leg. For a moment, Jediah lost his balance, stumbling forward towards the girl. His knife brushed her side as she leapt out of the way. Jediah laughed. Maybe he had a chance, after all.

Jediah barely had time to regain his footing before the boy swung again. Again, he dodged – this time, with a bit more flourish. Frustrated, the boy swung harder. Jediah backed up bit by bit, dodging their blows, lashing out every now and then with his knife.

Just as he was starting to think that maybe he was getting the hang of this, after all, the girl circled behind him. Jediah whirled around, sidestepping her blow, but, as he did, the boy's branch caught him in the side. Jediah barely kept his grip on his knife as the girl lunged, knocking him to the ground along with her. She raised her club.

But, as the branch came down, something blocked it. Someone. Jediah stared as Nadine and Myrah caught the branch as it came down, turning the blow away and tackling the girl. The boy from Four quickly joined the pile. Jediah gripped his knife, striking blindly at the girl on top of him. There was an angry shout, and some of the weight left the pile.

Jediah rolled over, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The boy from Four was on top of him, but he could still see a little. Myrah lay off to his right, motionless. On his other side, the girl from Four had pinned Nadine and was reaching for her knife. Jediah slashed wildly, hoping to hit something. The boy cried out, stumbling backwards. Jediah leapt up, racing towards Nadine.

He reached her just as the knife came down, burying itself in Nadine's chest. With a shout, Jediah plunged his own knife into the girl's back. The girl gave a cry of pain and turned, yanking the knife from Nadine's chest and lunging at Jediah, who didn't have a chance to dodge. The pair tumbled to the ground, the girl with a knife in her back, Jediah with her blade in his chest. With all the strength he had left, Jediah reached for the girl's club, which lay discarded next to Nadine, and swung. The branch connected with the girl's head as everything went dark.

Jediah closed his eyes as the girl's cannon echoed through the arena. He could feel his own body growing colder. For a moment, he thought he heard Adelia's voice.

Then his cannon sounded.

Nadine Olliston, 14
District Six

Boom.

Nadine winced as the fourth cannon sounded. She had been sure it would be her own. Blood seeped from the wound in her chest. Everything was growing blurry. She didn't have much time left.

But someone else had died first.

Nadine gasped weakly, trying to breathe. First. Last. What did it matter now? Soon, it would be her turn.

"Nadine!" a voice called, drawing her back. Adelia. So she was still alive. Good. Very good.

Nadine smiled weakly as the older girl came into view, helping her sit up a little, taking her hand. But there were tears in Adelia's eyes, and her hands were covered in blood. Nadine glanced around, but it was too dark. Too dark to tell who was dead. Who was alive. "Who…" she managed, hoping Adelia would understand.

"Jediah," Adelia said quietly, her tears mixing with the rain that was streaming down her face. "He's … he's dead."

Jediah. He had tried to save her. If she hadn't been there…

Nadine coughed weakly, squeezing Adelia's hand. "Myrah?"

"She's unconscious." Evander's voice this time. "But she's alive."

"The Careers," Nadine whispered. "Where—"

Adelia shook her head. "One of them's dead. We found her with Jediah. The other ran off once he saw how many of us there were."

"And Aleron?"

Adelia glanced at Evander, who shook his head. "I don't know."

Nadine coughed weakly. The last she had seen of Aleron, he was on the rooftop. He hadn't jumped down when she and Myrah had. Maybe he was still there. Maybe he had run.

Maybe it didn't matter.

He hadn't been there. He hadn't tried to save her. But Jediah had. She and Myrah had taken on the Careers together. And Adelia and Evander were there now. Maybe that was all that mattered.

Maybe that was all that had ever mattered.

Nadine squeezed Adelia's hand a little tighter. She could feel the warmth in her ally's hand. No, not just her ally. Her friend. Maybe that was all she needed now.

She closed her eyes as the cannon sounded.

Brevin Tolett, 17
District Four

He couldn't stop running.

Brevin raced forward in the dark as the fifth cannon sounded. Five cannons. Five.

And one of them was Kendall's.

Brevin wiped the rain from his face. This wasn't supposed to happen. The two tributes they had been tracking should have been easy kills. Even the others were just a bunch of kids armed with kitchen knives.

And now he was running from them.

Brevin cursed himself silently as he ran. He was running from them. That wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be the other way around. Other tributes ran from packs of Careers. That was how the Games worked.

But he didn't have a pack. Not anymore. And his only ally in the area had been killed by one of those kids with kitchen knives. One of them had even managed to wound him. His arm was bleeding even as he ran. So when the other two had arrived, he had run. He had run faster than he ever had in training, he was sure.

As far as he could tell, they weren't following him. They had their own problems to worry about. Their own wounds to tend to. Kendall had killed at least one of them, and he was pretty sure he'd hit one pretty hard in the head with his club before…

Before he had run. Like a coward. But what choice did he have? They were armed. There were more of them. He was just one Career.

Finally, he slowed down a little. Stop. Just stop and think. They weren't chasing him. They wouldn't be chasing him anytime soon. There was no need to run.

But running had felt good. At least then he was doing something. And that was better than thinking about what had happened.

What had they done wrong?

Brevin clenched his fists. No. No, it wasn't his fault. And it wasn't Kendall's fault. It was their fault – the other tributes. It was their fault his ally was dead. And once he got a weapon of some sort, he would make them pay.

A weapon. Brevin picked up a branch and flung it at the nearest tree. Weapons were what he had been hoping for when they had decided to follow the pair of girls back to whatever they were tracking. He had been hoping that if they impressed the sponsors, maybe they would send something. A sword, an axe, a spear – even a knife or two would be better than nothing.

But nothing was all he had now. Worse than nothing, because the others had weapons. How had they gotten them? What had they done that he hadn't? Surely they hadn't been hunting and killing tributes. Had they simply gotten lucky?

It wasn't fair.

Aleron Blanchet, 15
District Three

It wasn't fair.

Aleron brushed away the rain and the tears as he ran. Five cannons. Five. One for each of his allies. They were dead. All dead.

Probably, at least. And he didn't dare go back to look. He had stayed as long as he dared – watching from the rooftop. He had seen Jediah jump down, seen him run at the Careers. He had seen Myrah and Nadine follow him.

Then he had jumped – and run the other way. His allies were as good as dead. There was no point in getting himself killed, too. If he survived, maybe he could avenge them.

Yes. Yes, that was it. He hadn't run because he was scared. He simply had a duty to escape – and to return to avenge his fallen allies. Aleron smiled a little as he slowed his pace. Yes. Yes, he would go back.

But not yet. Not when it would be four against one. The two tributes who had entered the house – they were undoubtedly working with the Careers. But that sort of alliance wouldn't last. He could wait. Wait for them to turn on each other. And then finish them off while they were weaker.

He just had to be patient.

And, in the meantime, he had to keep moving. If the Careers had any sense, they would notice that he was missing. That he hadn't been killed with the others. Then they would come after him. They were probably right behind him.

Probably.

He couldn't hear them, but who would be able to hear them over the rain? Aleron clutched his knife tightly. They could be in the shadows right next to him – even behind one of the nearby trees – and he would never know. Not until their blades had pierced him through.

No. No, that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it. He had survived so far. He had been lucky.

He could get lucky again.

But not that lucky. Stumbling on a group of houses stocked with food and weapons – he couldn't count on that happening again. Aleron pulled out one of the carrots he had stashed in his pockets and took a bite. He hadn't had much with him on the roof – just enough for a few snacks if he got hungry while they were keeping watch. Nothing compared to the food that was still inside the houses.

The food that was now in the Careers' possession.

Did that mean they would stay there? Maybe. For a little while, at least. Maybe he was safe. Maybe the promise of food would be enough to keep them from pursuing him for a little while. But not forever. He had to keep moving.

He had to get as far away as possible.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

She didn't remember it being this far.

Indira glanced around as another flash of lightning lit the tree line. The cabin was nowhere to be found. Imalia shook her head, frustrated. "It was right here! It can't have just disappeared."

"Why not?" Indira asked casually.

Imalia turned. "What?"

"Why couldn't it disappear? Gods descending on Mount Olympus? Sure. Fairy tales coming to life in an old library? Fine. But you draw the line at a disappearing cabin?"

Imalia stopped short, and, for a moment, Indira thought she might snap. She had been tense ever since Jarlan had introduced Delvin to the group. Maybe even before that. Maybe since she had killed the tributes from Eleven. Maybe disagreeing with her wasn't such a good idea.

But, just as Indira was about to apologize for saying anything, Imalia started laughing. At first, it was just a small chuckle, but, soon, she was laughing uncontrollably, clutching her sides to keep from doubling over. Indira took a hesitant step closer. "Are you all right?"

Finally, Imalia caught her breath. "I … I think so."

"So what now? If the cabin's gone, do we head back to the hovercraft?"

Imalia shook her head. "No. No, we can't go back there, either. If the Gamemakers wanted to let us stay in one place, the cabin would have been a better option. For all we know, the hovercraft's gone, too. No, we just need to keep moving until we find … something."

"Something?" Jarlan asked skeptically. "What are you expecting to find?"

"Tributes," Imalia offered. "That's why we're here, after all. And there probably aren't any close to the hovercraft."

"I was," Delvin pointed out.

"And did you see anyone else?" Imalia asked. "Or did the rest of them figure out that there was nothing there and move along?" Delvin's silence was answer enough. "Then that's what we should do, too. There's nothing at the hovercraft. There's nothing at the cabin – or where the cabin was. So we move on. We find something else – or someone else."

"Couldn't we rest for a while?" Jarlan suggested. "There were five cannons – we should be safe for a while."

Imalia shook her head. "It's not about being safe. If you wanted to be safe, you should have stayed in District Four. There were five cannons, yes. Five tributes. Five tributes that we didn't kill."

Indira fought back a lump in her throat. Five cannons. Five tributes she hadn't had a hand in killing, yes, but five tributes, nonetheless. Had one of them been Beckett? Elizabet? They weren't just 'five tributes.' They had names. Faces. Lives.

Lives that had to end if she wanted to go home. Those five cannons – they had to sound. And more would sound before the Games were over. Maybe before the night was over. How long before one of those deaths would be on her hands?

Indira watched Imalia silently as they continued on. She already had two kills. Why was she so eager for more? Every cannon – every tribute who died – brought them one step closer to the end of the Games, yes. But it also brought them one step closer to the point where their alliance, inevitably, would crumble.

Indira shook her head. She didn't want to think about that. Not yet. But she couldn't put it off forever. And, as she watched Imalia plunging ahead, and Jarlan and Shale trudging along slowly at the back of the pack, she couldn't help but wonder if the crumbling had already begun.

What would happen when she had to choose?

Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine

He had chosen to leave them.

Myrah clenched her fists as she and the others searched the houses for any sign of Aleron. She had no doubt that he was gone. That he had run. No doubt that he was still alive somewhere.

But Nadine and Jediah were dead.

It was his fault. Myrah squeezed her fists tighter. If he hadn't run – if there had been one more person to face the Careers – would they have kept fighting? The boy had run when Adelia and Evander had joined the fight. If Aleron had been with them at the start…

But he hadn't been. He had run. They had fought. It was that simple. Adelia and Evander – it wasn't their fault they had been locked inside the house. They hadn't had a choice. But the rest of them had. Jediah had chosen to fight. Nadine and Myrah had chosen to help him. And maybe she hadn't been particularly useful in the fight, but at least she had tried, and she had a headache to prove it.

Aleron hadn't even tried. He had run. Like a coward. It was his fault. He was as much to blame as the Careers. Yes. He was the one to blame.

Because that was safer. Safer than placing the blame where it really belonged – with the Gamemakers. With the Capitol. Aleron had abandoned them when they needed him, yes, but it was the Capitol's fault they were in that position to begin with. It was the Capitol's fault they were in the Games.

They all knew it. But no one said it. No one dared. Not after what happened last year. So it would be Aleron's fault, and it would be the Careers' fault, because someone had to take the blame. Someone who didn't have the power to murder her family with a single word.

Her family.

Myrah swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in her throat. "I'm okay," she whispered to no one in particular, hoping her family would hear, as she sat down in the doorway of one of the houses. "I'll be all right. I'm alive."

And that much was true. She was alive. Nadine and Jediah were dead, but it could have been her. And it hadn't been. She had been lucky. Lucky the blow from the boy's club hadn't been enough to kill her. Lucky the girl had gone after Nadine instead of her.

And that was the worst part, maybe. What made her any different, any stronger, than Nadine had been? Why was she here, when two of her allies were gone? Why was she still alive?

She hadn't had any say in it – not really. She hadn't done anything special. She hadn't fought any harder than Nadine had. There was no reason – no good reason, at least – why she was still alive, and they were the ones who had died.

She had just been lucky.

Delvin Flynn, 18
District Six

He had been lucky so far.

Delvin quickened his pace a bit, struggling to keep up with Imalia as she led the way into the jungle. Once they had realized the cabin was gone, it hadn't taken them long to decide that they should head inland. Most of the tributes, Imalia had said, would be in the jungle, seeking at least a little shelter from the rain among the trees.

So far, they had found no one. Nothing. They had been walking for hours – in the dark, the cold, the rain – and, so far, nothing. No tributes. No shelter. He was tired. His legs were sore. He could barely see.

But he knew better than to say so. He was alive, and that was more than could be said for nineteen of the other tributes. Nineteen cannons so far. And none of them had been his.

But one of them could have been. It could have been twenty cannons. But Jarlan had spared him. He had gotten lucky. Luckier than he'd had any right to expect. Lucky that Jarlan, not Imalia, had been the one guarding the hovercraft.

He couldn't count on getting that lucky again.

So he would have to be careful, instead. More careful than he had been. He couldn't let them think that he wasn't up to being part of their alliance. That he wasn't pulling his weight.

He had to keep up.

"I think Jarlan made a mistake."

Delvin clenched his fists as he fell in stride next to Imalia. "Letting me live?"

Imalia shook her head. "No. Well, yes. But that wasn't the first mistake. I think he made a mistake volunteering for the Games. He doesn't belong here. He's soft. And eventually that's going to put us all in danger."

Delvin tensed. "Why are you telling me this?" Was she giving the Capitol an explanation for why she was about to attack him? Delvin glanced behind him, but the other three were well out of earshot.

Imalia hesitated. "Because…" Her voice faltered for a moment, unsure. Then she took a deep breath. "Because you're the one he won't suspect."

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "Suspect of what?"

"In the morning, I'm going to suggest that we split up – cover more ground. You're going to ask to go with Jarlan; I'm going to take Shale and Indira. I need you to take care of Jarlan for me."

It took Delvin a moment to realize what she was asking. "You want me to … to kill him?"

"Yes."

"And he won't suspect me because…"

"Because you owe him your life."

Delvin looked away. She was right. He owed Jarlan his life. And that should have been a reason not to kill him. But they were in the Hunger Games. Jarlan would have to die eventually. And if Imalia was right – if he didn't belong there in the first place, if his attitude was going to put them in danger…

"And why should I go along with your plan?" Delvin asked. What's in it for me? How many times had he said those words? But never before had anyone asked him to kill…

Lightning flashed, and Delvin thought he saw Imalia smile. "Because, of the five of us, two of us have training. Two of us know what we're doing. But only one of us has killed. Two of us had the opportunity, but Jarlan let you live, instead. I disagree with his choice, but, since you're still alive, we might as well work together. So when we come across another tribute, would you rather have a leader who will let them live out of mercy … or a leader who will do what needs to be done?"

Delvin swallowed hard. There was no choice. No doubt about what the Capitol would want to hear. He had to agree. He had to kill, or risk being seen as a rebel by the audience, the Gamemakers, the president. He couldn't risk that – not when his mother's life and Megan's life could be at risk if he refused to play along. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Sounds like we have a plan."

Septimus Drakon, 18
District Two

They were still convinced he had a plan.

Septimus leaned back against a tree as he and his allies settled in for the night. Or the morning. Whatever was left of the night was slowly giving way to a faint light through the rain. The third day of the Hunger Games was dawning.

And he was still waiting.

Stalling, really. Driving his alliance farther and farther inland in the hope that, eventually, an opportunity would present itself. That was what the Games were, in the end. A series of opportunities. Some of them were worth taking, and some weren't.

That was what most of the tributes didn't understand. Most of them would be restless by now. Either eager for something to happen, or dreading what might come to pass. Some would be so thirsty for opportunities that they would try to create their own. Others would ignore the opportunities that came their way out of fear or reluctance.

Neither of those paths led to victory.

Patience was the key – a sort of patience that few understood. Most of the tributes would confuse patience with inactivity. But, despite their low kill count, his alliance had been far from inactive. On the other hand, there were those who believed that as long as tributes were doing something, the audience would be satisfied. But simply keeping his alliance moving wasn't enough.

The plane had been a good start – and a hint that they were on the right track. But by itself, it wasn't enough. Not enough of an opportunity. Not enough to hold the audience's interest. The Gamemakers had given them the tools, but they still needed a target.

Two days gone. Nineteen tributes gone. The Gamemakers wouldn't wait forever. Sooner or later, they would have to find someone.

Wouldn't they?

Septimus sighed, leaning back against the tree, trying to ignore the rain. The constant, steady pounding. The helmets they had found helped them see, it was true, but they only made the rain worse. Louder. More persistent. Finally, Septimus slid his helmet off. They didn't need them right now. Not while they were resting.

And they did need rest. They might not have found any tributes, but they had certainly covered a lot of ground in two days. Septimus shook his head. Maybe the island was bigger than he'd assumed. But if the Gamemakers made it too big, it would be harder to drive tributes together.

Then again, that didn't seem to have been a problem so far. Nineteen cannons – and only six of them during the bloodbath. Tributes had certainly been busy, and probably the Gamemakers, too.

So why had his alliance been spared?

As if in answer, a gentle pinging noise filled the air. Septimus looked up as his allies slowly roused themselves. The parachute landed at his feet – small, unobtrusive, with a "2" on the package. Septimus nodded as he opened it.

It was about time.

Harakuise Swallot
District Five Mentor

He wished he could have waited a little longer.

Harakuise watched as Septimus unwrapped the gift he and Balthasar had sent. It was a small compass, identical to the one Baylor had received – except in one respect. Each compass was set to point towards a different tribute's tracker. It hadn't taken Baylor long to figure out that his was leading him to Melody. The one they had sent to Septimus, on the other hand…

Harakuise slid into a seat next to Nicodemus. "I'm sorry."

Nicodemus shook his head. "The compass – it's leading them to Delvin, isn't it."

"Yes." Delvin had been the logical choice. He was with a large alliance – a large alliance with plans to split up into smaller groups. They were nearby. Delvin was conflicted. Harakuise could use that.

But there was a part of him that wished he didn't have to. Not when Delvin was the only tribute Nicodemus had left. Not so soon after he had lost both Presley and Nadine in one night.

But the opportunity was too good to pass up.

"I would do the same thing."

Harakuise cocked an eyebrow. The admission caught him off guard – especially coming from Nicodemus. But maybe it shouldn't have. Looking at him, it was easy to forget the boy who had hidden in the caves beneath the arena, emerging only at night to stalk unsuspecting tributes. It was easy to forget that he had killed six tributes in all – twice Harakuise's own total.

It was easy to forget he was a Victor.

"He's the logical choice," Nicodemus admitted. "Their group's about to split in half. With the lack of training Septimus and Liana's allies have, the group of two will make a better target than the group of three. And it creates drama – What will they do when they encounter their long-lost ally? I can hear Constance already."

"But…" Harakuise prompted.

"Nothing."

Harakuise leaned back in his chair. "Mm-hmm."

Nicodemus sighed. "All right. It's not fair. None of it. Nadine and her allies find somewhere safe, and they barely settle in before the Careers attack. Presley finally finds an ally she works perfectly with, and now they're both dead. And Delvin – he's trapped. Trapped between two alliances, neither of which really gives a damn about what happens to him. And you knew, didn't you? You knew he would end up separated from his allies, and you told Septimus and Liana to recruit him, anyway."

Harakuise nodded. "I did. He was already allied with the pair from Nine. Recruiting them and not him would have tipped our hand."

Nicodemus shook his head. "And that's the worst part."

"The fact that I knew?"

"No." He took a long drink. "The fact that it makes sense. That you weren't being malicious or cruel just for the sake of messing with his head. You had a good reason. You only did what any of us would have done if we'd realized what the Gamemakers were planning. I would probably have done the same thing. And that's the worst part … that we're not all that different."

"You and me?"

"All of us. Victors. Tributes. We're shaped by our experiences, certainly, but change a few of those circumstances, and, deep down, we're more alike than we'd like to admit. Take Presley. Can I honestly say, given the same circumstances as she had growing up, that I would have turned out any differently? Can I say that? Can you?

"Or take the Games. People in the districts look at what some of the tributes are forced to do and think that they would never break. That they could never be forced to stoop that low. That they could never be that ruthless, that desperate, that cruel. But most of them are lying to themselves. Most of us are capable of doing … unspeakable things. The Games just bring that to the surface."

Harakuise nodded. "That's certainly true."

Nicodemus shook his head. "That – that's what I don't understand."

"What?"

"How you can say that, and then … support the Games. Encourage the Career system in District Five. How, when you just agreed that the Games bring out the worst in us—"

Harakuise nodded. "They do. The Games reveal what we're capable of – what we're all capable of. And that's good. We need to remember that – to be reminded of it – in order to keep it in check. The Games are … cruel. Unfair. Cold-hearted. Take your pick. But they're also necessary. And they're better than the alternative."

"The alternative?"

"The Games are one way of keeping any rebellion in check." He placed a hand on Nicodemus' wheelchair. "This is the other. Tell me … which do you prefer?"

Nicodemus didn't answer. He didn't have to. They both knew. Even the more rebellious Victors would have to admit that the Games were better than what had happened last year. Given the choice between the Games and the consequences of a rebellion, Harakuise knew which side Nicodemus would fall on. Which side most of the Victors would fall on.

In the end, there was no choice at all.

"You don't do it because you choose to … You do it because you're supposed to."