Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: And this is it. The finale. Which probably means you jumped right to the story instead of reading this little note, so I won't waste your time. :)

Results of the Victor poll are up on the blog. And now ... on with the show.

Finale
Inevitable

Nicodemus Ford
District Six Mentor

He and Harakuise had almost made it back to the bar when he saw them.

Nicodemus slowed his wheelchair to a stop just outside the door to the bar as the others approached. There were five of them – Eldred, a woman about the same age, and three children. Two teenagers – a boy and a girl – and a girl maybe five or six years younger. All three had their mother's darker skin and hair, but there was something in the younger girl's hard, curious eyes that left him no doubt. "This is your family."

Eldred nodded. "We usually watch the Games together, and I thought, with the finale so close … but I wasn't really sure whether it would be all right to bring them with me—"

"Of course it's all right," Harakuise nodded, kneeling down to the youngest girl's level. "And what's your name, young lady?"

The girl's wide brown eyes stared back in amazement. "Rylee. I'm Rylee."

"Pleased to meet you, Rylee. I'm Harakuise." The older Victor held out his hand, which Rylee shook eagerly. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

Rylee nodded enthusiastically. "This is Milton and Ellery." She took a step closer. "And you're Nicodemus. You're the one who was on the cameras. You helped the president."

Nicodemus' stomach churned. Was that how he was going to be known now? As the Victor who had helped the president settle the districts down? The one who had helped foil a rebellion?

The collaborator?

Fortunately, Eldred stepped in, laying a hand gently on his daughter's shoulder. "He helped us all, Rylee – both the Capitol and the districts. Peace is better for us all. Most of the people in the districts realize that, but, every so often, they need a reminder – just like you and Milton and Ellery sometimes need a reminder to play nicely and get along."

Rylee nodded attentively, but her hands were fiddling impatiently with her dress. "Can we go in now? I want to meet the others."

Eldred turned to Harakuise and Nicodemus. "If you think it would be all right…"

Nicodemus nodded warmly. "It'll be perfectly fine. Come on, Rylee."

Harakuise held the door open as the others entered. Most of the Victors were watching the screens intently and barely glanced over, but Brennan hurried over and clapped Eldred on the back. "Well, it's about time! I was starting to wonder if I was your permanent replacement!"

Eldred smiled a little. "Didn't take you folks long to get used to me, I guess."

Brennan shrugged. "Actually, I'm just tired of Tobiah fussing over the way I'm mixing his drinks." He turned to Nicodemus. "We're glad you're all right. What happened when—"

Nicodemus shook his head. "Bit of indigestion." The president had made his announcement about the riots in Six, of course, but had said nothing about Phoebe's attempt to kill him. And that was the way it was going to stay.

Eldred's wife looked concerned for a moment before Brennan stepped in, shrugging. "Capitol food will do that when you're not used to it – happens to all of us sometimes. Nothing to worry about." He held out his left hand. "Brennan Aldaine."

"Millicent Brand." She hesitated a moment before shaking his hand. "I remember your Games. District Twelve was my favorite that year. When you killed Blythe – ooh, that gave me shivers." She turned to Harakuise. "And you. I was just a little girl when you won, but you were always one of my favorites. I've always said it was so kind of you to take care of your district partner's little brother after she died. I suspected something would come of it, of course, and what do you know…"

"She certainly doesn't waste time," Nicodemus remarked as Eldred snuck behind the bar once more, followed by Ellery, who almost immediately started helping her father with the drinks.

Eldred blushed a little. "She means well. It's just that she's never met a Victor before. We see you on the screens every year, and the lights and the spectacle always make you seem a bit … larger than life. It's easy to forget that you're real people."

"Didn't seem to surprise you," Nicodemus pointed out.

Eldred nodded. "That's what I get for working with politicians for so many years. It's the same sort of thing. The president, the cabinet members, the Gamemakers – they all want to appear all-knowing, all-powerful. But when you're sitting in a room with them, listening to them squabble and argue and disagree – well, you get quite a different perspective on how much they know and what they can do."

What they can do. Nicodemus wasn't sure which was more frightening: thinking of the president and those in the Capitol as all-powerful, or realizing that behind every cold-hearted decision, every execution, every attempt to squash the districts back into submission, was a real-life person. A person not so different, in the end, from anyone else.

A person not so different from himself.

Eldred Brand
Bartender

They weren't so different, in the end.

Eldred watched with a smile as Milton and Rylee began to mingle with the Victors. Milton quickly settled down near Harriet and Balthasar, both of whom were drinking casually, not at all preoccupied with what remained of the Games. Both of their tributes were gone, and neither had been allied with anyone who was left.

Most of the others had formed into one cluster or another. District Ten's three Victors – Glenn, Tess, and Presley – sat together, along with Tamsin and Elijah. Eldred nodded. That made sense. Imalia had been responsible for Shale's death, and Domingo had killed Philus – albeit quite mercifully. So Indira was the natural tribute to side with.

District Four's victors – Mags, Naomi, Kalypso, and Bierce – were also clustered together near the screens in a silent show of support for Imalia. Camden, Jade, and Jasper sat nearby, supporting the last of this Games' Careers. And, last, a cluster of Victors had formed around Hazel and Casper, including Lander, Carolina, and Kit. The rest of the Victors were scattered around the room – some watching the screens, some not. Avery and Vester sat together in a corner, the youngest Victor nestled snugly against the oldest, finally sleeping soundly.

Rylee, who had been flitting from table to table, finally settled down next to Presley. Eldred took a step towards their table, ready to step in if it turned out his daughter was bothering the Victors, but, just as he was about to interrupt, Presley scooped Rylee up and placed the little girl on her lap. Eldred nodded, satisfied, and returned to the bar counter, where Millicent was still chatting with Brennan.

Elrded smiled and made a mental note to treat Brennan to a drink later. He had been nothing but courteous, despite Millicent's careless remarks about his district partner. Meanwhile, Nicodemus sat at a nearby table, watching the pair with a small smile. "I didn't get a chance to thank you," Nicodemus said quietly as Eldred brought him a drink.

Elrded cocked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"When I asked the president to let me speak to District Six, he hesitated. I saw him looking to you. Wanting your opinion. You knew you could trust me not to do anything…"

"Rash?" Eldred offered.

Nicodemus nodded. "It wouldn't exactly be the first time." He ran his crooked fingers along his legs. "So what made this time different?"

Eldred shrugged. "Nothing. Both times, you acted to stop bloodshed. Whether that blood belongs to district citizens or Capitolites … I don't think that matters so much to you."

"And what about you?"

Eldred hesitated. "I take no pleasure in bloodshed – on either side." He nodded towards his younger children, who were eagerly lapping up the Games like most people would expect Capitolite children to. "Sometimes it's necessary, for the greater good, but I wouldn't consider it something to be celebrated. The Games didn't always have this much spectacle, you know. When I was younger, it was clearer that they were a punishment. A necessary and somewhat entertaining one, perhaps, but a punishment, nonetheless, for the rebellion. Somewhere along the line, we lost that – and we paid the price."

"The price."

"People forgot what would happen without the Games. They're a reminder – and a necessary one. What I told Rylee was true; every so often, people need to be reminded to—"

"To play nicely?" Nicodemus' smile never left his face, but he couldn't hide the bitterness in his eyes. It was hard to blame him. Reminding the districts to play the Games as they should wasn't quite the same as reminding his children to share their toys. But the alternative was worse. Far worse. And, of all people, Nicodemus understood that.

He just hoped the tributes understood it, too.

Kalypso Wayland
District Four Mentor

She just hoped Imalia wouldn't do anything stupid.

Kalypso drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch. Beside her, Bierce, Naomi, and Mags were watching the screen just as intently. Silently hoping that Imalia understood what had to happen. That the time for alliances and even friendships was drawing to a close.

Kalypso took another drink. She hadn't had this problem. She had lost her alliance early on, turning on her district partner and abandoning the others to the sinking ship whose rigging had begun to entrap them. She had gone the rest of her Games without allies and had never looked back.

Bierce, on the other hand, was nodding along as Imalia and Indira headed for higher ground together. He and his allies had stayed together until the end, Bierce's charisma holding the Career pack together while the fiery arena threatened to separate them. Only once the other tributes were dead had they finally turned on each other.

"She knows what she's doing," Bierce nodded, laying a hand on Kalypso's. "If they fought each other now, chances are even the winner would come out of the fight injured – and you know how that sometimes goes."

He had a point. Too often, Careers who turned on each other before the end wound up badly injured, and became prey for tributes they could easily have bested in a fair fight. But Indira wasn't a Career. Surely Imalia would be able to defeat her without too much of a fight. Of course, the same would be true after Domingo was gone. She could only hope that Imalia and Indira were staying together for strategic reasons, not emotional ones.

It had only been two years ago, after all, that Kit and his allies had survived to the end of the Games together, refusing to turn on each other for three days. Surely Imalia would know better than to do something similar. She was a Career. She had been waiting her whole life for this. Surely she wasn't going to throw it away for a friend she had known for a few days.

She would just have to hope Imalia knew what she was doing.

Casper Hensley
District Seven Mentor

He would just have to hope Domingo knew what he was doing.

Casper gave Hazel's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as the two of them watched the screen. There was nothing more they could do for Domingo. Nothing anyone could do. And, as soon as the column of smoke delivered him to wherever the Gamemakers wanted him, they would be done helping him, as well.

He just hoped Domingo knew that.

Sometimes tributes forgot, after all. Occasionally, there were tributes who learned to use the mutts or the other elements of the arena to their advantage. But, inevitably, that didn't last. Most of the time, the Gamemakers – and therefore the mutts – abandoned a tribute during the finale, not wanting to show favor to one side or another.

Most of the time.

There were exceptions, of course. And one of them was sitting next to him. Hazel had won her own Games only after the Gamemakers had sent mutts to attack her final opponent, the son of a rebel from District One. But that had been almost forty years ago. Most of the time, if there was a particular tribute or two the Gamemakers wanted to target, they made sure to do so before the finale.

But was this one of those times? Casper wasn't quite sure. There was no particular reason for the Gamemakers to target Indira and Imalia, unless…

Casper shook his head. No. The Gamemakers had shown favor to the regular tributes at the expense of the replacements during training, yes, but, once the Games started, there had been no real differences in their actions towards the groups of tributes, aside from keeping them separated. There were two replacement tributes left, and one non-replacement. Of the final eight, there had been five replacement tributes, and one – Philus – who had been grouped with the replacement tributes at the start of the Games. If the Gamemakers were trying to show favor to the non-replacement tributes, they weren't doing a very good job.

And the only other option was that maybe – just maybe – the Gamemakers would consider Imalia and Indira's friendship a threat. If they were worried that the two might refuse to kill each other in the end, then maybe they would continue to favor Domingo.

But probably not. If the Gamemakers had wanted the two girls dead, they could have sent another polar bear. Or the column of smoke. Or simply made the water rise faster and drowned them both. Or had a tree fall on them. Or any number of other things. If the Gamemakers – or the president – had wanted them dead, they would be.

But, by the same token, they hadn't targeted Domingo, either. Right now, he had as good a chance as either of the girls. And even if the column of smoke dropped him in the middle of the pair, he would still have the element of surprise – at least for a little while.

He would just have to hope that would be enough.

Presley Winters
District Ten Mentor

She would just have to hope Indira had learned enough.

Presley scooted a little closer to Glenn and Tess on the couch, still holding Eldred's daughter Rylee on her lap. The little girl had wandered over a few minutes ago, maybe hoping for a front-row seat, or a first-hand look at how the Victors reacted to the finale.

Rylee wriggled a little, trying to get a better look. But the truth was that there wasn't much to see right now. Imalia and Indira were headed for the highest ground they could find. Domingo was still engulfed by the column of smoke. As for the rest of the island, it was quickly becoming immersed in the water. Parts seemed to be flooding from the rain, while other parts were slowly breaking off and sinking into the surrounding ocean.

Whatever the Gamemakers were planning, it wouldn't be long now.

Presley shook her head. As far as Indira's life was concerned, the quicker the finale came to a close, the better. Every minute the island continued to flood and sink was one more minute that Imalia would be able to use to her advantage. Tributes from District Four – and, ever since her own Games, the other Career districts, as well – were the only ones who could be counted on to know how to swim.

Presley smiled a little. No one had known, six years ago, that she had been able to swim. When the boy from Four had crashed their ark into some jagged rocks and sunk it, he had assumed she and the boy from Two would die quickly, leaving him the Victor. And, had the Games lasted much longer, that was probably exactly what would have happened. Swimming in a pond in District Ten, after all, was quite different from swimming in a storm in the open ocean. She had known she had to act quickly.

She just hoped Indira knew that, too.

Of course, there were good reasons for not attacking Imalia immediately. Indira had no way of knowing exactly who was left out of the remaining tributes. And even if she happened to remember that Domingo was one of the ones whose face she hadn't seen – and that, aside from Myrah and Thane, both of whom the girls knew were dead, the only other option was Philus – it still wouldn't be a good idea to underestimate him.

Underestimating her, after all, had cost both of her final opponents dearly, and she had only been a year older than Domingo. Fourteen-year-olds – and even a thirteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old – had won, usually at least partly due to being underestimated by their competition. From the look of things, Indira didn't want to make the same mistake.

At least, Presley hoped that was the reason. Hoped that Indira was delaying her attack not because she was hesitant to take on Imalia, but because she didn't want to end up facing Domingo alone and injured, which would almost certainly happen even if she managed to best Imalia. As long as that was the reason…

But what if it wasn't?

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

What if the Gamemakers didn't want them to find the last tribute?

Indira clutched her knife tightly as she and Imalia continued to head uphill. The water was closing quickly behind them. It wouldn't be long now before they either found the other tribute, or…

Or what? Whoever the other tribute was, he or she couldn't hide forever. Eventually, the Gamemakers would drive them together. But what if they were waiting? What if they wanted to force the two of them to turn on each other first?

Was it time to give them what they wanted?

Indira stumbled along after Imalia in the growing darkness. Even the lights from their helmets seemed to be dimming. In the dark, would she be able to see an attack if another tribute found them? Would she even know if Imalia was getting ready to turn on her?

Indira clenched her teeth. Maybe she should strike first. But, no matter how many times the thought crossed her mind, she couldn't quite bring herself to. Whether she was afraid of the fight that would ensue the moment she struck – and what the outcome of that fight might be – or whether she simply didn't want to be the first to attack a friend, she wasn't sure.

And that scared her more than either option.

Until now, she had known exactly what she had to do – and why. She hadn't liked it, but she had done it. She had stood guard at the door of the cabin while Imalia killed the tributes from Eleven. She had helped Imalia attack a boar, a polar bear, and even other tributes without much hesitation. Because they had to. Because there was no other choice.

And there was no other choice now. Not really. Either she could attack Imalia now, or she could wait and hope someone else would. But whoever was left, did they really stand a chance against the two of them? If she waited, was there really any chance that it wouldn't come down to her and Imalia, just the same?

Suddenly, Imalia stopped. "What is it?" Indira called, only a few steps behind. But, in the dark, she couldn't see why Imalia had stopped – not until she joined her ally. They had reached the top of the hill.

There was nowhere else to go.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

There was nothing else to do.

Domingo took a deep breath. Then another. Strange, how the air inside a column of smoke could be so clear. So fresh. Even the cold damp that had filled the air ever since they'd arrived in the arena was gone. For a moment, he was safe and warm. For one last moment.

But it wouldn't last. Nothing did. His alliance hadn't lasted. The time he had spent safely in the hatch hadn't lasted. And whatever time he had left in the arena wouldn't last, either.

The only question was whether he would have any time after that, or whether he would be dead.

But there was nothing to be done about that – one way or another. Not yet. Not until the column of smoke let him go. For now, all he could do was wait.

It seemed like hours that he flew, but it was probably only minutes. Finally, Domingo worked up the courage to open his eyes, but it did no good. The smoke had surrounded him in complete darkness. He could only hope that it would look the same from the outside. That anyone who saw him coming would see only a menacing column of black smoke, rather than the boy inside.

No. Not a boy. Not anymore. The boy he had been when he'd entered the arena – the boy who had dreamed of winning so that he could be free of school and chores and his parents' nagging – that boy was gone. That boy was already dead. He was a tribute now. And soon he could be a Victor.

Or he could be dead.

Those were the only two options now. For days, he had been hiding. Waiting. Delaying the inevitable with traps and tricks and the help of the Gamemakers. But none of that would do him any good now. He couldn't wait anymore. He couldn't expect any more help – not once the smoke set him down somewhere. He would be on his own.

Domingo closed his eyes again. He was already on his own. He had been on his own since the beginning of the Games. And maybe that was good. Maybe that was for the best. He had no one to worry about but himself.

No life to think about but his own.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

She had to think about her own life now.

Imalia took a step away from Indira as the water continued to rise around them, threatening to slosh over even the small piece of land they stood on. One flash of lightning lit the forest. Then another. Indira was keeping her distance, as well. Neither one of them wanted to make the first move.

But, eventually, someone would have to. This stand-off that they had somehow fallen into – it couldn't last forever. They both knew it. But neither wanted to be the one to break it. Not yet.

Not yet.

Crack. Lightning. But not just an ordinary flash of lightning. Only a dozen yards away, a tree burst into flame, glowing an odd shade of blue in the pouring rain. Imalia nodded. Any ordinary fire would burn out quickly in the downpour. But a finale in the pitch black wasn't what the audience wanted. They wanted to see what was happening.

They wanted to see the blood.

As another tree caught fire – this one glowing a sickly shade of green – Imalia could hear a strange, mechanical noise. Almost like a ticking. It took her a moment to realize where it was coming from. In the distance, but hurtling closer, was a cloud. A cloud of black smoke amid the rain and the fire.

Why not?

Imalia smirked as Indira took a step closer. A few days ago, it might all have been a bit too much. Disappearing cabins. Bears in the jungle. Fire burning green and blue in the rain. A cloud of black smoke that made a ticking noise. Now it was just one more oddity. One more distraction from the real question:

Where was the last tribute?

Imalia took a step closer to Indira as the cloud of smoke drew closer and closer. How, exactly, they were supposed to fight smoke, she wasn't sure. But whatever was hidden inside that column, they would have a better chance against it together. Imalia gripped her crowbar firmly as Indira slid a hand into hers. One last fight. One last battle together before the end.

"Ready?" Indira asked, her face glowing in the firelight.

Imalia took a deep breath. "Ready."

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

He had to be ready.

Domingo could feel the column of smoke slowing down. Flashes of light were beginning to make their way in from outside the cloud. Flashes of blue and green. Domingo swallowed hard, gripping his knife, trying to look as confident as he could.

This was it.

There was no hiding now. No running. He had to be ready for a fight. The column of smoke dropped lower. Lower. Finally, his feet touched the ground. Domingo tensed, ready to spring the moment he could see what was going on. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the cloud vanished.

He immediately wished it hadn't.

Two tributes – both older, stronger girls – stood in front of him. Domingo set his jaw, taking in their surprised looks. Clearly, whatever they'd been expecting, it hadn't been him. "Not exactly what you thought, huh?" he asked, forcing what he hoped was a cocky smirk onto his face.

"Not exactly," one of the girls admitted, taking a step to the right as the other took a step to the left. Trying to surround him. He would have to make his move soon, or lose any sort of advantage. But which one was the safer target?

No. No, there was no safer target. There was no good choice. Both were well-armed. Both were wearing helmets. One of them had a crowbar, as well as a knife. The other held a knife in each hand – and might well have more in addition to that. If only he could get them to fight each other…

Bluff.

Domingo took a step uphill, towards both of them. "The mighty Careers. You really think it's going to take two of you to kill me? No, whoever gets to me first will finish me off easily. But—" he grinned. "What then? Whoever comes after me leaves herself open to an attack while she finishes me off. So, tell you what. Why don't you two fight it out, and I'll just wait over here. Winner gets to take me on. What do you say?"

The one with the crowbar shook her head. "A generous offer, but I'm afraid we'll have to decline. You see, if someone's going to kill me, I'd rather it be her than you."

The other girl nodded. "And if someone's going to kill me, I'd rather it be her."

Shit.

The girls took a step closer. Then another. Perfectly in time. Exactly the same distance away. The one with the crowbar would have a longer reach. But did that mean he should attack the other girl? Or would they be expecting that?

Stop thinking.

Chances were, they weren't expecting him to attack at all. They were probably expecting him to stand there and try to defend himself against both of them at once – the same thing he had done when the girl from Two had attacked him. But he had barely won a fight against one Career – and that had been with the Gamemakers' help. He didn't stand a chance against two in a fair fight.

So don't fight fair.

Domingo ran for the nearest tree.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

The boy was halfway up the tree already.

Imalia sprinted towards the tree, but it was already too late. "Damn it," she muttered. District Seven. Of course he would be able to shimmy his way up a tree even when there hadn't seemed to be any branches low enough. But the lack of branches wasn't even why she had discounted the possibility.

She had assumed no one would want to climb a tree that was on fire.

But the boy simply darted higher and higher, choosing branches that hadn't yet been burnt to a crisp. It wasn't a bad plan. He'd managed to delay the fight a little longer.

But not long enough. Imalia swung her crowbar as hard as she could against the trunk of the tree. Sparks flew out as the metal collided with the burning wood. She swung again, unleashing another array of sparks. One landed on her hand, the rest falling harmlessly to the ground around her, any lingering flames quickly doused by the pouring rain. The tree creaked and groaned as the boy climbed higher. Imalia swung again.

This time, the trunk exploded.

She had expected the tree to come toppling to the ground, or perhaps collapse under its own weight. It didn't. Splinters of wood and larger chunks of burning tree trunk flew every which way as the force of the explosion knocked her off her feet. Imalia cried out in pain as something landed on her arm. A burning slab of wood missed her face by a few inches.

And still there were no cannons.

Where was Indira? Where was the boy? Imalia's mind raced as she struggled to free her right arm from the piece of tree trunk that had fallen on it. Her crowbar was hopelessly trapped, but, at last, she managed to slide her arm free. And still there was no attack. No sign of either of the others.

Where were they?

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

Where was she?

Indira swallowed back a cough as she dug through the branches and bits of tree trunk. Where was Imalia? And where was the boy from Seven? There hadn't been any cannons, so they were still alive. They were both still alive.

But where were they?

Just as she knelt down to dig through the rubble a bit more carefully, though, something grabbed her from behind. No, not something. Someone. An arm, reaching up through the branches behind her. Indira barely had time to register the fact that the hand was holding a knife before it sank deep into her leg.

She couldn't hold back a scream as she gave the arm a kick. Then another. The knife flew out of the boy's hand – for the boy, in fact, it was, lying on his back in a pile of rubble. Injured – badly, from the look of it – but still trying to fight.

But not trying hard enough.

In an instant, she was on top of him, knife in hand. A knife that came down quickly, burying itself in the boy's chest. Once. Twice. The third time, the cannon sounded. He was dead.

But it wasn't over yet.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

It wasn't over yet.

Imalia took a step back, surveying the branches, the pieces of wood. Her arm ached where the piece of tree trunk had fallen on it. Gingerly, she tested it, trying to grip a knife. Pain shot through her arm – sharp and deep. It was almost certainly broken.

But that didn't mean it was over.

One of her opponents was gone. But which one? Imalia turned around once, then again, not wanting to be caught off-guard. Then, in another flash of lightning, she could see her. Indira. She was still alive.

So it was going to come down to the two of them, after all.

Another flash of light, and Imalia knew her ally had seen her, as well. No. No, not her ally. Not anymore. Her final opponent. The only thing standing between her and home.

Her friend.

Tears welled in Imalia's eyes. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't the cannon have been hers? She would have had no qualms about killing the boy. She barely remembered what district he had come from, let alone his name. But Indira…

Stop it.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?"

The question caught Imalia off-guard. She had expected Indira to attack while she still had some sort of advantage. What had she said earlier that could possibly matter now? "Did I mean what?"

Indira took a tentative step closer, limping, gripping her blood-covered knife tightly. "You told him that, if someone was going to kill you, you'd rather it was me than him."

Imalia nodded. "Of course I meant it. Did you?"

"Yes." Indira's voice was breaking. "But I don't want to die at all."

Neither do I. "Nobody does." She took a deep breath. "But one of us has to." She shook her head.

"And it's not going to be me."

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

"And it's not going to be me."

The words left their mouths at the same time. Indira blinked the tears out of her eyes as she stifled a laugh. Even now, they couldn't help but agree. "Okay, then," she whispered. "Let's see who's right."

In the rain, it was impossible for her to tell if Imalia had charged first. But there was no choice left in her mind. This fight had to happen. Neither of them could afford to hesitate. Neither of them could afford to look weak. Not when they were so close.

Not when she was so close.

There was no more they. Indira ducked beneath Imalia's first stroke, which seemed strangely clumsy. Some corner of her mind realized that Imalia's knife was in her left hand. Odd. Had she been injured when the tree had fallen? And her crowbar was gone. Had she lost that, as well?

There was no time to wonder about that, though, because Imalia's next blow was much more confident. Indira ducked, then backed away, then ducked again. "Come on!" Imalia growled. "Fight!"

Indira swallowed hard. Fight. She swung, but Imalia dodged easily. And again. Her leg aching, Indira took another step back. Then another. Maybe she didn't have to attack. Maybe she simply had to keep defending herself. Eventually, Imalia would make a mistake.

She just had to wait.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

She couldn't afford to wait.

Imalia clenched her teeth as she swung again. She had been assuming that, when it came down to it, time would be on her side because of the rising water. That she could afford to wait as long as she needed to, and she would have an advantage.

But she was already tiring. She could feel the air burning her lungs, the smoke from the burning trees competing with the dampness in the air. Her right hand was barely clutching one of her knives; she was relying on the other to attack. And attacking was tiring her more than the air or her injuries.

So stop attacking.

But she couldn't simply stop the fight. The Gamemakers would never allow that. This fight had to happen. And it had to happen now, or she would be at even more of a disadvantage. So there was only one other option.

She had to get Indira to start attacking.

Good luck. Indira was swinging a little, but her blows were hesitant. She certainly wasn't aiming to kill. She was biding her time. She knew that Imalia was tiring. Imalia clenched her teeth. There had to be something. Something that would get her ally – no, her opponent – to crack.

"I expected more from you." The words were out of Imalia's mouth before she realized it. "I honestly thought you would put up more of a fight. This is going to be easy."

Indira shook her head. "Then finish it, already. What are you waiting for?"

You'll have to do better than that. Imalia gasped for air as she swung again, searching for the right words. "This is going to be even easier than getting Shale killed."

The look on Indira's face said it all.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

"What do you mean?"

Indira took a step back, startled. It was some sort of an act. It had to be. Imalia had been just as surprised as she had when Shale and Jarlan's faces had appeared in the sky. She had been just as devastated by the loss of their allies – maybe even more so.

Unless that had been the act.

Imalia took a step closer, knife in hand. "I arranged the whole thing. I knew the two of them were only going to slow us down. So I enlisted Delvin to … take care of them."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie?"

"You're trying to give me a reason to attack you."

"You do have a reason to attack me. Wake up, Indira! I'm not your friend. I'm not even your ally anymore. Hell, how do you know I ever was? It was just luck that you ended up with me that day rather than with Jarlan. If you had offered to go with him and Shale had stayed with me, you would be dead now, and he would be the one fighting me." She shook her head. "And I bet he'd put up a better fight."

"I don't believe you." But she didn't sound quite as confident as she'd hoped.

"Yes, you do." Imalia took a step closer, while Indira took another step back. "You just don't know it yet. Think it through. How else would Delvin have survived when the other two died? Certainly not thanks to any physical skill. I'm not sure how, but he managed to do what I asked. And I bet the girl from Seven saw him do it."

"The girl from Seven?"

"You remember. The night at the greenhouse. Just before we killed her, she called me a traitor." Imalia shook her head. "And you didn't even think twice about why."

"I thought—"

"You were wrong."

Maybe she was. Maybe she had been wrong all along. Indira gripped her knife. Maybe she was giving Imalia exactly what she wanted. She was certainly giving the audience exactly what they wanted. But maybe it didn't matter anymore.

Because it was what she wanted, too.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

This was exactly what she had wanted.

Imalia caught Indira's first blow on her own knife, and then the second. No, not what she wanted. But what needed to happen. Maybe what had always needed to happen. Maybe it had been inevitable from the start.

Of course it had been inevitable. What had she thought would happen? That the Gamemakers would be inspired by their friendship and decide to let them both live? That Indira would simply fall over and die so that she could go home? No, Indira wanted to live just as much as she did.

But wanting it wasn't enough.

Imalia ducked beneath Indira's next blow as the older girl let out a cry of rage and grief. No more words. They were past the time for words. There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to hear.

Nothing but the rain. The sound of the rain pouring, the crackling of the fire in the trees as the two traded blow after blow. She could feel the water beginning to soak through her boots. Already up past her ankles.

She just needed to hold out a little longer.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

She just needed to keep going a little longer.

Indira gasped for breath as the blows continued. First Imalia struck, and then she struck back. Blow after blow. Finally, her knife found Imalia's arm, but she could tell the wound wasn't deep. Imalia barely let out a cry of pain as she took a step backwards, then lunged forwards once more with a blow of her own.

Indira took a step backwards. Then another. Her leg brushed against something. A branch, still burning blue with fire from the trees. If she could reach it…

As quickly as she could, she ducked. Imalia's knife grazed her side before she managed to stand back up, but it was worth it. Without hesitation, she thrust the burning branch at Imalia's face. Imalia staggered backwards, but not quickly enough. A howl of pain let Indira know her weapon had found its mark.

Imalia staggered backwards blindly, and Indira lunged. Imalia's own knife was a second too late to block Indira's blow, but the blow itself was short of its mark, and the knife buried itself in Imalia's left shoulder. Before Indira could pull it back out again, Imalia's own knife slashed across her arm, cutting deep into her flesh. Crying out in pain, Indira released the knife and stumbled backwards as Imalia drew Indira's knife out of her own shoulder. Her other hand still held the piece of wood, but the flames had gone out in the pouring rain.

She needed another weapon.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

There had to be something else she could use as a weapon.

Imalia staggered forwards, a knife in each hand. But neither was likely to do any good now. Blood poured from both her shoulder and Indira's arm. Maybe now it was just a matter of who could survive the blood loss longer.

But that wasn't what the audience wanted to see.

Imalia gritted her teeth. She hadn't talked Indira into attacking her just so they could turn this into a contest of who could bleed the slowest. No. No, that was a fight she might lose. And if she was going to lose, then she was going to go out fighting.

Because she had meant it. If she was going to die, this was the way to go. If Indira won, fair and square, after Imalia had successfully goaded her into a fight … well, maybe that wasn't so bad. And at least Indira wouldn't feel guilty about it, once she found out the truth, that she had gotten Shale and Jarlan killed.

Shale and Jarlan and so many others. What was one more? What was one more dead ally?

Maybe it was time to just end it.

Imalia staggered forward, pain flooding her arm, her shoulder, her face where the burning branch had struck her. Indira took a step closer, anticipating her move. Imalia raised her knife as high as she could.

And then dove for Indira's legs.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

She couldn't get out of the way quickly enough.

Indira sprawled over on top of Imalia as the Career wrapped her arms around Indira's legs. But instead of striking with her knives, Imalia simply wrapped Indira in her grasp, then pushed off. Indira lashed out as she realized what was happening. Imalia's momentum quickly propelled the two of them down the hill they had climbed.

Water. Suddenly, there was water everywhere. Indira thrashed, trying to get to the surface, but Imalia's arms were still wrapped tightly around her legs. You'll drown, too. Indira kicked as hard as she could, but Imalia wouldn't let go. She simply kept pulling her down. Down.

A few seconds. Then a few more. It felt as if her lungs were about to burst, but she knew that if she started to breathe, it would be over.

It would all be over.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

It would all be over soon.

Imalia held onto Indira's legs as tightly as she could as the pair began to sink. Soon, it would all be over. One way or another. Either she would be dead, or Indira would.

Indira was still struggling, but how long would that last? How deep of a breath had she gotten before they had both gone under? Knowing what was coming, Imalia had taken as deep a breath as she could. Like any Career from District Four, she could hold her breath longer than most tributes.

But would that be enough?

Her lungs were burning. A little longer, and she would have to let go. She would have to swim for the surface, no matter what Indira did. She could only hope…

Just as she thought her lungs might burst, Indira's thrashing became even wilder, more desperate. Immediately, Imalia released the other girl from her grasp and kicked upwards as hard as she could. In the dark, she couldn't tell how far the surface was. Would she be able to make it?

Then something grabbed her. Somehow, Indira's arms had found her in the dark. Imalia kicked as hard as she could. Then again. And again.

Finally, Indira let go.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

Finally, she let go.

Indira's arms and legs thrashed wildly as Imalia's legs left her grasp. Water was filling her lungs. She had to get to the surface. She had to…

But it was getting hard even to move. Her arms and legs felt like they were weighted down with lead. Maybe they were. Maybe that was all her body was now. Extra weight.

Maybe she didn't need it anymore.

She didn't even feel cold anymore. She barely felt wet. She just felt so heavy. So tired. So tired.

For a moment, she almost thought she heard a cannon.

Imalia Grenier, 17
District Four

As her head broke the water, she heard a cannon.

Imalia gasped as the cold, damp air filled her lungs once more. A cannon. And it wasn't hers. She was alive. She was still alive.

And Indira was dead.

Gasping, Imalia thrashed for a moment before the ladder was lowered. She could barely see the hovercraft in the dark, but she clung to the ladder with all the strength she had left as the fanfare sounded. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Victor of the Forty-Second Annual Hunger Games: Imalia Grenier!"

A Victor.

She was a Victor. But that didn't matter right now.

She was alive.

And Indira…

Ellery Brand, 15

Indira was dead.

Ellery glanced around the bar. Every eye, it seemed, was on the screens, which showed the ladder drawing Imalia into the hovercraft. Soon, another hovercraft came to collect the two bodies, the column of smoke diving down into the water to retrieve Indira's. But Ellery wasn't watching the screens.

She was watching the mentors.

Some were crying. Some were drinking. Even the mentors from District Four didn't seem happy or excited. They simply looked relieved. And everyone else…

To everyone else, it was just another year. Another year where their tribute hadn't won. Some had made it far, while some had died early. In the end, they were all just as dead.

Dead.

She had always known, of course, that the tributes died. Everyone knew that. They were all there, onscreen. She had seen the blood, the gore, the severed limbs and broken bodies. But there was something different about this.

Something different about them.

Rylee quickly bounced off Presley's lap, not fully understanding, maybe, why it was such a big deal. There would always be next year, after all. And the next. Always a chance to try again.

Exactly what she had thought at Rylee's age.

She'd always had her favorites, of course. Occasionally, she had cried when a particularly young or especially attractive tribute had died. But, even then, it hadn't quite seemed real. Not as real as the tears in Glenn and Presley's eyes now. Not as real as the blood that all three of the final tributes had shed.

Ellery felt an arm around her shoulders. Silently, she buried her face in her father's shirt. "Why did you let us come?"

Her father gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You asked, remember? You wanted to know what it was like to be this close to the Victors. You wanted to know what they were really like." He shook his head. "Well, this is what the Games are really like."

"It's not…" She hesitated. Not what? Not glamorous? Not exciting? Not wonderful. "It's not what I thought it would be," she decided.

Her father shook his head. "No. No, it isn't."

"And one day, you'll be standing where I'm standing now … and then you'll finally realize that you cannot fight the inevitable."