Levi sat in the mouth of the Cornucopia. His set of daggers was laid out meticulously to his right. Time was passing at an agonizingly slow rate, and he had taken as long as he could to place each dagger at exact intervals, lining up the handles and facing the blades in the same direction. He had eventually settled on watching the snow fall, allowing himself to be mesmerized by the flakes. It struck him as strangely beautiful that they all fell with such discord and yet they settled on top of each other in a way that seemed perfectly planned.
He couldn't stop himself from worrying when the cannon fired. The more time that passed after it, the more worried he became. What was taking his allies so long? Had one of them died?
Had October died?
Shaking his head, he told himself he was being silly. October and Cedar had gone tribute hunting, and the cannon was probably for one of their victims. Besides, if one of them died it would no doubt be Cedar. He was incompetent, and though he was thicker than October, Levi had faith that she could beat him if he attacked her.
And yet time passed, and worry continued to eat away at him. He expected to hear another cannon. He was ready to face the fact that his allies were dead and that he alone had access to the Cornucopia. He tried telling himself that October and Cedar were simply trying to make another kill, but as the light began to fade he wondered what was taking them so long.
Levi wasn't used to caring about other people. He had grown up an orphan and an outcast. He was used to standing on the fringe of society and watching life go on for everyone else. Oftentimes he had spent his childhood days pretending that he wasn't human at all, but instead the child of a higher being, sent to observe the human race and report his findings back to his father eventually.
He had never really been religious, but he had always shown interest in outer space. He would pretend that his father had never been killed by a peacekeeper, but instead he had returned to space in his true form: a star. Young Levi had wanted to believe that he was better than everyone, and that was why no one liked him. He convinced himself that he was a child of the stars because the stars were outcasts, too. They watched the humans but never participated. Like Levi.
But now Levi had someone to care about. For the first time in his life he felt a connection to another person. He'd never tell October about his affections for her. He knew that she'd laugh in his face. But he cared for her nonetheless.
When Levi became old enough to understand the Hunger Games his longstanding dream began to form. For years he had entertained a fantasy in which he escaped Panem and found a new civilization, one without a tyrannous Capitol and awful events like the Games. He knew that there had to be more people out there. He didn't think the Capitol would work so hard to contain the Districts if Panem was all there was. There had to be more, and Levi intended to find it.
This fantasy had never involved another person, but as Levi waited for October and Cedar to return, October slowly crept her way into it. He imagined the two of them both becoming Victors. She'd move to his District or he'd move to hers because how could the Capitol separate young love? (Love. The word felt strange in his head. He toyed around with it. It was a word he'd never used before.) They'd plan their escape until they knew nothing could go wrong, and then they'd go. They'd take off and run until they reached their new home.
Of course, that would never happen. There could only be one Victor. For all Levi knew, October could already be dead.
A sigh escaped Levi. Dreaming was hopeless. The Capitol stomped out dreams with death and destruction. Any glimmer of hope was quickly eliminated. Hope was dangerous. The Capitol didn't want their perfect little world to collapse. They wanted strict, hopeless order.
The last time Levi cried was when he was five years old. A fat boy in the year above him had stolen his orphanage lunch and thrown his meager meal into a mud puddle. Before he had realized what he was doing, he was standing over the boy that was twice his size, his hand smeared in blood from the kid's nose. A peacekeeper dragged him off. The moment the white gloves closed around his shoulders he began to bawl. He knew what had happened to his father, and now he was convinced it was going to happen to him.
His schoolteacher convinced the peacekeepers that it was all a misunderstanding and that they were working on Levi's temper and that no harm had been done because Levi wasn't strong enough to hurt the oaf of a bully that had provoked him. Ever since then Levi refused to cry, hating the looks of pity people had given him that day.
Tears misted his eyes now, and he blinked hard. He was eighteen years old. He would not cry. He would not show emotion. He would sit and wait.
It was cold. It was mind-numbingly, bone-cracking cold. Levi missed the warm, humid weather of his home District. He missed the sweltering heat that made him sweat merely because he was alive, the salty water pooling on his clothes even if all he did was lie prostrate on the floor. No matter how much he complained about it, he'd take it back in a second. Anything to get away from this hell he was living.
He wondered if he'd freeze to death. Despite his triple-layered clothing he was shivering. He couldn't help but think that this was how he would die: not in a battle that he tried valiantly to win, but huddled up, cold, alone.
Dying alone had no appeal to him. He had spent his whole life alone, and just once he wanted to feel like a part of something. He wanted October with him. He actually liked her, and he was never very fond of people. He didn't want to die now that he finally had something to live for. It was unfair. He shivered again. It didn't seem to him like he had hypothermia, but no one ever knows they have it until it's too late. He could be dying. He ought to say something to the cameras he couldn't see. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to die. He had such big plans for his life. He needed to get out of Panem. He had to know if there really was something out there or not. He had to live.
Muted beeping caught his attention. He turned his head towards the sound and a small smile broke across his face as his eyes found the source. Two silver capsules attached to white parachutes were drifting towards him in the dying light. He got to his feet, shaking out his limbs that were stiff from sitting for so long in the cold air. He took a few steps out into the snow and caught the sponsor gifts. Through his gloves he could feel that the metal was warm. He brought them inside and sat down in front of them. He peeled off his gloves and opened up each of the containers, his smile widening at the contents.
Inside he found seven steaming chicken drumsticks and a thermos full of piping hot coffee. Seven. A prime number. This food was not meant for him to share. It was a gift to him and him alone. The idea made him feel happier than he had felt since the reaping, which was rather silly, but he didn't care. True, October and Cedar may have received something, but he liked to think that the sponsors favored him. Of the three best tributes in the arena, he was the chosen Victor. That was the best news he'd heard in a long time.
He picked up the first drumstick and promptly dropped it from the heat. He didn't want to use his dirty gloves, and he figured any heat was good heat. He picked the food up, gingerly this time, and sank his teeth into it. He had no idea how the Capitol knew how he liked his chicken, but it was perfect. The skin was seasoned and crispy while the tender white meat below it was moist. He savored each bite, and quickly tore through one, two, three, four of the seven. He'd have to eat them all so that October and Cedar didn't know he'd kept them all for himself, and he didn't mind. October had been rationing the food obsessively, and she gave out miniscule portions despite their abundance of food. His stomach had been growling softly for days, and now he could finally fill it.
As though suddenly remembering its existence, Levi uncapped the coffee thermos and took a sip. It burned his tongue, but he didn't mind. It was ten times better than any coffee he'd ever had. Maybe that was the hunger talking. He sipped it gratefully, feeling warm all over for the first time since he had entered the Arena.
Being alone wasn't so bad anymore. And maybe that was because he knew he wasn't alone, even though there were no people beside him. He had the faith and support of the sponsors. And if he could see the stars through the clouds, he would smile up at them because it a fantasy anymore, not really. He had a guardian watching over him, waiting for him to come home.