Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.

Note: Results of the "final five" poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll up on my profile, this time asking who you think the Victor will be. Please note that this is not (necessarily) the same as who you want the Victor to be. (That'll be the next poll.) Also, please note that this will have absolutely no effect on who the Victor is; that's been decided for quite a while. I'm just curious. As usual, read the chapter first, because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

Also, a shout-out to RandomTeddyBear, who's heading up a 24-author collaboration story and looking for more authors. If you're interested, head on over to his profile and check out the application questionnaire in the first chapter of the story. The application process is a bit more complex than most, but only because they want to make sure they're getting authors who will actually see this through to the end. As someone who's been part of a half-dozen failed collabs, I understand wholeheartedly.

Also, friendly reminder that my sister, MornieGalad Baggins, has an open SYOT, so send some tributes her way.

Day Four
Time to Start

Harriet Bard
District Two Mentor

At least they weren't making the same mistake Beckett had.

Harriet nodded as Naella and Jaime patiently examined the opening in the ground. Naella pulled the rope up to see how long it was. Jaime dropped a few sticks down in an attempt to measure how far the drop was. It didn't take them long to figure out that the rope wouldn't reach all the way to the bottom.

Harriet smiled a little. She had taught Naella well. Survival wasn't always about who was the strongest or the quickest or the best fighter. Sometimes, survival was determined by who took the time to stop and think a situation through and who plunged in head-first without having all the information they needed.

Balthasar chuckled a little. "I think they've figured it out."

Harriet cocked an eyebrow. "Figured what out? That the rope won't get them all the way down? Or that Domingo's waiting for them right at the bottom?"

Balthasar shrugged. "Both – and something else. Think it through. What's wrong with the rooms down there?"

Harriet glanced at the screens again. One of them showed Naella and Jaime, but a second showed Domingo, pacing around near the entrance to the tunnel. He had figured out that they were up there, of course. If the rope disappearing hadn't given it away, the sticks dropping had. But there was nowhere else for him to go. If he fled to one of the other rooms, they would find him quickly enough. Better to stay there and wait for the two Careers to climb down.

After all, it had worked once.

Jaime and Naella, though, weren't as hasty as Beckett had been. They knew Domingo was there, as well. They wouldn't be dropping blindly into his trap as Beckett had.

But what was the alternative?

Then she saw it. Harriet almost laughed out loud as she realized. "Of course."

Balthasar smiled. "Got it?"

Harriet nodded. It was so obvious, now that she thought about it. The door that led down into the earth had been open for days now.

So why hadn't the rooms flooded?

Jaime Gloire, 18
District One

"Why hasn't it flooded?"

Jaime glanced up from where she knelt, peering down the hole into the ground. "What?"

Naella shook her head and repeated the question. "Why hasn't it flooded? The tunnel, the hole, the rooms – whatever's down there. Who knows how long this door's been open? The sticks we dropped down – it didn't sound like they landed in much more than a puddle. And what we saw on the screens – Did it look like the rooms down there were flooding?"

Jaime glanced back down. Naella was right. With the constant downpour, the rooms should have had a good layer of water on the floor, at least. But they didn't. There was only one good explanation for that. "The water must be going somewhere."

Naella nodded. "Exactly. And if it can get out, we can get in."

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. That was a bit of a leap. Even if the water was draining somewhere, there was no guarantee that there would be an entrance large enough for them. "What if he comes out this way while we're busy looking for another entrance?"

Naella shrugged, yanked up the rope, and closed the door. "Now he won't."

"Fair enough," Jaime conceded. "Any idea where we should start looking for this other entrance?"

Naella glanced around. "Unless it's being pumped through some sort of system artificially, the water would naturally flow downhill. So that would probably be a good place to start." She pointed downhill, back towards the shore.

"And what are we looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Naella admitted. "Anything that looks out of place – like the Gamemakers might have put it there to cover up a tunnel or some piping. Anything that doesn't quite fit."

Like a bunch of high-tech screens in an old fashioned lighthouse? She didn't say it out loud, though. Naella was right. Finding another entrance was their best bet. Certainly better than dropping right into the other boy's clutches. Especially when they knew he had a weapon of some sort.

Jaime fingered her pocketknife, flicking the blade in and out. How had he gotten a weapon? Had the sponsors sent him something? She and Naella only had what they'd managed to find in the hovercraft. How had a fourteen-year-old from District Seven gotten sponsors when they hadn't?

Or maybe he had taken it from the tribute he'd killed. But that wasn't exactly a more comforting thought. It meant that a little kid had already accomplished what they hadn't: He'd killed a stronger, better-armed opponent. Jaime shook her head. Even if she and Naella found and killed the younger boy, it wasn't a very impressive kill. Inviticus hadn't been armed – not really. Auster…

Auster. The bloodbath seemed so long ago. Auster hadn't been armed, either. And he certainly hadn't been expecting an attack. This time, their opponent was armed. He would be expecting them. And he had at least one kill under his belt. Jaime shook her head. He might be a little boy from Seven, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

And they couldn't afford to underestimate him.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

He had hoped they would underestimate him.

Domingo paced back and forth, knife in hand, in the dark. Once the two girls had closed the hatch door, all the lights had gone out – both the beam that had been shooting up into the sky and the lights down the hall. He was left in complete darkness, all because they hadn't made the same mistake as the other boy.

Domingo shook his head. He should have known he couldn't get that lucky twice. The audience would want something different. Something new. If the girls had simply dropped into his lap – and if he had simply killed them as he had the other boy – where was the excitement in that?

But where was the excitement in them simply closing the door on him and leaving him here? Where was the excitement in watching him pace around in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back on, waiting until he ran out of food and water? He had enough to last quite a while, back in the main room. So what did the two girls hope to gain by shutting him in here?

Unless they had found another way in.

Domingo stopped short. He hadn't even thought of that – that there might be more than one entrance to the underground chamber. He had assumed the hatch door was the only entrance. Had the girls found another?

But if they had, then why hadn't they used it? Why bother with the hatch at all if they had found another way in? No, it was more likely that they hadn't found one yet. But they were hoping to. They were looking for one.

Which just meant he would have to find it first.

Domingo clutched his knife tightly. He wasn't likely to find anything in the darkness that now filled the tunnels. He would never be able to see the two girls coming if they did find a way in.

But did that mean they wouldn't see him, either?

Domingo took a few steps forward. Then a few more. Finally, his hand brushed the wall. "All right, then," he whispered, more for his own sake than for the cameras. "Come and get me."

But they didn't. There was nothing. No sound except the pounding of the rain on the hatch door. Maybe they simply weren't coming. Maybe there wasn't another entrance at all.

Could he really get that lucky?

Finally, Domingo sat down, leaning back against the wall. If they were coming, he would probably be able to hear them. Or maybe one of them would trip over him in the dark and save him the trouble of knocking them over. Maybe they would both fall on their own weapons and die.

Or maybe they would get frustrated with not being able to find another entrance and simply kill each other.

Domingo smiled a little. Probably not. More likely than not, he was dead. So dead that it was almost funny. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nowhere he could go. Nothing to do but wait and hope.

But maybe that would be enough.

Adelia Luciano, 16
District Eight

She had waited long enough.

Adelia sighed as she sat down to eat, knife in hand, hammer on the ground nearby. She had waited for them long enough. Myrah. Evander. By now, it was clear they weren't coming back.

Which meant she had to figure out what to do next.

The houses wouldn't be safe anymore. Not if she was alone. They had barely been safe when there were more of them. Maybe they had stayed there too long already. Maybe that was the real reason the Gamemakers had driven the other girl towards their hiding spot. Maybe they had known another confrontation – especially one that seemed unnecessary – would cause their alliance to split.

Adelia shook her head. Of all the scenarios she had imagined that might drive her alliance apart, this wasn't one she had anticipated. She had imagined them disagreeing over a course of action, perhaps, and splitting into two separate groups. Peacefully. Respectfully. Simply turning their backs on each other and walking in different directions.

She had never imagined her allies running away from her.

Maybe it didn't matter. Not really. Either way, they were gone. And she was alone. And tonight, maybe she would see their faces in the sky. Right now, she had to focus on making sure that they didn't see hers.

So lunch was the first step. Quickly, she ate as much as her stomach would hold, then stuffed as much food as she dared into her pockets. Not enough to slow her down, though. She would need to move quickly if she was going to get far enough away from the houses.

Far enough away for what, she wasn't sure. But, with her allies gone, she was certain – absolutely certain – that she needed to get away from the houses as soon as possible. They were too tempting a target. Too obvious of a hiding place. She needed to be somewhere safer.

Adelia shook her head. She might be able to find somewhere that was safer than the houses, but there was nowhere in the arena that was truly safe. She would never be completely safe – not until she made it home to District Eight.

Until. Adelia smiled a little. Somewhere along the line, if had turned into when. There wasn't really a question in her mind now that she had what it took to get back home. It was only a matter of when and how it was going to happen.

There were only fifteen tributes left, after all, Adelia realized as she stuffed a few more carrots into her pockets. It was only the fourth day, and less than a third of the original number of tributes were left.

And she was one of them.

But she would have to do better than that. Final fifteen. Final eight. Final five. None of that mattered – not really. The thing that mattered – the only thing that mattered – was being the last one. Only one tribute was left standing, in the end. Only one tribute could go home.

And she meant for it to be her.

Evander Mercado, 16
District Three

He had never meant for this to happen.

Evander brushed the rain from his face as he stumbled forward through the trees. There was a part of him that had assumed that it would be easy. Easy to find Myrah. Easy to convince her to come back. Or that, if he couldn't find her, something would happen. Something that would force him to turn around and go back the other way. Back to the houses. Back to Adelia. Back to safety.

Except it wasn't safety. Not really. Especially not now that he had left Adelia on her own. She probably wouldn't want him back any more than the three of them had wanted Aleron to come back after he'd abandoned them.

Evander shook his head. It wasn't the same. He was chasing after an ally, trying to bring her back to safety. Aleron had run to save his own skin. There was a difference.

There had to be.

Exhausted, Evander stopped, bending over to catch his breath in the rain. He had to rest – just for a little while. He wasn't going to do Myrah any good if he was exhausted by the time he found her. And if he found someone else…

Evander clutched his knife. He didn't want to think about that. About what he might do if another tribute – or, worse, a group of tributes – found him now. He had always assumed that there was some safety in numbers, that tributes would be less likely to attack a larger alliance. But now that he was alone…

Maybe it didn't matter, in the end. The fact that there were six of them hadn't stopped two Careers from attacking their group. It was the arena itself that wasn't safe – not the fact that he was alone. The arena wasn't safe for a single tribute. It wasn't safe for an alliance. It wasn't safe for anyone.

Slowly, Evander straightened up again, his lungs and legs both aching. But, even as he did, he heard a gentle pinging noise. Startled, he looked up. Why would the sponsors be sending him something now? Why would they be sending him something at all?

Still, he smiled for the cameras as the package landed at his feet. It was small, wrapped in a grey cloth with a "3" embroidered on it. Slowly, Evander unwrapped his gift – a small compass with a "9" engraved on the back.

Nine.

District Nine.

A grin broke out on Evander's face. The gift could only mean one thing. Myrah was close. And the sponsors were trying to help him find her. Which meant that maybe she was looking for him. Maybe she would want to go back, after all.

Maybe everything could be all right again.

Evander held the compass as flat as he could. The needle swiveled for a moment before pointing in the direction he had been going, anyway. Evander grinned. So he had been right. Right about which way Myrah had gone. Right about her running instead of trying to take on the other girl alone. And she couldn't have gotten much farther than him – not in the short amount of time she'd had before he and Adelia had noticed she was gone.

Which meant he was close.

Myrah Lanhart, 14
District Nine

They were getting closer.

Myrah glanced at Aleron as the pair drew closer and closer to the building in the distance, the beam of light still visible even in the daylight. Myrah nodded. It made sense that that would be where Aleron would want to go. He had been the first to find the houses, after all – the first to realize that some sort of shelter was nearby. It only made sense that he would want to find another safe place to rest.

But would it really be a safe place? The beams of light had appeared the night before. If there had been other tributes in the area, they could have made their way there by now. Maybe that was even where the boy from Four had gone – the one who had attacked them at the houses.

Myrah blinked the rain out of her eyes. It seemed so long ago that they had been attacked. So long ago that Jediah and Nadine had been killed. But it had only been two days – less, even. And here she was, heading for a building that could possibly be sheltering one of the tributes who had attacked them.

But only one, she reminded herself. There was only one of the two Careers left. The boy from Four would be alone. If she and Aleron could catch him off-guard…

No. No, she wasn't fooling anyone. Aleron had killed the girl from Ten, yes – and, if Myrah trusted her story, the girl from Seven, as well – but he had been quick to run from the Careers. No, Myrah had no doubt that, if the boy from Four was there, Aleron would be the first to suggest that they leave.

And he wouldn't be wrong. Maybe he hadn't been wrong in the first place. Maybe he'd had the right idea, that night at the houses. Maybe he had been right to leave, to save himself while he had the chance.

But did that mean she had been wrong to stay?

No. No, she didn't regret staying. But she also didn't regret leaving. Leaving Adelia. Leaving Evander. Aleron was right; she would have sacrificed herself for them. She almost had, when she had tried to save Jediah. So it was better to get as far away from them as possible.

Because she didn't want to sacrifice herself. Now that it came down to it – now that there were so few of them left, now that there was some distance between her and her allies – she didn't want to die for them. She didn't want to die at all.

She just wanted to go home.

And anything that brought her closer to that – anything that brought her one step closer to District Nine – was a good thing. Every cannon that sounded was a good thing. Every face in the sky was a reminder – a reminder that she was still alive. And, as long as she was still alive, there was a chance.

There was a chance she would live.

Brevin Tolett, 17
District Four

Was there still a chance more tributes were coming?

Brevin paced around the building restlessly, trying to stay awake. Trying to convince himself not to sleep. He had slept for an hour – maybe two. There was no way to tell, really. But a cannon had woken him, and he hadn't been able to sleep after that.

There could still be more tributes coming, after all – drawn closer by the beam of light. If they had been farther away when the lights had come on, it might take them longer to get here. He couldn't afford to sleep now – not when they could be coming to find him.

Of course, the safest thing would be to leave. Leave and find another place to stay. Somewhere that wasn't emitting a beam of light that practically screamed, Here I am! Come and get me! And part of him was tempted to – to simply leave and find somewhere else. Somewhere new.

Maybe he had done enough here. Maybe the two tributes he had killed – the pair from Twelve – would be enough for now. But he still couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something else. Something he was missing. Something he was supposed to do.

Brevin shook his head. Whatever it was, it could wait a little while. A few minutes. Maybe an hour or two. If another tribute or two did come along, they wouldn't be able to get inside the building without climbing the walls. That would give him some time, at least, to be ready.

But to be ready with what? He was still unarmed, apart from the vines and the sticks he'd managed to find. The pair from Twelve, as far as he'd been able to tell, hadn't had any weapons with them. Nor had they had any useful supplies. Eventually, he would have to leave if he wanted to find food.

And he did. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal. Even when he'd had Kendall with him, the two of them had been relying on nuts and berries they'd found in order to get by. But the group of tributes at the houses – they had seemed well-fed. And they'd had weapons. If they had found knives in the houses, then maybe there would be food there, as well.

Maybe it was time to go back.

Brevin stretched a little. Maybe. But not just yet. He could wait until nightfall. Until the faces appeared in the sky. That would tell him how many of the tributes at the houses were left. Then, at least, he would know what he was facing.

Assuming they had even stayed there, of course. For all he knew, they had left once they had realized the houses were too tempting a target for an attack. They could be long gone by now. Whatever food and supplies they couldn't carry with them could be waiting for him in the houses even now.

Brevin shook his head, fingering a vine. He could wait. He would wait. He had been patient in the tunnels, waiting for the pair from Twelve to come along. And he could be patient now. He would wait until he had more information. Wait until he was sure he was ready.

Then he would make his move.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

They had made the right move.

Imalia smiled a little as Indira woke her to take the next watch. After days of being out in the rain, it almost felt strange to wake warm and dry, surrounded by flowers and vegetables. Indira smiled back. "Looks like coming here was a good idea, after all."

Imalia nodded. It certainly seemed so. In addition to her crowbar, they now had the two hand-held rakes they had taken from the other two girls, as well as their pair of helmets and enough food to last quite a while.

It almost seemed too easy.

Of course, nothing in the Games was ever that easy. Eventually, someone would find their greenhouse, or the Gamemakers would drive them elsewhere. But for now – for a little while, at least – they could relax and enjoy their good fortune.

They had certainly earned it.

Slowly, Imalia sat up, stretching her leg. It didn't seem to ache as much. Imalia glanced down. Something green lay beneath the bandages. Some sort of leaf, tucked between the cloth and her wound. "What's this?"

Indira smiled and nodded towards a leafy, potted plant with large purple flowers. "I would have woken you to ask if it was okay, but you were sound asleep, and I figured it wouldn't hurt."

Imalia ran her hand over her leg. "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

Indira shrugged. "They grow in District Ten. Mostly they're considered a weed. But ever since the Games last year, the Peacekeepers have grown a bit more … forceful … with their punishments. Suddenly everyone's interested in what plants can relieve pain or help heal injuries. It's not morphling, obviously, but it's better than nothing." She shrugged. "It's supposed to be good for calming nerves, too. If I had a fire, I could brew some tea, but—"

Imalia shook her head. "This is fine. Thank you."

Indira picked off a few more leaves. "Chew some of these, if you can, now that you're awake. It'll help."

Imalia hesitated. But only for a moment. If Indira meant to harm her, she could have done it by now. She could have done it when they had been pretending to fight to lure the other two girls in. She could have done it while Imalia was asleep. But she hadn't. Imalia had no reason not to trust her now – at least for a little while.

But not forever, she reminded herself as she took the leaves and started chewing. They were bitter, but, like the mixture on her leg, they did seem to be helping. Indira was helping her now. But later…

Imalia smiled a little. Indira obviously wasn't thinking about what would have to happen later. That, eventually, they could face each other in a fight, and a previous injury could mean the difference between life and death. Indira clearly wasn't worried about the possibility.

So why should she be?

Imalia stretched her leg as Indira lay down to sleep. She was a Career. She was trained to consider all the possibilities. Indira wasn't thinking beyond the next few hours. The next fight. She had simply wanted to help her friend. She wasn't worried about the fact that eventually that friend would be competition.

Her friend. Imalia swallowed hard. When had she started thinking of Indira as a friend? Imalia's gaze strayed to where the other girl lay, already sound asleep. Unconcerned. Convinced she had nothing to fear from Imalia. That her ally – her friend – wouldn't have it in her to kill her. Imalia clenched her fists.

What if she was right?

Philus Polaine, 13
District Eleven

All of this felt wrong.

Philus struggled to keep up with Melody and Baylor as the three of them kept climbing. Part of him wanted to leave. To turn back. To run away from the two allies he barely knew. He'd had no trouble, after all, running away before. He had left Elani and Pan to die. He had saved himself then.

So why couldn't he run now?

Philus clenched his fists. This was different. They weren't being attacked. They were simply fleeing the rising water. And they were running – together. Which was exactly what he, Elani, and Pan would have done if he'd had time to warn them about the Careers. This was exactly what he'd wanted to do then. His allies were running away along with him.

So why did it still feel wrong?

Philus brushed the rain from his face. He still couldn't shake the feeling that this was a trap. Baylor was convinced the Gamemakers were leading them uphill so that they could find another tribute. Kill another tribute. But it was just as possible that they were being led uphill so that another tribute could kill them.

But leaving them … would that really do any good? If he ran, he would make himself a single target, instead of three of them together. The Gamemakers might lead the other tribute towards him instead of Baylor and Melody. And while he didn't want any other tributes finding the three of them, he certainly didn't want any tribute catching up with him while he was alone.

So the best solution was to not be alone. To stay with Melody and Baylor as long as he could.

But how long would that be? There were only fifteen tributes left. How long could the three of them stay together? How long could they protect each other? How long before the others began to see him not as an ally, but as a liability?

What if they already did?

Philus shook the thought from his head. If Melody and Baylor wanted him dead, they would have killed him by now. They'd certainly had the chance; there had been several times when he'd been sleeping, and one of them had been keeping watch. If they'd wanted to kill him, they could have done it – several times over.

But what if it wasn't a matter of wanting him dead? What if it was simply a matter of considering him expendable? If it came down to a choice between their lives and his, would they choose him?

Of course not. But that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't trust them. After all, he wouldn't choose their lives over his own, either. He hadn't chosen Elani and Pan's lives, after all, over protecting himself – and he had known them better. He had only met Melody and Baylor a day or two ago.

Then again, he had only known Elani and Pan for a few days, as well, before the arena. They had been allies, yes. Friends, even. But would they ever have sacrificed themselves for him? Philus shook his head.

He would never know.

Baylor Alanis, 14
District Eight

He wished he knew where the Gamemakers were leading them.

Baylor glanced at his compass as the three of them stopped to catch their breaths. They were almost at the top of the hill, and the compass was still pointing straight ahead. Maybe someone was at the top of the hill – or maybe on the other side.

He just wished he knew who.

Just think. He'd been trying to work out who might be left, but he could barely remember whether any of his own district partners were left. Adelia, he was pretty sure, was still alive – unless one of the recent cannons had been hers. Ivira, Jediah, Louis, Gadget – they were all gone. So maybe Adelia – or one or two of her group.

But why would the compass be pointing towards them?

Melody. It had been pointing towards Melody before. So what if it was pointing towards one of her district partners now? They hadn't seen any faces from District Nine, so, unless some of the recent cannons had belonged to them, all of her district partners were still alive. Two of them had been with a group of Careers. The other was one of Adelia's allies.

Neither group was one he wanted to run into.

There were only three of them, after all – him, Melody, and Philus. They were all unarmed, except for a few branches they'd scooped up along the way. If the other group had any sort of weapons at all, they could all be rushing to their deaths.

Maybe that was what the Gamemakers wanted. After all, what had the three of them done? He'd killed a tribute, yes, but that had been days ago. He'd found Melody, yes, but they'd spent their time since then hiding and looking for food. Biding their time, maybe. But now it was time for them to do something.

Time for him to do something.

Just then, Melody stopped short. A hand on Baylor's shoulder held him back from letting his momentum simply carry him farther. "Look," Melody whispered, pointing.

Baylor looked. Up ahead, curled up under a tree, asleep, was another tribute. Only one. One of the older boys. District Six, maybe? Baylor couldn't quite see the number on his outfit, but he didn't dare venture any closer. Not yet.

It could be a trap. The boy could simply be pretending to sleep, to draw them in. But what if it wasn't? What if he was really asleep? They could walk away. Turn the other way and leave, or simply pass him by. The boy would never know they had been there.

But the Gamemakers would. The audience would. They would be expecting a fight. This was his chance. His chance to prove that he had what it took to kill – and not just in defense of his own life. He had to take the initiative.

And he had to do it before someone else did.

Not that Philus or even Melody looked ready to try anything. They were both looking at him. Waiting for him. Melody gripped one of the branches they had found, but, now that it came to it, her face was white, her hands trembling. She wasn't ready.

But he was. Quickly, Baylor glanced around, then chose a large, thick vine that lay nearby. If he could get it around the other boy's neck…

Yes. Yes, that was a better idea. Better than trying to hit him on the head with a stick hard enough to kill him in one blow. And if the boy woke up…

Slowly, Baylor crept closer and closer. He could do this. He had to do this. As quietly as he could, he reached down, ready to wrap the vine around the boy's neck.

Then the lightning flashed.

Delvin Flynn, 18
District Six

It wasn't the lightning that woke him.

Delvin's eyes flew open as a clap of thunder shook the arena. In an instant, he took it all in. A boy was standing beside him. Something was wrapped around his throat.

Something that was beginning to tighten.

Instinctively, Delvin grabbed at the boy. But the boy held on. Gasping for breath, Delvin wrapped his hands around the boy's wrists, prying his hands away, pulling him to the ground. His fist found the boy's head. Once. Twice. The third time, the boy went down, screaming for help, crying for his allies.

His allies.

But his allies were running. Delvin could see them now, fleeing for their lives. Running down the hill as fast as they could.

Running from him.

Delvin turned his attention back to the boy. The others could wait. First, he had to finish this. There were tears in the younger boy's eyes. Blood dripped down the side of his face. Delvin forced himself to look. "Your allies are gone," he growled. "And you know what?" He wrapped his hands around the boy's throat. "They're next."

Then he squeezed. As hard as he could. The younger boy's arms and legs flailed, but it did no good. Delvin was bigger. He was stronger. It was only a matter of time.

Soon, the thrashing stopped. The cannon sounded.

But his job wasn't over.

Quickly, Delvin got to his feet and took off down the hill. The others wouldn't get far. The Gamemakers wouldn't let them. Not once he had promised they would be next. The Gamemakers would want a fight.

Sure enough, he heard a scream in the distance. As he ran towards the sound, he could see the boy's two allies – an older girl and a younger boy – trapped between him and some sort of mutt. The mutt was large, white, and furry – a bear of some sort.

But the mutt wasn't his concern. It wasn't there to attack him. It was there to stop the two younger tributes from running. Delvin eyed the other two, deciding. There were two of them against one of him, but they didn't seem to be armed. And certainly if they were, the other boy would have gone after him with more than a vine.

Not that he was armed, either. Delvin took a few steps closer. The tributes had seen him, of course, but neither had made a move. They were waiting. Waiting for him to attack first.

Waiting for him to make the decision.

Whichever one he went after, the other could run. But would the bear let them? Or would the mutt simply go after anyone who tried to escape? Maybe. Maybe the possibility would be enough to convince the other one to stay. Or maybe if he attacked one, the other would be frightened enough to take their chances against the bear.

So which one looked more frightened?

Delvin glanced from one to the other. Both tributes had run when the other boy had called for them. But the girl was clenching her fists, at least trying to look brave, while the boy was shaking like a leaf. If he went after the girl, would the boy run, or would he simply stand there? He certainly didn't look like he would try to defend his ally.

And that was all Delvin needed.

Melody Anson, 15
District Nine

All she needed was for the boy to go after Philus, instead.

Melody clenched her fists, trying to look brave. Trying to look like she would put up more of a fight. Trying to make herself less of a target.

If the boy went after Philus, maybe she could run for it. Maybe the bear would let her go. Melody swallowed hard, meeting the other boy's gaze. She and Philus should have split up immediately after leaving Baylor. Then, at least, the bear would only have caught one of them.

Of course, there was no guarantee that there was only one bear. There may have been another one waiting, in case they split up. Maybe the Gamemakers wanted this fight. Maybe the Gamemakers wanted them to die.

Maybe there was no avoiding it.

The boy charged. Charged her. Melody stood her ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Philus running for it. A part of her hoped he could make it, but, just as the other boy reached her, a ferocious growl told her the bear hadn't been as generous as she'd hoped. There was no cannon, but there would probably be one soon.

But whose would come first?

The boy threw a punch, but Melody dodged. She ducked beneath the second punch, then dove for the boy's legs. It was a move that had always worked on her brothers, but the boy was paying attention. He sidestepped, then dealt a kick to her head before she could get back up. In an instant, he was on top of her.

And then he wasn't. He let go, gasping. Choking. Trying to breathe. Something was wrapped around his neck. An arm. Someone had jumped on the boys' back. Philus. Holding on with one hand while motioning for her to run with the other. He was bleeding – from where, she couldn't tell, but it must have been bad. Blood stained the other boy's shirt as Philus tightened his grip, holding on with both hands now, but still watching her, hoping she would run.

She wanted to run. More than anything, she wanted to run. But if the bear hadn't let Philus get away, why would it let her go? So, instead, she charged, punching the other boy in the stomach as Philus held on. The boy grabbed at her, but she took hold of one of his arms. Pulling him down.

Still, Philus held on. The other boy was starting to turn an odd shade of purple. Melody rolled out of the way as she dragged him down, then wrapped her hands around the boy's neck, above Philus' hands. Soon, the cannon sounded.

Only then did she get a good look at Philus. His jumpsuit was torn, and a ring of puncture wounds lined the right side of his chest, forming the shape of the bear's mouth. Blood trickled down the side of his face from marks that could only have been from the bear's claws. Another set of claw marks ran across his back.

A gentle pinging sound drew her attention away from her wounded ally. Melody looked up to see a parachute, dropping gently to the ground beside her. A "9" and an "11" were embroidered on the package, side by side. "Look, Philus!" she called, before remembering that he couldn't hear her. She snatched up the package and held it out to him.

Philus smiled weakly as she unwrapped the package, which held two small, jagged-edged knives. Then he closed his eyes.

But there was no cannon. He was still alive. Quickly, Melody used one of the knives to slice away some of the other boy's clothing, hastily bandaging Philus' wounds. She had just lost Baylor. She wasn't going to lose him, too.

Not yet.

Thane Hayer, 17
District Nine

He couldn't stop yet.

Thane gripped his hand rake tightly as he stumbled forward in the rain. It was getting darker again. Part of him was tempted to turn on the light on his helmet. But that might draw other tributes to him.

But maybe that would be a good thing. There had been five cannons since he'd left Sariya and Audra. Thirteen tributes left. Just thirteen. If there were any others in the area, chances were good that the Gamemakers would drive them together, anyway. At least if he turned his helmet on, he could make it look like it was his idea. Like he wanted to be found so that he could make a move.

Another branch in his face was all it took to convince him. He reached up and switched the light on. Immediately, everything grew brighter. Thane glanced around, but he couldn't see anyone.

Maybe there was no one to see. Maybe there wasn't anyone in the area, after all. He'd been walking for what felt like days; by now, he was far away from Audra and Sariya – if they were still alive. Whatever was left of Jarlan and Shale's alliance was probably far behind him, as well. Was there even anyone in this direction?

And who was left? There were thirteen of them left in the arena, but how many of those were large alliances? How many were tributes who would actually pose any sort of threat if they found him now?

Thane shook the thought from his head. Everyone in the arena was a threat. Everyone. No one who was left had made it this far by being harmless. There were thirteen of them now; maybe it didn't matter who they were. Older tributes or younger tributes. Careers or not. They would all have to die if he was going to get home.

So maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to make a move. He had left Sariya and Audra, but he couldn't afford to let it look like he had left because he was afraid. He had to look like he had left because they weren't being useful. They weren't doing anything. He had to look like he had left because he wanted to do something.

Because he wanted to kill.

Thane clutched his hand rake tightly. He didn't want to kill. He had never wanted to kill. But, soon, there would be no choice. The fact that he had made it this far without any blood on his hands was … something. Impressive? Disappointing? It was definitely something, but it was something that couldn't last much longer.

Suddenly, he heard something – up ahead. Someone. Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of another tribute, running the other way. Running away from him. Without thinking, Thane took off after him. This was his chance.

And he couldn't afford to let it go to waste.

Carolina Katzung
District Eight Mentor

She couldn't let go of Kit.

Carolina held on as tightly as she could, as if by holding Kit close enough, she could protect him from what had happened. Baylor was dead. Baylor, who had been so kind to Kit, who had taken Kit as a mentor when she had asked him to without expecting anything in return.

And it wasn't just that he was dead. Despite their hopes, they had all known that Baylor's chances were slim. She had been prepared for him to die.

But the way he had died … alone, abandoned by his allies, left to face Delvin on his own. It wasn't fair. He had spent days searching for Melody, and she had left him. Philus' desertion was more understandable; he had only just met Baylor. But Melody…

Carolina gave Kit another squeeze. She would never say it out loud – especially not to Kit – but she understood why Melody had left. She had done the same thing – and worse – to her own ally, after all. They had been running from a mutt, and, realizing that one of them would have to die, Carolina had shoved her own ally down in the mud, leaving her for dead.

Carolina looked up as Lander wrapped his arms around both of them. Of all the tributes who had died during her own Games, Maeren's death still haunted her the most – even after so many years. There were some deaths that never left. Some moments that stayed with a person forever.

She had a feeling this would be one of those moments for Kit. The first tribute a mentor lost was usually the hardest. She'd had Lander with her, supporting her. And now they were both here for Kit. But, in the end, there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

Finally, Lander let go, and Carolina followed his lead. Kit untangled himself from their grasp, still crying. But tears were expected. Tears were normal.

And tears were a lot better than the alternative.

Quietly, Nicodemus wheeled himself over beside the three of them. "Kit, I…"

But he didn't get anything else out before Kit threw his arms around him, burying his face in Nicodemus' shirt. Nicodemus hesitated only a moment before returning the gesture, wrapping his crooked arms around the younger mentor.

Lander slid a hand into Carolina's. Losing a tribute was always hard, but at least Kit wasn't alone. And if, for whatever reason, he had chosen to latch onto Nicodemus – well, there were certainly worse choices. Despite everything that had happened, Nicodemus was stable. Certain. Willing to offer comfort to Kit even though he'd just lost the last of his own tributes.

Just then, Vernon staggered over. "Hey, Nicky, you might want to have a look at the screen."

Carolina looked up. On the screen, there was some sort of fire. Buildings – factories, it looked like. People with torches. People waving clubs.

Damn. Didn't people ever learn? Hadn't they learned anything from last year? Carolina glanced at Nicodemus, whose face had gone pale. Whatever was happening, he'd had no part in its instigation. But that hadn't stopped the Capitol from taking it out on him last time.

"District Six," Nicodemus whispered as the screen clicked off. "I'm sorry, Kit. I have to—"

But he didn't get any farther than that. His hands were shaking, and suddenly his whole body was rocking violently back and forth. Nicodemus' hands flew to his chest as he began gasping for air, but, after only a few seconds, he fell forward out of his chair. Lander caught him before he hit the floor, but his body had already gone completely limp.

"Nicodemus!" Kit shouted, his voice hoarse from tears and lack of use. Carolina turned, startled. But before the boy could say another word, the barkeeper, Eldred, had burst through the crowd of mentors that had gathered and scooped up Nicodemus from Lander's arms.

"Clear the way!" the bartender called, his voice suddenly commanding, urgent. "Harakuise, come with me. Now!" Carolina's gaze flew to the bar, where Harakuise cocked an eyebrow but proceeded to follow Eldred, who was still carrying Nicodemus, without question. Eldred raced out the front door, with Harakuise in tow.

Almost immediately, the door closed behind them. Carolina wrapped her arms around Kit once more. "It'll be all right. He'll be fine. It was probably just shock. Probably just what was happening in District Six…"

But, even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. Whatever had happened to Nicodemus, it had been perfectly timed to look like it had been brought on by the shock, but it wasn't. It was too much of a coincidence. It was too perfect – too perfect to be random chance.

Carolina glanced up at the screen, which now showed only Thane, who was still chasing after Evander. Nothing more from District Six. But why had it been showing in the first place? Why show a few images of a riot, only to cut them off? And why go after Nicodemus, only for Eldred and Harakuise try to save him?

What was happening?

"Everyone gets a new life on this Island … Maybe it's time you start yours."