Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Results of the "favorite alliance" poll are up on the blog, and there's a new poll up on my profile. Now that the pool of tributes has lessened considerably, I'm asking who you think the final five will be. (Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you want the final five to be; that'll be the next one.) As usual, don't head over to the poll until after you read the chapter, since anyone who dies here won't be included.

Also, as with the final eight poll, please do actually vote for five tributes for the final five. Voting for only one or two throws off my stats, which makes for a grumpy math teacher.

Friendly reminder that my sister, MornieGalad Baggins has an open SYOT. Also, a shout-out to jacob1106, who recently finished his first SYOT and has opened submissions for his second! Send them some tributes!

Day Three
Next

Balthasar Doyle
District Two Mentor

"This isn't so bad."

Balthasar smiled a little as he took a seat next to Harriet. Harriet cocked an eyebrow. "What isn't so bad?"

Balthasar shrugged. "This whole mentoring thing. All these years, I've avoided it because I figured it was a lot of hard work and disappointment. But this – this isn't so bad."

Harriet smirked. "It's not all sunshine and sponsor gifts. Both of our tributes are still alive, but that won't last forever."

Balthasar nodded. "Even so – even if Septimus doesn't make it – there's something satisfying about knowing that I was able to help him. That Harakuise and I were able to send a sponsor gift that would change … well, everything. Whatever happens now, being able to find Delvin – that'll make a difference."

"Absolutely. But will that difference be a good one? Do you really think they can take on Jarlan's alliance?"

"The whole alliance? No. But they're about to split up."

"Assuming Imalia's plan goes … well, according to plan."

Balthasar nodded. "And that's why we're so important. We can see the bigger picture. Septimus and his group have no way of knowing that Jarlan's group is about to split – or even that they're nearby. We're their only link to the outside world. That kind of power … it's heady stuff."

Harriet nodded knowingly. "Your mentor wasn't really much help during your Games, was she."

"No," Balthasar admitted. "Mortimer wanted nothing to do with me, and Ariadne wasn't particularly impressed, either. They both wrote me off as soon as I volunteered. Back then, I didn't think it mattered; I managed well enough on my own. But everyone deserves to know that someone is rooting for them."

"Is that why you offered to mentor Septimus?"

"I suppose that's part of it," Balthasar agreed. "And I'll admit the idea of mentoring without having to worry about Mortimer breathing down my neck was … appealing. And I suspect you're enjoying it, too."

Harriet didn't answer. But she didn't need to. "We should do this again," Balthasar offered.

Harriet took another drink. "We'll see if you're still saying that once the Games are over."

Balthasar shrugged. "Fair point. Maybe Septimus will want to mentor."

Harriet gave his shoulder a good-natured punch. "Or maybe Naella will."

Balthasar smiled. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

He could finally see a little.

Domingo clenched his teeth as he slowly got to his feet. His whole body ached – his legs most of all. He had landed awkwardly, but nothing seemed to be broken. And he was alive. For now, that was all that mattered.

And now light was beginning to filter down from above, along with the rain. He had spent the night waiting in the dark, afraid to venture farther down the tunnel. Afraid that he wouldn't be able to find his way back. Afraid of what might be lurking in the dark.

But he couldn't stay here forever. And he couldn't climb back up. Now, in the light, he could see the rope he had used to climb down, still swaying in the rain, about five feet above his head. But even if he could reach it, would he really have the strength to climb back up? And even if he could, what good would it do? No, he had come down here for a reason.

Now he just had to figure out what that reason was.

Carefully, Domingo tucked his knife back into his pocket and glanced around. Now that he had a little more light, he could see that there was really only one way to go. Keeping one hand on the wall of the tunnel, he ventured a little farther. Then a little more.

Suddenly, he heard something up ahead. Some sort of hum – a hum that almost sounded mechanical. Slowly, he took another step forward. Then another. Suddenly, the dirt beneath his feet gave way to something harder. Domingo bent down, brushing his hand against it. It was cold and hard, and definitely not rock. Some kind of metal, he realized.

Then the lights came on.

Domingo blinked, blinded at first by the sudden light. The lights weren't particularly bright, but, after complete darkness during the night and only the dim light filtering down into the tunnels, any light at all was jarring. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he could see the rest of the room. For a room was, in fact, what it was – a large, open room, with a domed ceiling and several doors that seemed to lead elsewhere.

Domingo stared. Then he laughed. For a long time, he simply stood there, laughing at his good luck. He explored one room, then another. The main room held a table, some chairs, and several couches. One of the side rooms appeared to be a kitchen, another a bedroom. Venturing farther into the bedroom, he found a closet stocked with identical khaki jumpsuits. Without hesitating, Domingo changed out of his sopping wet outfit.

Dry clothes had never felt so good.

Grinning, he headed back to the kitchen and started digging through the cupboards. Bread. Crackers. Dried meat. Domingo grinned and ate as much as he could. There didn't appear to be any water, but he could always go back to the entrance to the tunnel to collect rainwater. Aside from that, everything he could ask for seemed to have been provided for him.

So what was the catch?

Barry Zephir, 15
District Twelve

"There has to be a catch."

Barry slowly felt his way around the room one more time. The darkness was absolute – and had been ever since the door had shut behind them. As far as he could tell, the inside of the statue's foot was a single room. No doors leading elsewhere except for the one they had used to enter. No other rooms. Nothing.

So why were they still here?

Why would Brennan lead them here? Why would the Gamemakers lead them here? What was the point of locking them in a room that, as far as he could tell, was completely empty? There had to be a reason. They couldn't simply intend for the two of them to starve to death in here.

Could they?

No. No, that wouldn't be interesting – just watching a pair of tributes starve to death. And why would the Gamemakers want them dead? They had already killed another tribute, after all. The Gamemakers had no reason to target them.

So what was the catch?

"What are we missing?" Barry asked, pacing a little.

"We're not missing anything," Eleanor grumbled. "It's a big, empty room. That's it." He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine the scowl. There was a part of him that didn't blame her. They'd been here for hours – maybe longer – with absolutely nothing to show for it. They'd heard cannons and the Capitol anthem since entering the statue, but had no way of knowing which faces had been shown in the sky.

No way of knowing who was left.

"At least we're safe," Barry offered. But 'safe' wasn't going to cut it forever. They had no food. Without access to the rain, they didn't have any water. How long would they last in here?

"What lies in the shadow of the statue?" Barry muttered. It had to mean something. Brennan had brought them here for a reason. "In the shadow of the statue. In the shadow of the statue."

"What lies in the shadow of the statue!" Eleanor's voice echoed through the room. "That's it! Barry, lie down."

"What?"

"You've been pacing around ever since we got here. Just … lie down for a moment."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's a riddle. Maybe if we lie down – if we lie in the shadow of the statue – something will happen."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Eleanor admitted. "But it's worth a try. And where's the harm?"

She had a point. Barry quickly lay down. Immediately, light flooded the room – some sort of light coming from high above them, inside the upper part of the statue. Eleanor burst out laughing, and Barry couldn't help joining her. Cautiously, the two of them stood up. But the lights stayed on.

And then he saw it.

Eleanor Marxs, 16
District Twelve

Then she saw it.

The room was bigger than she and Barry had initially assumed. A few jars stood in one corner, and some sort of spinning wheel was in another. A tapestry hung on a loom near the spinning wheel. But that wasn't what she and Barry were both staring at. In the center of the room was a hole, and a steady stream of black smoke was slowly emerging from the hole, filling the room.

Slowly, she and Barry backed towards the corner with the jars in it. "Water," Barry whispered. "Maybe we can put it out."

Eleanor shook her head. "I don't see a fire. It's just smoke."

"Maybe the fire's inside the hole," Barry offered. "It's worth a try. Help me lift one."

Eleanor hesitated, but then followed his lead. Together, they lifted one of the larger jugs and carried it over to the hole. The smoke was thicker, but the air didn't seem any hotter. If anything, the smoke seemed to make the air a bit chillier. "One," Barry grunted. "Two. Three."

Together, they tipped the jug over, dumping water down the hole. A strange, screeching noise filled the air, and the smoke began to disappear. Barry and Eleanor backed up into the corner, watching. Soon, the room was clear.

Barry inched closer to the hole. "If the smoke was coming from down there, maybe we should go that way. Maybe there's some sort of path that leads out of here."

Eleanor peeked over the edge of the hole. A few feet down, the tunnel curved sharply off to one side. "You want to go down there?"

Barry shrugged. "The only other door's closed. This is probably the only other way out. There's no food in here; we'll have to leave eventually. Might as well be now, before we start to go hungry."

Maybe he had a point. But he still seemed a bit to eager to go venturing down a tunnel in absolute darkness. "What if we get lost?"

Barry glanced over at the spinning wheel and the tapestry on the loom. "The thread. We can unravel the tapestry, use the thread to find our way – and follow it back if we get lost. And look." He pulled the needle from the spinning wheel. "Not a bad weapon, in a pinch."

Eleanor cocked an eyebrow. "Against another tribute or a freak column of smoke?"

Barry smirked. "I think the column of smoke was a test – and I think we passed. And I think this—" he gestured towards the tunnel, "—is our reward."

"Crawling through a pitch black tunnel is a reward?"

"Well, if you'd rather stay here…"

"No." Eleanor shook her head immediately. She would rather have stayed, of course, but not without him. And he was right; they had no other way out. "You're right. Let's unravel the tapestry first, though. So we can find our way back."

So they could find their way back. Eleanor helped Barry pull the tapestry off the loom, and the two of them started unraveling the thread. But, deep down, she knew. They both did. Once they started down that tunnel, they wouldn't be able to just come back.

They had to keep moving forward.

Philus Polaine, 13
District Eleven

They had to keep moving.

Philus gripped Melody's hand tightly as the two of them set out again. According to Melody, there had been five cannons during the night. Five more tributes dead.

And somehow they were still alive.

But not for long, if someone found them. They'd managed to find a few berries as they made their way through the jungle, but nothing substantial. They were both hungry. Both tired. If someone found them, they wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.

Just like Elani and Pan.

Stop it.

Philus swallowed hard, trying to block out the memories. Elani and Pan were gone; their faces in the sky the night before had confirmed it. They were gone, and he was still alive.

In fact, he was lucky. Lucky that he had gotten away. Lucky that Melody had found him.

Lucky that she hadn't killed him.

He hadn't even hesitated last night, when she'd offered to let him get some sleep while he kept watch. He hadn't even given any thought to the idea that she might kill him as he slept. If she'd wanted to kill him, she would have done it by now.

Instead, she'd been nothing but friendly. Nothing but kind. Philus held her hand tightly as the two of them trekked onwards through the jungle. Maybe he, Elani, and Pan had been wrong to keep to themselves during training. Maybe they should have looked for other allies.

Maybe Elani and Pan would still be alive.

Suddenly, Melody's grip on Philus' hand tightened. Philus glanced up, but Melody seemed frozen in place. Philus gave her hand a tug, and she pointed. Philus couldn't see anything, but Melody quickly ducked behind a large tree. Philus followed, his eyes fixed on where Melody had been pointing. Had she heard something?

Then he could see it – a slight movement among the trees. Philus glanced up at Melody. Should they run? Running had saved him last time. But maybe the other tribute didn't even know they were there. If they ran, they would give away their position. But did they really stand any chance in a fight?

Maybe. There were two of them, after all. But they had no weapons. No supplies. Nothing another tribute would want to take. If they ran, would the other tribute even chase them? Or would chasing them be more trouble than it was worth?

Before he could make a decision, however, the other tribute came into view. It was a boy – one of the boys from Eight, he was pretty sure. In fact…

Just then, Melody stepped out from behind the tree, waving her arms. The boy turned. Grinned. Ran towards both of them. Philus smiled a little, relieved. So that was why the boy had looked familiar.

He was her ally.

Melody Anson, 15
District Nine

"Baylor! Over here!"

Even as she shouted the words, Melody still couldn't quite believe it. He had found her. Immediately, Baylor turned and ran towards her, wrapping her in a hug as soon as he reached her. His clothes were dirty and wet, his hair muddy and mussed, but he was alive.

And he had found her.

"How…?" she managed to ask amid laughs.

Baylor held out a small compass. "The sponsors sent me this. It points towards you. Look!" He held it out to her. Sure enough, it pointed directly towards her – even when she moved to the left a little, then to the right.

Then she realized. "Sponsors? They sent you something?"

Baylor nodded. "After I—" he started, but then stopped himself. "It's not important."

Melody took a step back. "After you … what?"

Baylor looked down. "I…" He hesitated, but then finished. "I killed a girl. She attacked me, and I … I fought her off. So they sent me this."

Melody nodded. "I'm glad."

Baylor cocked an eyebrow. "Glad?"

"That they sent you the compass. Otherwise, you wouldn't have found us."

"Us?"

Melody nodded, motioning to Philus, who was still standing behind the tree. Slowly, he took a step forward, then another. Melody made sure Philus was looking at her, then continued. "Philus, this is Baylor. Baylor, Philus."

Baylor nodded, but he couldn't hide the doubt on his face. Melody tensed as the two of them shook hands. Baylor had killed a girl. She'd had the chance to kill Philus, but she'd offered him an alliance, instead, without thinking twice about whether or not Baylor would want him as an ally. Would he even want her as an ally anymore?

Stop it. Baylor wouldn't have been walking all the way across the island to find her if he didn't want her as an ally. And Philus – well, maybe he didn't look all that intimidating, but neither did she. And neither did Baylor. But the three of them, together – at least they had some strength in numbers.

That had to count for something.

"Where did the other hovercraft land?" Baylor asked.

Melody pointed. "Near the shore, that way. I'm not sure exactly how far, but I've been walking for two days. How about you?"

"Two days, that way." He pointed the opposite direction. "Have you seen any other tributes? Besides Philus, I mean."

Melody shook her head. "Not since the bloodbath. You?"

"Not since the first day. I've been lucky."

Melody nodded. "So have I."

She just hoped that luck would hold.

Fallon Ladris, 15
District Seven

She just hoped their luck would hold.

Fallon rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she and Elizabet trudged forward along the shore. There had been five cannons during the night. Five. Five more tributes were dead.

And they were still alive.

And not just alive – completely unharmed. They hadn't even seen anyone since the first day. Nineteen tributes were gone, and they were still here. Alive and well.

Maybe it was luck. Maybe they had simply run the right direction from the bloodbath. Maybe there was no one else in the area. That was the only real explanation: luck. The Gamemakers had no reason to favor them. No reason to spare them.

But they also had no reason to target them.

Fallon cracked another mussel along the rocks as they walked, eating the slimy creature inside without any hesitation. "They're really not so bad once you get used to them." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, though – herself, Elizabet, or her family. Maybe if they didn't think the Games were that bad, they wouldn't worry so much.

And, so far, they hadn't been that bad. She was cold and wet, but she wasn't hungry. Wasn't thirsty. Wasn't injured. So far, things were going pretty well.

Suddenly, Elizabet pointed up ahead. "Look! There's a building!"

Fallon peered through the rain as well as she could. It certainly looked as though Elizabet was right. There was some sort of building up ahead by the water – a small shack, from the look of it. Fallon grinned. Right now, the building meant only one thing: shelter from the rain that had been pounding them non-stop for the past two days. "Let's go have a look!"

But, even as she started forward, Elizabet grabbed her arm. "What if there's someone there?"

"What if there's not?" Fallon countered. "We didn't see anyone running this way. What if we're the first to get this far? We should at least go have a look. If it looks like someone's there already, we can just leave – no harm done. Right?"

Elizabet still looked hesitant. Fallon sighed. "All right, then. I'll go check it out. If it looks okay, I'll give you a wave, and you can come, too. Deal?"

Reluctantly, Elizabet nodded. "All right. Just … just be careful."

Fallon nodded and hurried towards the shack, watching the ground as she went. No footprints. Not that there would be – not with all this rain. Still, the shack appeared to be empty as she crept closer. Closer. Finally, she peeked her head inside. Nothing. No one. She grinned and waved to Elizabet, who quickly joined her inside.

"It's perfect!" Fallon announced. "And look!" Hanging on the wall were a pair of knives. A barrel stood in the corner – a barrel full of what appeared to be dried fish. But Fallon's attention was on the knives. "Here." She pulled the pair of them down off the wall. "Take one. That way, if anyone comes, we can … well, defend ourselves."

Defend ourselves. They could kill them. Because that was what knives were for in the Games, after all. The Gamemakers hadn't supplied them with weapons so that they could slice the dried fish. It was only a matter of time before someone else discovered their perfect hiding place.

And they would have to be ready.

Adelia Luciano, 16
District Eight

They should have been ready.

Adelia swallowed hard, trying to force down some fruit while Myrah kept watch. Both Myrah and Evander had insisted they weren't hungry, but starving themselves wouldn't do any good. And it certainly wouldn't bring back their allies.

Nothing would. There was nothing they could do. Nothing they could have done.

Nothing that could have prepared them.

Still, Adelia couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't done enough. That there must have been something. Some way she could have saved them. Jediah. Nadine.

"They warned us," Evander said at last, quietly, giving voice to her doubts. "The two girls who … the girls we killed. They told us the Careers were coming. They offered to help us."

"And you think we should have listened," Adelia finished.

"They were obviously telling the truth. Maybe if we'd made it out of the house a little earlier, maybe if the Careers had seen that there were more of us—"

"Maybe," Adelia agreed. "And maybe they would have stabbed us in the back the minute we were distracted by the Careers."

"They had hammers. They didn't even have any real weapons."

"Which is why they would have been no use against the Careers," Adelia pointed out. "You can't have it both ways. If they could have helped, then they could have been a threat, too. What do you think would have happened? Not what you wish would have happened. What do you honestly think would have happened if we had rushed out there? Do you really think the Careers would have just run away? Do you really think the Gamemakers would have let them leave without a fight? The Capitol wanted blood."

And they got it. But they had gotten the wrong blood. Jediah. Nadine. It shouldn't have been them. She wasn't sure who it should have been, but … not them. Aleron, maybe. He had abandoned them twice now; maybe he deserved it.

Adelia shook her head. Not really. He didn't really deserve it. He had been scared. It was hard to blame him for that. And the truth was, none of them deserved it. No one in the arena deserved what was happening. Even Ivira. She had been so scared at the end. The fear in her eyes – it had almost been enough to make Adelia think twice.

Almost.

But if one of them had to die … well, better Ivira than her. Better Presley than Evander. And if Jediah and Nadine had to die, then at least they had gone quickly. Protecting their allies. It was what they would have wanted.

But it wasn't what she wanted.

She hadn't been certain, until a few hours ago. Hadn't been certain how she would respond to a fight, if it ever came to one. But now she knew. Now she was certain. She didn't want to die defending her allies. She wouldn't want to die for Myrah, or Evander, or even Jediah. She didn't want to die for any of them. And she wouldn't die for any of them.

She was going to live.

Horatio Connors, 15
District Three

He was going to go crazy in here.

Horatio drummed his fingers on the floor of the cave. "How long do you plan on staying here?" He had assumed, when he had joined Beckett, that they would stay in the cave for a little while before moving on. But Beckett seemed content to stay put indefinitely.

Beckett shrugged. "As long as I can. Why? Do you have an appointment?"

"No, it's just…" He couldn't place it, but staying put any longer felt wrong. There had been nineteen cannons so far. The Games were moving along much more quickly than he'd expected. And they were still sitting safely in their cave. "It just feels like we should be doing something."

"We are doing something," Beckett reasoned. "We're surviving. And thanks to this garden you found, we have enough supplies to survive her for quite a while. It's a good vantage point; we'll be able to see if anyone's approaching."

Horatio shook his head. "Do you know how many people have won the Games by staying in the same spot the entire time?"

Beckett leaned back against the wall. "One or two come to mind. Your mentor, for starters—"

"One or two. Out of forty-one. We shouldn't stay here."

"We shouldn't stay here forever," Beckett countered. "Just until we have a good reason to leave."

Horatio shook his head. "And if I think we have a good reason to leave now?"

Beckett shrugged. "The door's right there." He gestured to the mouth of the cave. "I'm not keeping you."

Horatio hesitated. Beckett was right. Neither of them had sought out this alliance; they had simply been seeking shelter in the same place. "All right, then," Horatio said, trying to sound confident as he headed for the mouth of the cave. "Thanks for the shelter."

Beckett nodded awkwardly. "Thanks for the food."

Horatio nodded back and stepped out into the rain. Slowly, he began making his way back down the slope. Just as he reached the bottom, though, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something white and almost … furry. Horatio pulled his trowel from his pocket. "Who's there?"

But there was no answer. Nothing but a blur of fur and teeth as some sort of mutt sprang from behind the trees, its teeth and claws bared. Terrified, Horatio turned to run, but the mutt was too quick. No sooner had he turned to run than one large paw swiped against his legs, knocking him to the ground.

Claws dug into his skin as the mutt's face came hurtling down towards him. Horatio swung his trowel, but it did no good. The mutt's teeth closed around his neck. Blood. So much blood. Horatio's body went limp as the blood continued to flow, and the mutt's jaws clenched around his neck once more. Horatio gasped one last time, struggling for words that never came.

What had he done wrong?

Beckett Furlan, 16
District Ten

What had Horatio done wrong?

Beckett stared, horrified, as Horatio's cannon sounded. Horatio's screams had brought Beckett to the entrance of the cave to see what was happening, but the attack was over in a matter of seconds. Too quickly for Beckett to do anything but watch as the huge, white bear ripped out his ally's throat.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the bear simply waddled off into the jungle, the white fur around its jaws stained red with Horatio's blood. Beckett waited a moment. Then another. Once it was clear the bear wasn't coming back, he slowly made his way down the slope.

Beckett's stomach gave a lurch as he approached the body. Still, he clenched his teeth and took a step closer. Then another. There was blood everywhere. Terror filled Horatio's lifeless eyes. His right hand still gripped his garden trowel, but, even if he'd managed to hit the bear, he'd never had a chance.

Slowly, Beckett knelt and removed the trowel from his ally's hand. A quick search of Horatio's pockets yielded some radishes and turnips, but nothing more. He hadn't been hiding anything. He had never been a threat.

So why had the Gamemakers killed him?

Beckett shook his head. It didn't seem fair. Horatio had been the one suggesting that they do something. If anything, it would have made sense for the Gamemakers to target Beckett, who had wanted to stay safely in his cave. Horatio had been uneasy. Restless. Something the Gamemakers could have used.

Beckett carefully closed Horatio's eyes. It could just as easily have been him lying there. Maybe it should have been him. But it wasn't. Horatio was dead. And he was still alive. It didn't make sense. But he was grateful, nonetheless.

He still had a chance.

"Okay," Beckett muttered as he turned away from the body, his pockets stuffed full of his ally's food. "Okay, I get the point. Time to get moving." But where? "Not the way the bear went," he concluded.

Bears in the jungle. He was pretty sure bears weren't supposed to live in jungles. Not that there were many jungles in District Ten. Or bears, for that matter. But the mutt still seemed out of place, somehow.

Beckett shook the thought from his head. It didn't matter right now whether the bear was supposed to be there. It was there, and he wanted to get as far away from it as possible. The bear's tracks, almost completely washed away by the rain already, led off to the right, so Beckett turned to the left. Farther inland. Maybe that was what the Gamemakers wanted.

So that was what they would get.

Beckett trudged on, shivering in the rain. The cave hadn't been much, but it had been dry. It had been a little bit of shelter.

He could always come back at night, of course. At least, that was what he told himself. He could always go back. The cave would still be there. But he already knew, deep down, that if the Gamemakers wanted him inland, away from the caves, then that was where he would have to stay.

There was no going back.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

There was no going back now.

Imalia glanced around at her allies as Jarlan repeated her words. "You think we should split up?"

Imalia nodded decisively, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. "Yes. We'll cover more ground that way. We split up, hunt for tributes, and meet back here in a few hours. We still have plenty of time before nightfall. The best way to use it is to spread out, search more places."

"I think she's right." Delvin. Good. So he was still with her. "I mean, look at the five of us. We're making such a racket, any tribute within half a mile will be able to hear us coming. If we split up, we might be able to catch them by surprise."

"All right," Jarlan agreed reluctantly. "I'll lead a group; you lead the other, Imalia."

Perfect. "Sounds good to me," Imalia nodded.

"I'll go with Jarlan," Delvin offered, and Jarlan agreed easily. Jarlan had spared the boy's life; of course he would want to stay close to him. Jarlan would never suspect there was another reason.

"I'm with Imalia." Indira's readiness caught Imalia off-guard. Why was she so eager to stay with her? Was Jarlan plotting something, as well? Had he given Indira the same instruction she had given Delvin?

Stop it. This was no time for paranoia. Chances were, Indira simply wanted to stay with the better fighter – the one who had already proven that she was willing to kill. That was all. It shouldn't take Shale long to decide the same thing…

"I'll go with Jarlan."

Damn.

Imalia's mind raced. Why would Shale want to go with Jarlan? Was it because she had killed his district partners? Or had he seen the groups splitting up boys-and-girls and figured he wouldn't be welcome with her and Indira? Was there anything she could say to change his mind without making Jarlan suspicious?

And what about Delvin? She had told him to kill Jarlan, but what about Shale? If Delvin made a move against Jarlan, what would Shale do? He had no particular reason to defend Jarlan, but he didn't exactly have any reason to side with Delvin, either.

But there was nothing she could say. Jarlan, Delvin, and Shale were already heading off into the jungle. Indira shrugged. "Looks like it's you and me, then."

Imalia nodded. "Looks like." It was too late now. Too late to say anything. Delvin would simply have to figure this out on his own. Imalia fingered her crowbar as she watched the trio of boys disappear into the trees.

It was up to Delvin now.

Naella Sareen, 18
District Two

It was up to them now.

Naella stretched a little as she and Jaime made their way out of the cave. After a night's rest, both of them were pretty well recovered from their bout with Inviticus. The body was gone, leaving only blood stains on the ground as a reminder of the fight. And it wasn't a reminder she intended to stay anywhere near.

They had to keep moving, of course. So far, between the two of them, their only kills had been members of their own alliance. Auster. Now Inviticus. And while they'd certainly succeeded in eliminating two of the stronger tributes in the arena, preying only on their own allies wouldn't look too good to the sponsors.

Especially now that there were only two of them left.

"Which way?" Naella asked as she followed Jaime out of the cave. There were only three options, really – either forward along the shore, inland, or back the way they had come. Right now, one way was probably as good as another.

Jaime glanced around for a moment before something caught her eye. "Can you swim?"

Naella cocked an eyebrow. Of course she could swim. Swimming had been a mandatory part of Career training ever since the 36th Games, when the arena had been a single animal-filled ark that had eventually crashed into a series of rocks, leaving the remaining tributes to swim for their lives. So while she probably couldn't keep up with any of District Four's tributes in the water, she could still swim fairly well. "Of course I can swim," she shrugged. "Why?"

Jaime pointed. Further up ahead, the shore curved inland, then jutted back out again. At the end of the outcropping, there was some sort of building. "Looks like a pretty good hiding place," Jaime observed. "We could keep going along the shore, but if we approach from the water, there's less of a chance that any tributes there will see us coming."

Naella nodded. That made sense. But, as they approached the water, she wasn't nearly as sure. The trainers at the academy did their best to simulate the effects of swimming in the rain or even in a storm, but the waves looked much more intimidating in real life. And what about lightning? She hadn't seen any for a while, but if the storm picked up again suddenly…

Naella shook the thought from her head. They wouldn't be in any more danger in the water than they would be on land. The rain, the lightning, the storm – the Gamemakers controlled all of it. If they wanted a tribute to be struck by lightning, it would happen no matter where that tribute was. If they wanted a tribute to be relatively safe from the storm, they could control that, too – even in the open water.

Jaime began to wade into the water, and Naella followed. They were safe. As long as they were keeping the audience entertained, they were safe. In fact, this was probably more interesting – and therefore safer – than if they had decided to follow the shoreline. Yes. This was a much better idea.

This was the right choice.

Shale Avenheim, 18
District Eleven

He'd made the right choice.

Shale gripped his knife as he followed Jarlan and Delvin into the jungle. It hadn't been a hard choice at all, really – deciding to go with them rather than Imalia and Indira. Imalia had been jumpy ever since they'd returned from the cabin, and their inability to find it again had really shaken her. She was losing it. It was only a matter of time before she snapped.

And he didn't want to be anywhere near her when that happened.

She had already proven what she was capable of, after all. She hadn't hesitated for a moment when she'd gone after Elani and Pan. If she decided he was the next target, there would be nothing to stop her. Nothing except the knife she'd given him. And him with a knife against a Career with a crowbar was not a fight he wanted. He'd had the chance before and hadn't taken it. He certainly wouldn't want to let her strike first.

Jarlan, on the other hand, was as even-keeled as ever now that they were a good distance away from his district partner. He and Delvin were chatting, apparently not terribly concerned about the fact that other tributes might hear them. Which was a bit odd, since Delvin had been the one to suggest that splitting up might give them a little more stealth. Had he simply been looking for an excuse to get away from Imalia?

But Imalia had been the one who suggested splitting up in the first place.

Shale shook his head. They all had their own plans, he was sure. Their own reasons for wanting to split up. He just had to make sure he didn't get caught in the middle of those plans.

Suddenly, a soft pinging noise amid the rain brought them to a halt. Shale glanced up. A parachute came drifting down through the trees and landed at his feet. The package was small, with an "11" embroidered on the cloth. Shale unwrapped it, revealing a single key, old and rusty.

Shale turned the key over in his hands as Delvin and Jarlan gathered closer to look. Why would the sponsors send him a key? Why would the sponsors send him anything? He hadn't done anything particularly noteworthy so far – nothing except watch while Imalia killed two of his district partners.

And he had chosen to go with Jarlan instead of Imalia. Were they rewarding him for that choice? Was this Elijah's way of letting him know that he had made the right move? Or was it a warning? If Elijah was sending him a sponsor gift now, it might be because he would need it soon.

But why would he need a key?

"Maybe it opens something," Delvin suggested.

Obviously. But they hadn't come across anything that needed opening. And what were they going to find in the middle of a jungle that needed a key?

"Maybe there's something in there," Jarlan suggested, pointing. Shale looked. Amid the rain, he could barely see what Jarlan was pointing at, but, as they ventured closer, he could see the outline of something large. Something dark. The three of them drew closer. Closer. It almost looked like…

"It's a ship." Jarlan was almost laughing. "A ship. In the middle of the jungle."

Shale blinked. It sounded ridiculous. But Jarlan was right. The ship was damaged and rotting, but still recognizable. Jarlan smiled. "Let's check it out."

Shale hesitated, but followed Delvin and Jarlan. Inside, the ship was mostly bare, aside from a few oars and several chains attached to the sides of the ship. And a small chest in one corner. A chest with a lock.

A lock that needed a key.

Shale motioned Jarlan and Delvin over, then knelt to unlock the chest. Inside was a collection of long, thin cylinders – each a rusty, reddish color, each with a small length of wire protruding from the end. Some sort of foam-like gel seemed to be oozing from the cylinders.

Delvin took a step back. "Dynamite. I've seen it used to demolish old buildings. Be careful; I don't think it's supposed to leak like that."

Shale nodded, replaced the cover on the chest, and locked it again. "Why would the Gamemakers want us to find this?"

Jarlan shook his head. "There's only one reason. It's a warning – a warning that we're not alone. Someone else is coming this way." He picked up one of the oars.

"And we'll have to be ready."

Elijah Whitaker
District Eleven Mentor

They were as ready as they could be.

Elijah drummed his fingers on the table as Jarlan, Delvin, and Shale quickly rearranged the contents of the ship. Carefully, they slid the chest of dynamite into a dark corner, hoping that no one else would find it there. Each of them claimed an oar, which, along with Shale's knife, left them fairly well-armed. Shale tucked the key to the chest in his pocket for safekeeping.

"I don't know what good the dynamite's going to do them," Tamsin commented. "Even if they wanted to use it to set up some sort of trap, anything that's not going to go off right away would require some sort of fuse. They'd never get it to light in this rain."

Elijah shrugged. "I didn't know what was in the chest. I was just hoping that they would realize a sponsor gift meant they needed to be ready for a fight – and that it would be enough to convince Delvin not to make a move against Jarlan – at least not yet. The dynamite was just an extra bonus."

Tamsin shook her head. "Nothing in the Games is ever just an extra bonus. The dynamite's there for a reason."

Elijah leaned back in his chair. "Do tell."

Tamsin sighed impatiently. "I didn't say I knew what the reason was. But the Gamemakers would never leave something like that lying around without a reason."

"Just like there was a reason for the polar bear?" Elijah asked skeptically.

Tamsin shrugged. "It got Beckett moving, didn't it?"

"Horatio was already moving. Why didn't it just go eat Beckett?"

"Maybe Horatio smelled tastier. I don't know." She shook her head. "My point is, if there's dynamite in that ship, eventually it'll go off. If there's a strange column of smoke, eventually it's going to attack someone. If there's a tunnel down into the ground, eventually it'll lead somewhere. There are no dead ends. There are no loose threads. Not if the Gamemakers can help it – and they usually can."

Elijah nodded. She was probably right. Eventually, the dynamite would be useful. Eventually, it would go off. Eventually, the compass that Septimus' alliance was following would lead them to Delvin – and Jarlan and Shale in the process. Eventually, everything would start to come together.

And he had a feeling they wouldn't have to wait long.

"Look, all I'm saying is, if we're stuck here, then just surviving's not going to cut it. … Or else we're just going to go crazy waiting for the next bad thing to happen."