Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final five" poll if you haven't already.

Day Four
Wanted

Mags Pharos
District Four Mentor

She couldn't help overhearing them.

Mags took another drink, trying to pretend she hadn't heard Harakuise and Brennan. It wasn't her place to interfere. Not when one of her tributes had just killed both of Brennan's. It wasn't her place to offer advice now – advice he almost certainly wouldn't take.

Just then, however, Harakuise slid into a seat beside her. "All right. Let's have it."

Mags glanced from him to Brennan and back again. "Have what?"

Harakuise smiled a little. "You were listening. That much was obvious. If you have something you want to say, say it."

Mags hesitated. Did he mean it? Or was it a trap? "I…" She glanced at Brennan. He deserved the truth, even if he wasn't going to listen. "I just thought you should know that … being a Career district isn't everything it seems."

Brennan laughed bitterly. "You're right. Having five Victors must be so terrible."

"Four." Mags looked away. Four, now that Misha was gone. "And that's not what I meant."

Brennan opened his mouth to object, but Harakuise shot him a look. "What did you mean?" His tone was surprisingly respectful. And curious. Maybe he deserved the truth as much as Brennan did, with District Five quickly becoming a Career district.

Mags took a deep breath. "I didn't mean that it doesn't increase your chances of bringing home a Victor. It does. And I certainly didn't mean that that's a bad thing. But the price the district pays for it … I'm not sure it's worth it."

Harakuise nodded a little. "What do you mean?"

"I mean … look at District Four. Our training center was always … popular. Right from the start, everyone wanted to spend time there – whether they were serious about training or not. It was a place to meet with their friends and have fun.

"But it grew from that – and I'm not sure that growth was a good thing. Trainees became more and more serious, more dedicated. And the system grew even more competitive. It wasn't enough to simply want to volunteer anymore. There were always so many potential candidates. Just look at this year. Six spots – and they were still filled so quickly.

"The thing is, what would have happened to them any other year? To Jarlan and Kendall, the ones who weren't chosen to volunteer. To Brevin and Imalia, if they weren't chosen next year. The ones who do volunteer certainly have a better chance at winning the Games, yes, but what about the ones who don't measure up? The ones who never get the chance to volunteer? They've wasted years of their lives preparing for the Games, and for what? By that time, they've spent so long training that most of them can't imagine doing anything else. Where does that leave them?"

"Alive?" Brennan offered.

Mags nodded, a bit embarrassed. "Exactly. But, somewhere along the way, we stopped thinking of that as a good thing. It wasn't enough to simply be alive. It wasn't enough to simply give our tributes a better chance in the Games. Somewhere along the line, everyone started wanting more.

"And you'll find the same thing – both of you. Brennan, I know you just want to give your tributes a better chance. Who wouldn't? And I'm not saying, necessarily, that you shouldn't. Just that it's a decision that you shouldn't make … hastily. That there are consequences that you're not considering now. A decision like this … it shouldn't be made in desperate frustration, right after losing both of your tributes. You need to think about it."

Brennan nodded. "I have. And you're right; it's not a decision to be made right now, by me. It's a decision that should be made by the district. I just want … I want them to have the option."

Harakuise nodded. "And they will." He turned to Mags. "Thank you."

Mags cocked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For being honest. You have a unique perspective on these matters that your district's Career Victors don't share. I would never have pushed for a Career system in Five, but, now that we have one, I'll support it for the same reason you always did: because it gives the tributes a better chance. And I am sorry that you lost yours."

"I'm not," Mags admitted. Harakuise raised an eyebrow, so she continued. "I'm sorry about how it happened, and why. I'm sorry that Misha took it upon himself to burn down the center, and that the reaction was so severe. But I'm not sorry that the training center is gone. I'm not sorry that our teenagers will have to find something better to do with their lives than hacking apart dummies and spilling fake blood. I'm not sorry that they'll have to learn how to live again – not just how to kill."

Harakuise nodded a little. "I think I understand."

Mags shook her head. "I don't think you do – not yet. But I think you will, soon enough. Your district is well on its way to being where District Four was, not so long ago. Eventually, you'll have to decide whether you think that's a good thing."

Harakuise smiled. "I think I already have."

Brevin Tolett, 17
District Four

It hadn't taken long for his patience to pay off.

Slowly, Brevin climbed out of the tunnel, which was continuing to flood. There probably wasn't anyone else coming. As far as he could remember, the pair from Twelve had kept to themselves during training. There probably hadn't been anyone else with them.

But two was enough. Two more kills – this time, without any help from Kendall. The plan – arranging a series of vines to trip the tributes and lying in wait for them to come along – had been his, and his alone. He had accomplished what he had set out to do – all by himself.

So why didn't he feel satisfied?

He had three kills to his name, after all. There were only twenty tributes left in the arena. The Games were more than halfway over. Every cannon brought him one step closer to District Four.

So why did it still feel like he hadn't done anything?

Brevin shook his head. His kill during the bloodbath … Did that even really count? The boy had practically stood there, waiting to be killed. And these two – they had walked right into his trap. They might as well have been begging for him to kill them. All three had been easy kills. Simple. None of them had put up a real fight.

And the one time he had faced a real fight, he had run.

Brevin clenched his fists. He hadn't had a choice. He had been outnumbered. They had just killed Kendall. If only he'd had a weapon…

Brevin sat down, leaning back against the stone wall behind him. He had hoped that, if he made another kill or two, the sponsors would send him something. But apparently, killing a pair of weaklings from Twelve wasn't all that impressive.

So he would have to do better.

Brevin closed his eyes. Not yet. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow. He had spent hours lying in the dark in the tunnels, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. He deserved some rest.

He had earned it.

As soon as he closed his eyes, however, he felt something around his neck. Brevin's eyes flew open. But there was nothing there. No rope. No vines. Just his imagination. Just his own fear. The fear of dying suddenly, unaware, never knowing what had attacked him.

Just like the girl.

Enough.

Brevin shook the thought from his head. As deaths in the Games went, he had been kind. There had been no long, drawn-out fight. There had been no pain – or, at least, not much. Death had come quickly for both of District Twelve's tributes.

That was the best they could have wished for.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

This was exactly what she had wanted.

Imalia leaned back against the tree, her eyes closed, trying to block out the rain. The cold. The arena. The Games. She had thought she was prepared for this. She had thought this was what she wanted.

She had been wrong. Wrong about volunteering. Wrong about Jarlan. Wrong about them splitting up. She had told Delvin to kill Jarlan, and that was exactly what he had done – somehow. And, somehow, he had managed to kill Shale, as well. He had done exactly as she had asked.

She wished she hadn't asked it.

Imalia swallowed hard. It had been a mistake. It had all been a mistake. But Indira was right. Sooner or later, Jarlan had to die. Shale had to die. That was how the Games worked. She had known that when she had volunteered. When she had joined Jarlan's alliance. When the two of them had agreed to allow Indira and Shale to join them.

Indira. Imalia opened her eyes, grateful that one of her allies, at least, was still with her. Indira was busy using the sharp end of the crowbar to carve up some meat from the pig. It was raw, but, along with the potatoes they had found in the cabin, it was filling. And it was better than nothing.

But it wouldn't last. The meat would go bad quickly – after a day or two, maybe. The potatoes would last longer, but not forever. Sooner or later, they would have to find something else.

Imalia glanced at the light in the distance, the light that had been shining up into the sky ever since the large explosion and the three cannons that had followed. What was over there? Was it worth taking a look? Would there already be tributes there?

Imalia rubbed her leg, adjusting her bandage a little. She wasn't sure she wanted to find any more tributes right now. But she couldn't afford to say so. She had to look strong – even if what she really wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

"You think we should have a look."

Imalia glanced at Indira, surprised. It hadn't been a question. "I…" Imalia hesitated. She had almost said I think we should wait until morning. But Indira was clearly ready to go now. She couldn't afford to let Indira seem more eager than she was. "I don't see how it could do any harm," she shrugged.

That much was true, at least. Even if there were tributes there, there probably weren't very many of them. There were so few of the large alliances left. If there were one or two tributes there, the two of them could pick up an easy kill. Impress the sponsors.

Maybe that would be enough to make up for what she had said earlier – about not knowing why she had volunteered. Imalia braced herself against the tree and finally managed to stand. It was still as true as it had been then. But she couldn't afford to say so. She had to make it look like a brief moment of weakness – not an admission that she had been wrong to volunteer.

She had to keep lying to them.

Thane Hayer, 17
District Nine

He had to keep lying to them.

Thane shook his head as he followed Audra and Sariya closer to the light – a light that they could now see was coming from some sort of building. It looked almost like a greenhouse – small and dome-shaped, made of some sort of glass. He quickly followed the pair inside, trying to appear eager. Trying to pretend that, yes, this would be a good place to stay.

But the truth was, he had no intention of staying.

He had been lying to himself for too long. Trying to convince himself that this alliance was a good idea. That any alliance was a good idea. But after what Septimus had done – after what he and Sariya had stood by and let Septimus do – how could he trust any of his allies? How could he trust Sariya, who had stood by his side and simply watched while Septimus tortured Shale? How could she trust him? How could any of them trust Audra, who had helped Shale blow up two of their allies? She had been quick to condemn Septimus for what he had done to Shale, but what about Liana? She had only done what Thane and Sariya had done: stood there and watched.

Did she blame them, too?

No, it was better to get away. Better to get away from this whole wretched alliance. He had been kidding himself from the start. He had never belonged with them. He had never belonged with anyone.

He was simply better off alone.

But he couldn't do anything about it – not yet. Better to sneak off later, when they wouldn't notice. Both Sariya and Audra were clearly exhausted. He was, too, of course, so they would suspect nothing when he offered to take the first watch. They would think he was simply trying to look tough for the cameras. And they would be too tired to argue.

That was the plan, at least. And if one of them insisted on watching first, instead, he could always sneak off later, when it was his turn. When didn't particularly matter – as long as he was far enough away before any other tributes found their hiding place.

Because it was only a matter of time. Audra's idea – her insistence on heading for the light in the distance – was stupid. It was going to get them killed. But arguing would have been pointless. She had been the one to warn them about the explosion. She clearly considered herself the leader now. So he had agreed – or, at least, seemed to.

But he had no intention of staying for long.

Still, he had to admit that it was nice – being warm and dry for a change. The building didn't seem to be occupied. Potted plants had been placed in neat little rows along the floor. Flowers, mostly, but they also managed to find some carrots. A few radishes. Onions. And three small, pronged, rake-like hand tools that they might be able to use as weapons, in a pinch.

Thane took a bite of a carrot. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a bad idea, after all. But they couldn't stay. Not long. The best course of action would be to simply grab what they could take and move on. But Sariya and Audra were already settling in among the plants, ready to rest for the night. There would be no convincing them – not now.

It would be easier to leave.

Fallon Ladris, 15
District Seven

"We have to leave!"

Fallon jumped up immediately, startled by Elizabet's cry. Her gaze darted quickly around the shack. There didn't seem to be anyone else. No other tributes. No mutts. So why did they—

Then she saw it. Or, rather, felt it. A layer of water covered the floor, quickly soaking through her clothes. It was only an inch or two, perhaps, but it was rising quickly. Fallon nodded her agreement, stuffed a few dried fish in her pocket, grabbed her knife, and followed Elizabet out the door.

Where, exactly, Elizabet intended to go, she didn't say, so Fallon simply followed her friend. As quickly as they could, they raced for the tree line. The water didn't seem to be rising very quickly, but it would be better to head inland – and uphill – as quickly as they could.

"Where are we going?" Fallon called, trying to catch her breath as they ran.

Elizabet pointed. Off to the right. In the distance, towards the strange beam of light that was shooting towards the sky. "That way. That's where they want us to go. They'll probably end up driving us that way, anyway. Better to go now, while it's still our choice."

Fallon nodded, following Elizabet as she veered sharply to the right as they reached the tree line. That made sense. As much sense as anything else, at least. Not that anything made much sense anymore. They had just found the shack earlier that day. Maybe ten or twelve hours ago. Why did the Gamemakers want them to leave so soon?

Was it because there were no other tributes in the area? Was it because it had been three days, and they hadn't seen anyone but each other? Or was it because there was someone else nearby, and the Gamemakers wanted to drive them together?

Or was the water simply rising because of all the rain?

That made the most sense, really. It had been raining for three days straight. Of course that much rain would eventually cause the water level to rise. But it didn't quite seem right – didn't quite seem natural – for it to happen so suddenly. The Gamemakers must have had a hand in it.

Fallon shook the thought from her head. Of course they did. They had a hand in everything. That didn't necessarily mean that the Gamemakers were out to get them. Maybe they were driving them towards another tribute because she and Elizabet were armed. Maybe the other tribute wasn't. Maybe the Gamemakers thought this would be a good opportunity for them to make an easy kill.

The thought made Fallon's stomach churn, but she gripped her knife a little tighter. She had to look like she was ready. Ready to defend herself and Elizabet. Maybe that alone would be enough to keep other tributes from attacking. She certainly wouldn't want to attack a tribute who looked ready to slit her throat.

She just hoped that would be enough to keep them safe.

Aleron Blanchet, 15
District Three

This was the chance he'd been waiting for.

Aleron watched silently, clutching his knife, as the pair of girls neared the tree line. They had no idea. No idea that he was waiting behind a tree, ready for them when the got close enough. Just a little closer. Just a little closer.

But, as they neared the tree line, one of the girls pointed towards the light in the distance, and the two girls veered sharply to the right. Aleron shook his head. Of course they would be heading that way. It was the natural direction to go.

Aleron waited for a moment, unsure. Would it be better to attack now, or simply follow them? If he attacked now, the audience might approve. They might send him something. A bit of food. A better weapon than the steak knife he had now. But if he waited, would the girls lead him to something better?

Aleron clutched his knife. Probably not. They probably had no idea what was waiting for them up ahead. They had come from the other direction, after all – from the shack at the edge of the island. Waiting would only give them more time to notice him. Better to attack now, while he still had the element of surprise.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Aleron charged.

But something must have given him away. Maybe they could hear his footsteps. Maybe he had crashed through a few branches. Maybe one of the girls had simply seen the movement out of the corner of their eye. Whatever the reason, the closest girl turned as he drew close. Startled, she raised her knife.

But the girls hesitated. Both of them. He didn't. He couldn't. His own momentum carried him forward as the girls turned, trying to decide whether it was better to fight or run. He didn't have a decision to make. He simply dove at the closest girl, his knife raised.

The girl screamed and held up her hands to block the attack, but the knife was already in her chest. He pulled the knife out, and blood began to flow. So much blood. "Elizabet!" the girl shouted.

But the other girl was gone. Already disappearing into the trees. Aleron gave his best impression of a derisive scoff, but he could hardly blame the other girl for running. Not when he had done the same thing. He had run when the Careers had attacked his allies.

But now he was the one attacking. And the job wasn't quite finished. Blood still flowed from the girl's chest. So much blood. She didn't have long left, even if he did nothing else. Better to finish it now.

Better to finish it.

Aleron gripped his knife. The girl lashed out blindly with her own, but he quickly knocked it from her grasp. The blow had barely grazed his arm; she hadn't been aiming to kill. But he was. His knife came down quickly, this time plunging into her throat. Then her chest. Again. And again. Finally, the cannon sounded. Aleron gathered up her knife along with his own and tucked each of them into a pocket.

That hadn't been so hard, after all.

Elizabet Brower, 15
District Ten

They should have run when they'd had the chance.

Elizabet stumbled forward in the dark, brushing the tears from her eyes as Fallon's cannon sounded. It wasn't fair. They'd been doing exactly what the Gamemakers wanted. They'd kept moving. They hadn't stayed anywhere longer than one night. They hadn't been planning to stay in the shack forever – only until morning. And they had left immediately once the water had begun to rise.

What had they done wrong?

Elizabet clutched her knife tightly. She knew exactly what she had done wrong – or, rather, what she hadn't done. What she should have done. She should have attacked. The moment she had seen the boy, she should have charged at him with her knife. But she had waited. She had hesitated. By the time he had attacked Fallon, it had been too late.

By then, it was over. That first blow to the chest had been enough, she was sure, to kill Fallon. There was nothing else to do – nothing but run. The boy had obviously killed before. He knew what he was doing. She had a knife, yes, but she was more convinced now than ever that she wouldn't be able to use it. She was as good as dead already – just as much as Fallon.

The only question was who was going to kill her.

Maybe the Gamemakers would send a few mutts after her. Maybe the boy hadn't given them a good enough show. Maybe they wouldn't be happy until she was dead, too. Just like Fallon.

Maybe that would be better.

Elizabet shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. But it didn't help. Only one thought kept surfacing over and over. She should have stayed. She should have tried to fight – or, at worst, died along with her friend. Now she had no one. Nothing. Nothing except a knife she had been too afraid to use. Elizabet blinked the tears from her eyes.

She almost missed the river right in front of her.

Startled, Elizabet skidded to a halt just as one of her boots reached the edge of the water. It seemed to be rising even as she stood there, staring. That made sense, of course, now that she thought about it. If the water around the island was rising, it only made sense that the river would be, as well.

Elizabet's gaze strayed to the light in the distance. The river was in the way. Would she be able to wade across it? Or was it already too deep? Maybe it was better not to chance it. Then again, maybe drowning wasn't such a bad way to go. Better than being stabbed in the chest, certainly. Better than what the boy had done to Fallon…

Stop it. She didn't have to decide now. She could follow the river for a while, and then decide whether or not to cross it. Right now, all that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between her and the boy.

Elizabet glanced around. At least he didn't seem to be following her. Didn't seem interested in pursuing her now that he had gotten what he wanted: a kill. Maybe it didn't matter to him which one of them was dead. Maybe it didn't matter to the Gamemakers. Maybe it was enough that someone had died.

Maybe that was all they wanted. Maybe it didn't matter to them. And, as she slowed her pace and continued to follow the river, Elizabet was surprised to realize that it didn't matter to her, either. Fallon was dead now. But it was only a matter of time before Elizabet joined her. Before all of them joined her. Even the one tribute who survived these Games – even they had to die sometime. Maybe it didn't matter as much as everyone seemed to think – whether it happened now, or whether it happened forty or fifty years from now. Eventually, everyone ended up just as dead.

It was only a matter of time.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

It was only a matter of time.

Domingo clutched his scalpel tightly, waiting. He had been hoping to be able to get some sleep. But, as soon as he had laid down to rest, some sort of explosion had shaken the entire room, and three cannons had sounded. That wouldn't have been so bad by itself, but then everything had grown brighter – especially down the tunnel that led back to the hatch. Now he could see a beam of light shooting up into the sky. Revealing his location to any tribute who happened to be in the area.

Immediately, he had tried to climb back up. Maybe to close the door, or maybe simply to run now that his location had been revealed. But he hadn't been able to reach the rope, and, even if he could, it would be far too slippery by now to climb.

He could only hope that meant it would be too slippery for anyone else to climb down, too.

Domingo turned the knife over in his hands. That was the best he could hope for – that anyone trying to climb would be injured on the way down, and he could kill them then. So he had been pacing at the end of the tunnel – just out of sight of anyone who might happen to look down the hole – for what seemed like hours.

It probably had been hours by now. The Capitol anthem had come and gone. Three cannons had sounded. And still no one had found him. But his luck wouldn't hold out forever. As soon as he lay down to sleep, he knew, someone would come climbing down that rope. That would be just his luck.

So he couldn't sleep. Not yet.

Not yet.

Suddenly, there was a sound from above. Domingo stopped in his tracks, doing his best to stay silent. With the pounding of the rain, of course, any noise he made wouldn't make much of a difference. But better to be safe. Better to be quiet.

There was silence for a minute. Maybe two. Something came dropping down the hole and made a familiar splash. A stick. So there was someone up there, after all – dropping a stick down the hole to figure out how deep it was.

Not a bad idea. Part of him wished he'd thought of that himself before he'd started climbing down. But things had worked out well enough for him in the end.

Another silence. The other tribute was probably thinking. Calculating. Figuring out whether or not the drop was worth the risk. They would be able to figure out, of course, that there was someone down here. Or, at least, that there had been at one point. Someone had left the rope there, after all. And, if he had climbed back out, it would only have made sense to take the rope with him.

So the other tribute would be expecting to find him. But they had no way of knowing that it was only him. That he had no allies. Or that he was waiting just at the bottom, ready to strike the moment they came down.

There was a quiet shuffling sound. A little bit of a creaking as the tribute – whoever it was – started to climb. Maybe it was someone older. Someone heavier.

Maybe someone who would be better at climbing. Maybe they would be able to hold on better than he would have. But that still wouldn't stop them from reaching the end of the rope, or protect them from the drop at the bottom. As long as he was ready when they fell, he had a chance.

He just had to wait.

Beckett Furlan, 16
District Ten

He just had to focus.

Beckett gripped the rope tighter, trying not to think. Trying not to think about who could be waiting at the bottom of the hole. Whoever was down here, the Gamemakers had wanted him to find them. They had turned on the lights that had led him here. And they had spared him when the bear had attacked. Would they really be leading him into a trap now?

No. No, whoever was down here, he was meant to find them. Meant to kill them. He had a weapon, after all. Maybe it was just a garden trowel, tucked safely in his pocket, but it was probably more than they had, if they had been desperate enough to climb down here in search of supplies.

Just then, without warning, the rope ended. Beckett gave a shout. He had assumed the rope stretched all the way to the bottom. Silently, he cursed his own stupidity. He should have pulled the rope up first – tested it to see how long it was. Now he had no way of knowing how close he was to the bottom.

But he would have to risk it. There was no climbing back up – not anymore. He was barely holding on to the rope as it was. It was too slippery. He would never be able to climb back up.

The only way to go was down.

But what was down there? Who was down there? Were they waiting for him? Or had they already left? Had there even been anyone down here in the first place, or had the Gamemakers left the rope there to lure him in? Maybe. Maybe there wasn't even anyone here at all.

He wasn't sure if that would be better or worse.

Because if there was nothing – nothing, and no way back up – then he would probably die down here. But if there was another tribute waiting for him, he might die, anyway.

Or he might kill them.

Maybe.

Beckett clung to the rope as tightly as he could. Could he really kill them? That was why he had climbed down here, after all, wasn't it? He hadn't been looking for food or supplies; he already had plenty. He had been hoping to impress the Gamemakers. The sponsors. To show them that they didn't have to send another bear after him in order to get him to do something.

Beckett clenched his teeth. He was going to do something. Soon. As soon as he reached the bottom. But that wouldn't happen until he let go. Bracing himself for whatever might happen when he hit the bottom, he let go of the rope.

One second. Maybe two. That was all it took. But the pain that shot through his legs as he landed was still overwhelming. Beckett crumpled to his knees, clutching his legs. But, even as he did, he felt something. A shooting pain in his back. He whirled around, stumbling in the blinding light that was coming from somewhere nearby. He could see a boy. A boy who was holding a bloody knife.

It took Beckett a moment to realize. His blood. Coming from the wound in his back. He dove towards the boy, but the boy sidestepped, then struck again – this time slicing at Beckett's arm. The cut was quick but deep, and blood started to spurt from his arm. Beckett gave a cry of pain as he collapsed in a puddle of water that was quickly turning red. He didn't even have time to reach for his trowel before the boy's knife plunged into his neck.

It wasn't fair.

Jaime Gloire, 18
District One

It wasn't fair.

Jaime sighed, pacing around the lighthouse to keep herself awake. Another cannon had just sounded. Another tribute dead. And they were stuck here in this stupid lighthouse, probably miles away from the nearest tribute.

But how could they have known? They had been looking for tributes for days. It wasn't their fault they hadn't found any. It wasn't as if the Gamemakers had handed them a map showing them where the other tributes were. She had been hoping that maybe one or two would try to take shelter in the lighthouse, but, so far, no one had ventured their way.

So maybe it was time to leave.

Jaime clutched her pocketknife. It didn't make any sense – drawing them here, only for there to be nothing of value. And what was the point of turning on the lights if there weren't any tributes nearby? "Where are they?" Jaime muttered, glancing out one of the windows.

She hadn't really expected an answer, but, to her surprise, she got one. Something behind her – something deep in the floor of the lighthouse – made a gentle whirring sound, and a door opened near her feet. A series of steps led down into some sort of room beneath the lighthouse. Quickly, Jaime shook Naella awake. "Look!"

Naella followed her cautiously down the steps and into a large, open room. Compared to the rather old-fashioned exterior or the top of the lighthouse, this room looked surprisingly new. The floors were some sort of marble rather than the old stone of the rest of the building. The room was clean, and several screens lined the walls. Jaime smiled a little. Maybe coming here hadn't been a waste, after all.

Naella seemed particularly fascinated by the screens, which were all black. Blank. As if waiting for some sort of instructions. Naella ran her hand along a panel beside one of them, as if deciding which button to press. Each button had a symbol on it – a flower, a swan, a ship. Naella shrugged and pressed the picture of the swan.

Immediately, the screen whirred to life. Jaime grinned as a picture came on the screen – a picture showing a tribute in some other room. The tribute was one of the younger boys. District Seven, she was pretty sure. He held some sort of scalpel, covered in blood. The camera panned to show a body. A body of another boy.

Intrigued, Naella pressed another button. Then another. The button with the flower showed three tributes in some sort of greenhouse. The button with the ship, on the other hand, only yielded a series of static and strange beeps. Naella shrugged and pressed the last button. Some sort of building appeared on the screen, and a single tribute.

Brevin.

Jaime smiled a little. So he was still alive. None of the cannons since the anthem had been his. Maybe that wasn't something to be happy about, but he was still their ally, after all. And he was a Career.

One of the few Careers left.

"This would be more helpful if we had some sort of map," Naella muttered. Which was true, of course. They had no way of knowing where any of the other locations were. But, aside from the ship, there were three buttons.

And there were three other beams of light.

Maybe that was it. Maybe the other locations were the other lights. But which one was closest? The boy from Seven, the three tributes, or Brevin?

Probably the boy. The three tributes – the pair from Nine and the girl from Seven – had been with Septimus. They had been heading inland. And Brevin had been with the other group of tributes – the replacement group. The boy from Seven, on the other hand, would probably still be nearby.

And he would be the easiest kill.

Jaime and Naella shared a look. They had been hoping to rest for the night. But now, it was clear, that wasn't going to happen.

Now they had a reason to leave.

Sariya Charsley, 16
District Nine

She had no reason to leave.

Sariya watched silently, pretending to sleep, as Thane snuck out the door, taking one of their helmets, one of the miniature rakes they had found, and a few carrots. The cannon had woken her, but he either hadn't noticed or was pretending not to. He didn't seem interested in her – only in leaving as quickly as possible.

Sariya closed her eyes again. How long had he been planning to leave? Maybe since he had offered to take the first watch. Maybe before. For a moment, she considered revealing that she was awake. Asking where he was going. Why he wanted to leave.

But that would mean a confrontation. Once he knew she was awake – once he knew that she knew he was leaving – he couldn't simply sneak out quietly. Maybe it was better to simply let him go. If he wanted to leave, she didn't really have a reason to stop him.

But she certainly didn't have a reason to go with him, either.

The realization caught her by surprise. They were district partners, after all. They had been allies ever since the train rides. She had always assumed that, if the alliance ever split, she would end up going with him. But, now that it came to it, she was surprised to realize she would rather stay with Audra.

Audra had led them here, after all – which had turned out to be a pretty good idea. They had found food. Shelter. Weapons, even. It was warm here, and dry. Why would Thane want to leave?

He hadn't seemed particularly upset at the part Audra had played in Septimus and Liana's death. In fact, he had been quick to tell Audra she had done the right thing. Which she probably had, Sariya knew, now that she'd had the chance to think it over. Septimus had been dangerous. Audra had gotten rid of that threat.

So why was Thane leaving them?

Sariya opened her eyes as the door closed. After waiting a moment, she sat up. She would make sure to give Thane a head start before telling Audra he was gone. Not that she thought Audra would want to go after him to kill him, but she might try to convince him to come back. And since he clearly had no desire to, that might turn ugly.

Better to avoid the matter altogether.

But, since he was gone, someone had to keep watch. Sariya rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, bracing herself for a long few hours before she could wake Audra and pretend to have noticed that Thane was missing. At least they were out of the rain now. Warmer. Drier. They had food. Shelter. And she and Audra had each other. Why would Thane want to give that up?

Why would he want to leave?

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

Part of her wanted to leave.

Indira glanced over at Imalia as the pair of them made their way towards the light in the distance. With Imalia's injury, and Indira dragging what was left of the pig as well as the sack of potatoes, it was slow going. They had been walking for what seemed like hours. Maybe it had been. The sky was starting to grow a bit lighter. Was it morning already?

Or were they simply getting closer to the light?

Whatever the reason, she could see Imalia a bit better now – and what she saw worried her. Not the fact that she was limping – that was to be expected. But she seemed completely drained of energy, and not just because of her wound.

Indira shook her head. Maybe she shouldn't have asked – asked why Imalia had volunteered. Was it a secret – something dark in her past that she was trying to get away from? Or was she simply embarrassed by the realization that maybe she hadn't had such a good reason, after all. She had always seemed so certain, so sure that she belonged in the arena. Now she simply seemed out of place.

Maybe it would be better to leave her.

It would certainly be safer. Safer to leave Imalia, leave the pig she was dragging, take some of the potatoes, and just run for it. Imalia would never be able to catch her – not with her injured leg. She had always assumed that the Games would be more dangerous if she was alone, but would she really be any worse off without Imalia?

Maybe. At least Imalia had a weapon, in an pinch. But if she set it down for a moment – if Indira could get ahold of the crowbar and run – then maybe she would have a better chance. But if she took Imalia's weapon, what chance would Imalia have on her own? Maybe it would be better to simply kill her now…

Indira shook the thought from her head, startled. Amazed by how quickly she had even started considering killing her own ally. Shale and Jarlan were dead already, of course, but she'd had no part in that. To actually kill an ally was…

Was what? Unthinkable? A few days ago, maybe. But she couldn't help hearing her own words to Imalia. You want to go home, don't you?

And she did. More than anything. She wanted to be home. Safe. Warm and dry. She wanted to be able to sleep without being woken by cannons, fearing for her own life. She wanted to rest – really rest, not just resting so that she could get her strength back for the next trek through the jungle. She wanted to eat a meal without wondering if it would be her last.

And, in order for that to happen, Imalia would have to die.

"There!" Imalia's whisper interrupted Indira's thoughts. Later. She could worry about leaving later. Right now, they were close enough to see where the light was coming from. It was some sort of building – shaped like a dome, made of what looked like glass. Indira could see at least one tribute inside. Maybe two.

She glanced at Imalia. "What's the plan?" One tribute, they might be able to handle. But two? And there could be more. Maybe it would be better to simply leave…

But then Imalia smiled. A smile that brought back a flicker of the confidence Indira had always seen from her. "I do have a plan," she nodded. "There's just one thing."

Indira nodded. "What is it?"

"You'll have to trust me."

Evander Mercado, 16
District Three

He wasn't sure whether he could trust Adelia anymore.

Evander kept his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. He had slept soundly earlier, while Myrah was keeping watch. And when she had woken him to take his turn, he had done so without complaint. But ever since he had woken Adelia to let her watch, he hadn't been able to sleep.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the lightning. Maybe it was the four cannons that had sounded since the faces had appeared in the sky. But none of that had troubled him while Myrah was watching.

But Myrah wasn't a killer.

That wasn't fair, of course. He had killed, as well. And, most likely, Adelia was right about the fact that Ivira and Presley would have turned on them as soon as possible. Eventually, they would have had to die. And, if he was being honest, it wasn't the fact that they were dead that was bothering him.

It was the fact that Adelia had almost seemed to enjoy it.

Part of him knew that was ridiculous. That she had almost certainly been pretending for the cameras. After what had happened last year, no tribute could afford to seem reluctant to kill. Adelia knew that. She was just playing their Game.

But she was playing it a bit too well.

Evander rolled over again, trying to find a more comfortable position. But that wasn't the problem. The buildings were warm and dry, at least. Myrah was sleeping soundly. So why couldn't he?

Why couldn't he just trust her?

She had only done what she'd had to do. But how long would it be before 'what she had to do' included killing him? And what about Myrah? Would Adelia kill her, if it came down to it?

Would he?

"Evander." Adelia's whisper interrupted his thoughts. Evander's eyes shot open. Adelia was standing at the door, peering into the distance through the rain. "Evander. Myrah. Wake up."

Myrah was on her feet instantly; maybe she hadn't been sleeping as soundly as she had seemed to be, either. Maybe she was just as anxious. Just as worried about what Adelia might do. Evander slowly climbed to his feet. Adelia had her knife in one hand and one of the hammers they had taken from the pair of girls in the other. That could only mean one thing.

Someone was coming.

But, as he approached the door, he couldn't see anyone. Not until Adelia pointed. "Over there. Just past the river."

Then he saw her. A girl. One of the outer-district girls, he was pretty sure. District Ten, maybe? She wasn't close enough to be sure yet, but she certainly wasn't a Career. And she seemed to be alone. "Maybe she won't come this way," Evander offered hopefully.

Adelia shook her head. "She will. She has to. The Gamemakers wouldn't have steered her in this direction if they were going to let her just walk away. They led her here for a reason." Adelia glanced down at the knife in her hand.

"We can't just let her go."

Glenn Chester
District Nine Mentor

Why couldn't they just let her go?

Glenn shook his head, his eyes fixed on the screen as Elizabet wandered closer and closer to the houses. It wasn't fair. Elizabet had just lost Fallon. She wasn't stalking Adelia and her group. She wasn't looking for a fight. And she certainly wasn't a threat.

So why couldn't they just let her go?

He already knew the answer, of course. Any other year, they might have. Any other year, Evander and Myrah might have been able to talk Adelia into simply letting the other girl walk away. Any other year, Adelia may not even have suggested going after a tribute who clearly posed no threat.

But it wasn't 'any other year.' Adelia assumed – and probably quite correctly – that the Gamemakers would continue to show favor to tributes who were willing to take the initiative.

Glenn shook his head. The initiative was something he had never taken during his own Games. He had never truly understood that drive, that need to constantly be doing something to impress the Gamemakers. He hadn't done anything impressive during his Games. He had simply survived.

But that was a long time ago. The Games had evolved since then. It wasn't enough to simply survive. The audience wanted blood. They wanted pain. They wanted long, epic fights between desperate tributes, pushed to the limits of what their minds and bodies would allow.

He would never have survived if his Games had been like this.

"It's never fair, is it." Crispin shook his head, sliding into a seat beside Glenn. "It's almost easier when there's a strong Career pack – when they're the ones going around killing all the tributes. This is always harder – when the Gamemakers force tributes who don't want to kill into a position where they have to."

Glenn nodded. Crispin understood both positions – the need to impress the Gamemakers and the desire to simply leave other tributes alone. He had spent most of his Games entertaining the audience by seeking out fights with mutts. He hadn't made his two kills until the final five.

And, so far, all of their tributes had the same record. Elizabet, Indira, Thane, Sariya, Melody, Myrah – they had all made it this far without a single kill. More than halfway through the Games. The beginning of the fourth day. And there was still no blood on their hands.

But that wouldn't last forever. Elizabet was headed straight towards Myrah's alliance. Indira and Imalia were preparing some sort of attack against Sariya and Audra. Thane had left when he'd had the chance, but now he was on his own. And Delvin was slowly making his way towards where Melody and her allies had settled down for the night.

All across the arena, pieces were being set in motion. It was only a matter of time before someone made a move. But who would move first?

And who would survive?

"I've done everything you wanted me to do, so why did you do this to me?!"