Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Results of the latest poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll up on my profile, this time asking who you want to see in the final five. Much like the last one, this one doesn't really have any effect on who will be in the final five; I'm just curious. As usual, please do actually vote for five tributes, and read the chapter first, because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

Day Three
Enough

Casper Hensley
District Seven Mentor

The blast seemed to shake the entire island.

Casper watched as groups across the island reacted to the sudden explosion. Boom. Boom. Boom. Three cannons.

But only three. Audra, Thane, and Sariya had escaped the blast. On one of the screens, the three of them were racing north through the jungle. A second screen showed Delvin running south. Both were far enough away from the explosion.

Thanks to Audra.

Of course, it was only thanks to Audra that there had been an explosion in the first place. Casper allowed himself a small smile. Her actions had made her look sympathetic and, at the same time, had taken out three of the strongest contenders in the arena.

She hadn't been thinking about that, of course, he was sure. She had simply wanted to give Shale what every tribute deserved but few got – a quick, painless death. It was too late for 'painless,' of course, but there wasn't an option much quicker than being blown to bits by dynamite.

Just as things were starting to settle down, however, there was a sudden flash of light. Four lights, actually – for separate beams of light, shooting up into the sky in different parts of the arena.

One came from the lighthouse. One from the hatch that Domingo had found. One from a temple-like structure in the northwest corner of the island. And one in the center, maybe half a mile north of where the ship had been only a few minutes before.

Casper cocked an eyebrow. "Four lights. What are those for?"

"Halfway there," Brennan offered.

Casper turned. "What?"

Brennan nodded towards the screen. "Twenty-four tributes dead. Twenty-two left. We've passed the halfway mark."

Casper shrugged. "So why should that mean a bunch of lights turn on?"

"Who knows? In my arena, every three cannons turned the lights on and off. I didn't figure that out, of course, until after the Games. Chances are, this means something, too. But for right now, all it's going to do is draw tributes to those four spots."

Casper shook his head. "Or make them turn around and run the other way."

Brennan nodded. "Some of them. It's an invitation. Whether they accept it or not – that's up to them." He shook his head.

"But I have a feeling there will be consequences for declining."

Audra Trevaille, 18
District Seven

They were still alive.

Audra breathed a sigh of relief as the echoes from the explosion subsided. They were still alive. They had been far enough away.

They were safe.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Three cannons. Shale. Liana. And Septimus. Good.

Sariya turned towards Audra, surprised. "How did you know?"

"There was a chest with dynamite in the ship," Audra answered. "Shale set it off."

Sariya shook her head. "You knew he was going to kill Septimus and Liana? And you let—"

"Of course I let him! Look at what Septimus did to him! What was going to stop that from happening to you? Or me? Or Thane?" She shook her head. "Now it won't."

Thane nodded. "Good work."

At least he understood. "Thank you."

Sariya opened her mouth to say something, but, before she could, there was a flash. A streak of light shot up into the sky, almost directly in front of them. How far away it was, she couldn't tell, but it seemed close. Too close to be a coincidence.

It was meant for them.

Maybe it was a reward – a signal that they had made the right choice. That she had made the right choice. It had been her decision, after all. Thane and Sariya had done nothing. Nothing to stop Septimus. Nothing to help her. Nothing at all.

Except run. They had run when she'd told them to – without even stopping to ask why. Did that mean they would follow her now?

Maybe it was time to find out.

"That way," she pointed. Towards the beam of light. "I think we should follow it."

Sariya looked skeptical, but Thane nodded. "All right. Let's go."

Two against one. Audra turned to Sariya, who glanced at Thane before nodding reluctantly. "All right." Without any more argument, they set off.

Was it really going to be that easy?

Audra almost laughed. Had they been following Septimus so blindly that, now that he was gone, they were eager for someone else – anyone else – to make the decisions? She'd expected them to argue. To point out that there could be anything up ahead – even other tributes. That they could very well be walking into a trap. That it could be dangerous.

Any of those things would have been true. Any of them would have been a good reason not to go. But they'd said nothing. They'd simply let her make the decision.

She just hoped it was the right one.

Delvin Flynn, 18
District Six

So they'd found the dynamite, after all.

Delvin slowed his pace a little as the echoes from the explosion died off and the cannons sounded. Three of them. Four since he'd left the ship. Four cannons. But whose?

Jarlan and Shale, almost certainly. They would never have survived what Septimus had planned for them. But who else? Had they somehow gotten free and set off the dynamite? Had one of the others found it and not been careful enough? He almost wished he had stayed.

Almost.

Delvin shook his head. He was alive. That was the important thing. Whoever had been killed in the blast, he would find out soon enough. It was getting dark. Soon enough, their faces would be shown in the sky, and he would have his answer.

Suddenly, there was a flash. In the distance up ahead, a light shot up into the sky. Delvin whirled around. Behind him, in the direction of the ship, was another light. A third – a bit farther off – came from the same direction as the first – but quite a bit farther away.

Delvin stopped short. Lights. Some sort of buildings, probably. Maybe a signal revealing where some of the tributes were. Maybe some sort of trap to try to lure him in.

But he wasn't about to take the bait. Not when there was only one of him. If he still had allies…

No. No, there was no use going back to his allies now – to either group of them. Septimus had made it clear that he didn't want him. Jarlan and Shale were probably dead. And Imalia had never wanted him as an ally; that much had been clear from the start. She might be grateful that he'd kept his word and that Jarlan was dead, but that gratitude wouldn't last long. If she was willing to turn on her district partner, what was to keep her from turning on him at the first opportunity?

Then again, he couldn't exactly claim the moral high ground, either. He had betrayed Septimus by joining Jarlan. He had betrayed Jarlan by agreeing to kill him, and then betrayed both Jarlan and Shale to their deaths. And he'd been thinking about betraying Septimus by going back to Imalia and telling her everything – until Septimus had revealed that he had been expecting exactly that.

Which was why he'd had to get away. Septimus understood. He understood that the Games weren't about trust. They weren't about alliances. No one left the arena with any alliances in tact. Sooner or later, everything fell apart.

Maybe he was simply ahead of everyone else.

Delvin clenched his teeth. That was it. He was ahead of the Game. That was much better than the alternative – that he hadn't planned one bit of it and had no idea what the hell he was doing.

Delvin shook his head as he turned left. Uphill, away from all three of the lights. He could always go towards them later. Later, when they'd finished luring other tributes to their deaths. For now, he just wanted to rest.

But he couldn't stop yet.

Brevin Tolett, 17
District Four

He couldn't stop now.

Brevin grinned as light shot up into the sky up ahead. He was close. He was so close. His legs ached as he picked up his speed. He had to keep moving.

What, exactly, was up ahead, he wasn't sure. But there was something – some sort of opportunity – and, for now, that was enough. Since running from the group at the houses, he had seen no one. Nothing. Nothing but a bunch of trees. But now there was light. A signal.

A sign that he was going the right way.

One of the right ways, at least. There was another light in the distance far behind him. But this one was closer. More inviting. He could reach this one in a matter of minutes.

Suddenly, he could see a wall. A large, crumbling wall, covered in vines. Brevin ran his hand along it, following it. Whatever this building was, it was huge. There must be something important inside.

Inside. But how could he get inside? As far as he could see, there was no door, and the wall stretched up perhaps twenty-five or thirty feet. Even if he could climb it, if there was a drop on the other side…

Maybe the vines. Brevin nodded to himself, found what looked like a stable portion of the wall, and started to climb. It was slippery work in the rain, but, fortunately, the vines stretched all the way to the top. Once he reached the top, he peered over. Sure enough, there were vines on the other side, as well.

It was almost too easy.

Soon, he reached the bottom. Only then did he glance around. Sure enough, the light was coming from inside the building, shooting up through the open ceiling from a hole in the ground perhaps twenty feet in front of him. Brevin took a step closer. Then another. Soon, he could see that there were actually two holes. Light flooded out from one, but the other seemed to be an entrance to a tunnel. Was this what they had wanted him to find?

If so, then there must be tributes down there. Brevin hesitated. He was alone. He was unarmed. If he ran into more than one tribute in the tunnel, would he be able to hold his own? What if there was a group of Careers?

Brevin clenched his teeth. He was a Career. And the Gamemakers had drawn him here. The audience wouldn't want to see him back off now. They wanted a fight. They wanted blood. He hadn't spilled blood since the first day. This was his chance.

His mind made up, Brevin pulled one of the vines loose from the wall. It was about seven feet long, thin but strong. Almost rope-like. It could do as a weapon in a pinch. And a pinch was probably exactly what he was about to get himself into.

Brevin shook his head. He couldn't think about that – about who might be down there. About the fact that they might be stronger than him. Better prepared than him. Better armed than him. He had his training. He had a weapon. That would have to be enough.

Brevin smiled for the cameras as he disappeared into the tunnel.

Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine

She had to look strong for the cameras.

Myrah braced herself as the Capitol anthem sounded. Together, she, Adelia, and Evander sat huddled by the door, sheltered from the rain, gazing up at the sky. Waiting. Waiting for the faces of their allies to appear.

The first face in the sky belonged to the boy from Two. Myrah shook her head. So many of the Careers were already gone. Two on the first day. Two more on the second. Another now. And Jediah had killed one more. That was six.

But there were still so many…

A boy from Three was next. Myrah huddled closer to Evander. The other boy had mostly kept to himself during training. Evander probably wasn't close to him. But, still, they were from the same district.

Just like Aleron.

Myrah clenched her fists. Aleron was different. He had abandoned them. He had run away when they had needed him the most. Why was he alive, and the other boy dead? Why was he alive when Jediah and Nadine were dead?

And, sure enough, Aleron was still alive, because the next face belonged to the girl from Four – the one Jediah had killed. Myrah nodded a little. At least Jediah's death hadn't been completely in vain. He'd taken the girl out with him. Six Careers were dead…

No, seven, she realized as another face appeared in the sky – this one belonging to one of the boys from Four. But not the one who had attacked them. He was still out there somewhere, because the next face was the girl from Five.

Eight Careers.

That left four. Four Careers. The girls from One and Two. The boy who had attacked them. And the other girl from Four.

Myrah braced herself for Nadine's face to appear, but the next face belonged to the other girl from Six. Myrah nodded a little, realizing. She hadn't fully put it together before – that one of the girls Adelia and Evander had killed had been Nadine's district partner.

She shouldn't care, of course. Nadine probably wouldn't have. As far as she knew, Nadine hadn't been close to the other girl. She had even left her district's alliance to join Myrah. But, still, Myrah couldn't help thinking of Melody. Of Thane and Sariya. They were still out there, somewhere – unless their faces were about to appear. If it came down to it, could she really kill them?

Maybe. Maybe, if they attacked, the way the two girls had. Adelia and Evander had never said, of course, that the girls had attacked first. But they must have. Evander would never have struck first. And Adelia…

Myrah's thoughts were interrupted by a churning in her stomach as Nadine's face appeared. Evander held her a little tighter, providing what comfort he could. But he couldn't do anything to shield her – not really. The face of the girl from Eight followed, and then Jediah's. Myrah found herself wiping away tears.

She had told herself that she wouldn't cry. That she would be strong. But maybe it was more important to simply be there for each other.

One more face – the older boy from Eleven – flashed across the sky. And then it was over. The faces were gone. Nadine and Jediah were gone. Really gone. Myrah buried her face in Evander's shoulder.

Why was she still alive?

Aleron Blanchet, 15
District Three

They were still alive.

Aleron sat, gaping, staring at the sky long after the faces had disappeared. He had assumed, from the cannons, that his allies had all been slaughtered by the Careers. And he had been partly right. Nadine and Jediah were dead. But Adelia. Myrah. Evander. They were still alive.

And he had left them.

He had abandoned them. He had known that, of course, when he had run. But abandoning them when their deaths were certain was different than … this. They were alive. Somehow, they had fought off the Careers. Killed one of them. Killed both of the girls who had entered the house.

And he had done nothing. He had run. He had fled. Like a coward. Aleron tucked his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Part of him wanted to rush back to the houses. Find his allies. Beg for their forgiveness. Beg them to take him back.

But would they even want him back?

Aleron brushed the tears from his face. When he had run, he had told himself that he would return. He would return to exact revenge on the tributes who had killed his allies. But his allies were alive, and most of their attackers were dead. There was no one to exact vengeance on. No one to blame.

No one except himself.

No, he couldn't go back. He had to keep moving forward. Slowly, Aleron got to his feet and plunged forward into the darkness. Away from the light that shone behind him off to his left, shooting up into the sky. Away from the light farther in the distance behind him, beyond the houses. Away from his allies.

His allies. Could he even call them that anymore? After what he had done, would they even consider him an ally if they found each other again? Or would he simply be another tribute?

Chances are, they would turn on him the moment they saw him.

Aleron clenched his fists. After all he had done for them, they probably wouldn't even take him back. He had found the houses, after all. It was only because of him that they had any food. Weapons. The three tributes they had killed – the two girls in the house and the Career – that had only happened because they'd been armed. If not for those knives, they wouldn't have been able to defend themselves at all.

Hell, they were only alive because of him. It was thanks to him that their faces hadn't been in the sky right along with Nadine and Jediah's. Whether they realized it or not, he had already saved their lives.

He didn't need to go back there and save them again. Not when they would obviously be ungrateful. No, better to keep moving. Better to look after himself.

He had already spent enough time worrying about them.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

So she hadn't been worried for nothing, after all.

Indira swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as Shale's face vanished from the sky. Ever since she and Imalia had finally made their way back to the place where they had parted ways with Jarlan, Shale, and Delvin earlier that day – the large tree where they had left the sack of potatoes they had found in the cabin – she'd had a feeling that something had happened.

Imalia had insisted that it was nothing. That Jarlan knew what he was doing. When the first cannon had sounded, she'd said that they had probably found a tribute – and that was why they were so late in returning. When the explosion had followed and the lights had shot up into the sky, Imalia had shrugged and suggested that maybe Jarlan had gone to investigate the lights – and that was why they weren't back yet.

By that point, though, she had sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

But now they knew. The reason they weren't back yet wasn't because they were busy killing other tributes. And it wasn't because they had wandered off to investigate a mysterious light. They were dead. They were both dead.

Jarlan and Shale, at least. Not Delvin. Did that mean he was coming back? Or was he still out there in the jungle somewhere, injured? Would his cannon be sounding soon?

Indira shook her head. She didn't really know Delvin. They hadn't been allies for long. But Shale…

And Jarlan. He was Imalia's district partner. For all Indira knew, they had been training together for years. Indira glanced at Imalia, who was leaning back against a tree, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, the other one clutched tightly to her chest as she rocked back and forth. "It's my fault," she whispered.

Indira quickly made her way to Imalia's side. "It's not. It's not your fault. There's no way you could have known, when we split up. Whoever found them could just as easily have found us."

Imalia shook her head. "But it was my idea. I suggested splitting up. We should have stayed together. I shouldn't have sent them off. I should have—"

"Stop it!" Indira yelled, louder than she meant to. Imalia looked up, startled. But Indira didn't back off. "They're dead. But think about it. Really think about it. They had to die, eventually. You want to go home, don't you? That's why you volunteered, isn't it? To win this and go home?"

But, even as she said it, she knew it was a silly argument. If Imalia had wanted to be at home in District Four – if that was what she really wanted – then she shouldn't have volunteered in the first place. She could have chosen to be safe, warm, dry … comfortable, even. She'd had a choice – a choice Indira hadn't had. And she had chosen the Games, instead.

"Why?" Indira asked, when Imalia didn't answer the question. "Why did you volunteer?"

Imalia looked up, and, even in the fading light, Indira could see the answer. The confidence, the certainty, was gone from Imalia's face. Her voice was empty as she finally admitted the truth.

"I don't know anymore."

Beckett Furlan, 16
District Ten

He wasn't sure what to feel anymore.

Beckett shook his head, stumbling forward in the dark and the rain, making his way towards the light in the distance. He knew he should feel something. If not for Horatio, then at least for Shale, who had been his ally during training. Maybe for Indira, his district partner, who was on her own now, just like him.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Before he had seen the faces in the sky, he had almost forgotten what Shale's face looked like. And Indira … he hadn't seen her since they had been split into two groups the morning of the first day. If they hadn't found each other by now, chances were they never would. For all he knew, she had been with Shale, and was now injured somewhere. Dying. Soon, she would probably be dead, too, and he would be alone.

Beckett brushed the rain from his face. He was already alone. He had been alone since the start. Even in the cave with Horatio, he had still been alone. He had always known that, sooner or later, the boy would have to die. Maybe it was better this way. Better that he hadn't been with Indira and Shale at the start. Better that he had been nowhere near Shale when he'd died. Better that he hadn't left the cave with Horatio.

Maybe he was simply better off alone.

After all, this way, there was no one to tell him no. No one to tell him that heading for the light in the distance was a stupid idea. No one to tell him that there would be other tributes there. That it would be dangerous.

Of course, there could be other tributes. And it might very well be dangerous. But it was more dangerous not to go. The Gamemakers had spared him once despite his inaction, sending the bear after Horatio instead. He couldn't count on the same thing happening again. They had turned that light on for a reason. They were inviting him. Drawing him in.

It was more dangerous to refuse the offer.

Besides, there might not even be anyone else in the area. He was still close, he was fairly certain, to where they had landed. To the hovercraft. Surely most of the tributes were farther away by now. Surely the Careers had gone somewhere else to hunt.

The Careers. What was left of them, at least. Beckett shook his head, remembering how one of the Career packs had invited him, Indira, and Shale to join their alliance. Now three of those four were dead.

And he was still alive.

Beckett gripped the trowel he had taken from Horatios' body. Even if he ran into a Career now, he might stand a chance. He had no allies anymore but, chances were, they wouldn't, either. If he could catch them off guard…

Not that he was going to go looking for the Careers, of course. Except going back to the hovercraft, he would have no idea where to start looking. And there was nothing at the hovercraft, anyway. Certainly nothing more useful than the food and weapon that Horatio had provided him, or the garden whose location Horatio had revealed. And even finding the garden wouldn't be necessary – not for a while. He had enough food to last him for days.

And if the Games kept going at this pace…

Half the tributes were gone. More than half, actually. Forty-six to start with. Twenty-two left. Just twenty-two. Less than a normal year. Twenty-two tributes left.

And he was one of them.

Naella Sareen, 18
District Two

They were the only ones left.

Naella drummed her fingers on the lighthouse wall. Technically, they weren't the only Careers left. Brevin was still out there somewhere, as was Imalia. But, with Septimus, Liana, Jarlan, and Kendall all gone, she and Jaime were the only Careers who weren't left on their own.

Not that two was much of a pack, of course, Naella reminded herself as she and Jaime settled in for the night. It was even more obvious now that they were settling down to rest. Only one of them could rest at a time. Just one. They would have to take turns watching – only the two of them, rather than four or five.

They hadn't worried much about that the night before. The cave had been isolated enough, difficult enough to find. But when the explosion had shaken the island, something inside the lighthouse had turned on, and it was now emitting a beam of light. A light that could draw other tributes to them.

The safest thing, of course, would be to simply leave. But, now that it came down to it, neither of them wanted to. It was dry in the lighthouse. It was warmer. It was almost comfortable. To go back out in the rain and the cold – without any reason other than that the lighthouse wasn't entirely safe – seemed like a waste of a good resource.

And it wouldn't look very good for the audience, either – two Careers abandoning their resting place because they might be found by other tributes. Maybe there were only two of them, but they were still two of the strongest tributes left in the arena. That had to count for something.

Didn't it?

Besides, with the other Career packs gone – or at least severely diminished in numbers – how many larger groups were left in the arena? Certainly none that would be anywhere nearby. Any tributes who might follow the light and find them would probably be alone, or maybe a group of two. They would be tired, hungry, and simply seeking shelter from the storm.

They wouldn't pose a threat.

As long as she and Jaime could see them coming, of course. There was no guarantee of that – not in the dark and the rain. Even the light from the lighthouse wouldn't reveal a tribute who was making a reasonable effort to remain hidden.

So they would have to be alert. They could sleep, but only one at a time. They couldn't afford to let their guard down. Not now, when each of them was the only defense the other had.

Naella slowly sat down, leaning back against the wall. That was what was bothering her, of course. If she fell asleep now, Jaime would be her only defense. After the way Jaime had acted earlier…

The way they had both acted, Naella reminded herself. They had both been tired from their swim. They had been wet, cold, hungry – all the things that Harriet had warned her would cause people to snap in the Games. And they almost had. They had almost been at each other's throats, just like Inviticus.

Naella clenched her teeth. They were stronger than he was. They were more prepared. They were still alive, after all. He had cracked, and she and Jaime had kept their cool. They were still here. That was all that mattered.

They were still alive.

Baylor Alanis, 14
District Eight

They were still alive.

Baylor allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he, Melody, and Philus settled down for the night. After everything that had happened – the explosion, the lights in the sky, the faces of his district partners during the anthem – they were still alive. He was still alive.

Twenty-four tributes dead. The Games were half over. And he was one of only two tributes from District Eight left alive.

Baylor turned his compass over in his hands. That couldn't be a coincidence – the fact that they were the ones who were left. Adelia was the one, after all, who had figured out that the Gamemakers had intended to separate them into two groups. And Carolina, in turn, had told him. That had given both of them an advantage.

An advantage that had helped him find his ally – as well as a new, unexpected one. Baylor glanced at Philus, who was already sleeping soundly beside Melody. Clearly, he already trusted her completely.

Baylor was almost jealous.

Not of the trust Philus had for Melody. That was perfectly reasonable. Melody had the chance to kill him and had chosen to spare his life, instead. That was probably enough to earn anyone's trust.

No, it was actually Melody, he realized, that he was jealous of. She had offered a tribute an alliance instead of attacking him, and Philus had accepted. Baylor had made the same offer to Cordelia, and she had attacked him.

What had he done wrong?

Or was it Melody who had done the wrong thing? Should she have killed Philus when she'd had the chance? Baylor immediately felt guilty for thinking it, but what use had the younger boy been? He didn't have any useful weapons or food or other supplies. They could barely communicate with him. He was simply there.

And, sooner or later, he wouldn't be.

Baylor looked away. Away from his two allies. He didn't want to think about that – about the fact that, eventually, he would lose the people he had only just managed to find. Half the tributes were gone. And while that meant fewer opponents, it also brought them closer and closer to what eventually had to happen.

Eventually, Philus would have to die. And eventually, so would Melody. They all had to – all twenty-one of the other tributes who were still left – if he was going to go make it home.

Baylor shook his head. Not yet. They didn't have to die yet. And they didn't have to die at his hands.

Probably.

But, even as he thought it, he couldn't help picturing Kit. Kit, who, along with his two allies, had made it to the end of the Games. Kit, who had panicked in the dark, empty library and stabbed both of his sleeping allies in the back. Baylor glanced at Melody and Philus. Three of them. Just like Kit's year. But the Gamemakers wouldn't let the same thing happen again.

Would they?

Elizabet Brower, 15
District Ten

Would they still be safe here?

Elizabet glanced around nervously as the lights from the faces in the sky faded. But the other light still remained – shooting up into the sky in the distance off to their right. The Gamemakers were inviting them closer.

But closer to what?

Elizabet glanced around their little shack. They didn't really have any reason to go anywhere. Not yet. They had food. Water. Shelter from the rain. They even had weapons. The shack was as defensible as any other place they were likely to find. They were right by the shore, so there was really only one direction from which an attack could come – only one direction they had to keep an eye on.

There was no good reason for them to leave.

And yet Elizabet couldn't shake the feeling that maybe they should. Maybe they should move on. That maybe the Gamemakers' invitation wasn't an invitation at all, but, rather a demand. Maybe it was their way of telling them to move, or else…

Or else what? Mutts? Other tributes? But if there were other tributes in the area, wouldn't it be better to fight them here, where they would have the upper hand? Elizabet glanced at Fallon, already settling down for the night in one corner of the shack. She didn't seem to have any qualms about staying. But still…

Tomorrow, Elizabet decided, taking a position by the door to keep watch. Tomorrow, they could worry about that strange light. Tomorrow, she could bring up the idea of leaving. They didn't need to worry about that right now.

Did they?

There had been plenty of cannons during the day, after all – as well as that large explosion. Ten faces in the sky. Over half the tributes dead. And it was only the third day. That would be enough to satisfy the audience, wouldn't it?

Over half the tributes dead. Elizabet counted quietly to herself. Calantha had died the first day, but Beckett and Indira were still out there. District Ten had lost only one of their four tributes. Two of Fallon's district partners – Audra and Domingo – were still alive, as well.

So far, their districts were doing well.

Elizabet fingered her knife, staring out silently into the darkness and the rain. None of that mattered, of course, in the end. It didn't matter how well their districts were doing now, how many of their district partners were still alive. Eventually, all but one tribute died. Where the others placed, how well they did … in the end, none of that really mattered.

Still, it felt good. They had beaten the odds so far, she knew. Glenn had told her several times that she wouldn't be able to stay hidden forever. That her little alliance wouldn't go unnoticed for long. But it had been three days, and they had seen no one else since the bloodbath. So far, their plan seemed to be working.

But how much longer would that last?

Eleanor Marxs, 16
District Twelve

How much longer would the darkness last?

Eleanor clenched her fists tightly as she and Barry continued down the tunnel. They had heard several cannons since entering the darkness, as well as a larger explosion of some sort. The Capitol anthem had revealed that the day was over, but they had no way of knowing who was gone, or who was left.

None of that, of course, had dampened Barry's spirits. He was still chattering on about how Brennan hadn't had any idea of who was left in his arena, either. There had been no faces in the sky at all – no way of even knowing what day it was.

What Barry didn't seem to realize was that, Brennan's year, that had been true for every tribute in the arena. None of them had known who was left, so the lack of information hadn't put Brennan at any more of a disadvantage than anyone else in the arena. This was different – and much worse. But Barry didn't seem to realize that.

Or maybe he did, and simply didn't want to mention it. Didn't want to spoil his own good mood. She'd gotten that impression occasionally over the last three days – that he was smarter than he let on. That he noticed more than she sometimes gave him credit for. His constant chatter, his endlessly cheery attitude … Was it simply because he didn't want to think about all the bad things that could happen?

Or was it all an act?

Eleanor shook her head. A dark, damp tunnel was not a good place to start being paranoid. Not that there were any good places to be paranoid, but a small, enclosed, dank space was certainly one of the worst places to start losing her cool. Better to get to the surface first. Then she could worry about Barry and what his motives might be.

He was still chatting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had stopped responding a while ago. Maybe he was simply trying to keep himself form losing it. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, to be quiet – in case there were other tributes nearby – but the silence would have been even worse. At least this way, she knew he was still here.

Just then, his voice stopped. "Barry?" Eleanor asked, startled.

"The floor," Barry whispered, his voice suddenly panicked. "Feel the floor."

Eleanor bent down and did as she said, but, before her fingers brushed the ground, they touched water. About an inch or two of water covered the floor. How long had that been there? "The tunnel." Barry's voice was frightened. More frightened than she'd ever heard it before. "It's flooding."

Eleanor swallowed hard. He was right. The water seemed to be rising. "What do we do?" she asked frantically. Should they go back? Would they have the time? Or did they simply have to hope that the tunnel would end soon?

Barry grabbed her hand. "We have to keep moving. Come on. Quickly. Run!"

Without thinking twice, she did. They ran forward in the darkness, their boots sloshing through the water that seemed to be growing higher and higher. But, suddenly, her boot caught on something. Something in the water. Eleanor tumbled forward, catching her fall – but not quickly enough. Something wrapped around her throat. Something that almost felt like a rope. Eleanor gasped, but the rope was tightening. "Barry! Run!" she cried.

But she couldn't see whether or not he had, in fact, run. She couldn't see anything – not even her attacker. But she could feel the rope growing tighter. Tighter. She was getting dizzy. Everything was getting colder.

She just hoped Barry had run.

Barry Zephir, 15
District Twelve

He couldn't stop running.

Barry brushed the tears from his face as Eleanor's cannon sounded. He wanted to run back. To try to help her. But it was too late. The cannon had fired. She was gone.

He had to save himself.

He could hear sloshing behind him in the distance. Someone else was following him. Gaining on him. But he could see light. Some sort of light, up ahead. Maybe the end of the tunnel. But how far was it? Could he make it in time?

But even if he did, then what?

Maybe if he could make it to the surface, he could lose his pursuer. Here, in the tunnel, there was only one place to run. On the surface, there would be obstacles – or at least light. But it seemed too soon for daylight. Where was the light coming from?

It didn't matter. If there was light, at least he could see his attacker. He could see who had killed Eleanor. Barry clenched his fists. In his panic, he had dropped the thread. He had even dropped the needle he had found by the spinning wheel. He didn't have any sort of weapon. If the other tribute caught him…

The light was getting closer. Brighter. Barry finally smiled a little. Maybe. Maybe he could make it…

Then something tackled him from behind. No, not something, Barry realized. Someone. One of the older boys – from District Four, maybe? Barry didn't have much time to ponder the matter. The older boy grabbed his legs, dragging both of them down into the water. Barry threw a punch, but the boy held on.

Barry managed to catch a breath before the older boy grabbed his head, forcing it underwater. Barry thrashed, his arms and legs flailing, but it did no good. When he and Eleanor had fought the boy from Five before, they'd helped each other. One of them had always been able to distract their opponent.

But now there was no one. No one to help him. Barry struggled as much as he could, but his lungs were beginning to ache. He had to breathe. But his head was still underwater. If he opened his mouth now…

Finally, though, he couldn't fight it anymore. His mouth opened, and water rushed in. Filling his lungs. For a moment, Barry panicked, thrashing harder. But the hands that held him were too strong. Too certain.

He had never stood a chance.

Barry could feel his body going limp. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Not such a bad way to go. It didn't hurt – not really. Not anymore. Everything was getting fuzzy. The light in the distance was growing dimmer. And he had been so close. So close to reaching it.

But not close enough.

Brennan Aldaine
District Twelve Mentor

He had been so close.

Brennan slammed his fist down on the table, spilling his drink, as Barry's cannon sounded. "Damn it," Brennan muttered as Eldred hurried over to clean up the mess. "He was so close."

But, even as he said it, Brennan knew it wasn't true. Barry had never been close. Close to reaching the surface, yes. But he'd had no way of knowing that, after entering the tunnels, Brevin had used some vines to construct a trap near the entrance. A trap much like the one he had used to trip Eleanor.

And even if Barry had somehow made it to the surface, Brevin had been too close behind him. He would have caught him, anyway. The only difference would have been that Barry would have died on land, rather than in the water.

He'd never had a chance – not really. Not against a Career. Not alone. And Eleanor – she had never known what had hit her. She and Barry had panicked, not realizing that, at the slow rate the water was climbing, they would have had plenty of time to make it to the surface.

Of course, they hadn't known, when they'd started running, how close they were to the end of the tunnel. There was no way they could have known. Nothing that could have helped them.

They'd never stood a chance.

Not panicking – that was the only thing that could have helped. Keeping their heads. Being cautious even as the water rose around them. But that simply wasn't human nature. After three days in the arena – three days of being wet, cold, and tired – after hours of wandering through a dark, cramped tunnel, it was simply natural to panic when they realized the tunnel was starting to flood.

But Brevin hadn't. He hadn't panicked. He had been lying in wait for hours, hoping that a tribute or two would come his way. He had stayed relatively close to his entrance of the tunnel. Waiting. Just waiting.

And his patience had paid off.

Patience. Maybe patience was the important thing, in the end. But patience wasn't something you could teach a tribute in a matter of days. It had to be learned. It had to be taught long before the reaping.

Brennan sighed, nodding a little as Eldred replaced his drink. "Is there anything I can do?" Eldred asked kindly. "Anything else I can get you?"

Brennan shook his head. There was nothing Eldred could do. There was nothing anyone could have done. No matter what he did, no matter what the tributes did, District Twelve always seemed to come up short.

Brennan took a drink. He had told Eleanor's father, after the reaping, that he always did his best to bring his tributes home. That he did everything he could. But, so far, his best hadn't been good enough. His tributes' best had never been good enough.

Maybe it was time to change that.

Isn't your district tired of losing?

Both of District Twelve's tributes gone in the course of maybe ten minutes. Yes. Yes, he was tired of it. And if there was a way to change that – if there was even a chance – then maybe it was time he took it.

Slowly, Brennan gathered his drink and made his way to where Harakuise sat on one of the couches. "I'm sorry about Liana," Brennan offered.

Harakuise nodded crisply. "And I'm sorry about Eleanor and Barry. But people don't usually come to me just to trade sympathy; there are better candidates for that."

Brennan sat down next to him. "Fair enough. Yesterday you offered to help channel some of the weapons confiscated from District Four to District Twelve." He took a long drink. "Does that offer still stand?"

Harakuise smiled a little and placed a hand on Brennan's shoulder. "Absolutely."

"I did what I had to do. I was one of the people that was smart enough to make sure that I didn't end up in that ditch. Which makes me considerably smarter than you."