It all came too fast for Sam to see coming.

The cold night dragged on as she sat awake, unable to sleep. Storm drifted off next to her, but Sam only felt a pulling tug of dread settling on her now that she only had the night as company. Storm had made her feel alive, if just for the moment – what would happen if his wound got worse? Of course, that was assuming there was even time for that; at any moment Fresco and Royal could off one or the other and there'd only be three tributes standing. No way would the Gamesmakers let that just continue without driving them into battle.

That is, if Fresco and Royal didn't kill each other both off. Then she'd immediately have to conquer what to do with Storm. What would she do? As the end of the Games crept closer and closer to being a reality, Sam struggled to accept the decision she would inevitably have to make. There weren't multiple winners of the Games; always one, no more, no less. If the two from District 1 killed each other, either Storm or she would go home. Not both.

But how could she kill the boy who had opened his feelings for her; who had told her everything she needed to feel like a worthy human being in this arena designed to dehumanize even the hardiest soul?

It's what he wants, a whisper in Sam's head spoke. You know he doesn't want to go home. Gannet told you. You told yourself. He told you that himself. You just have to be brave.

How's that being brave? the counter-argument in her head spoke up. That's not brave. That's cowardly murder – and not of a kid you never knew like Troop, but the one guy who has actually given a shit about you since you got here.

Maybe because he wants you to win? the argument ran on. If he loves you, then he'll lay down his life for you. It's that simple. Your district will be proud of a winner; Storm would be proud of you going home and living well. Look at him. He's an idealist, like you always realized. Life or death doesn't matter so much to that sort of person; what matters is the message. What's it say if a sweet girl from District 10 beats the field she was never supposed to? That's a message. That's courage.

Bullshit.

Denial is the most predictable response when the answers aren't what you want to hear.

Sam shrugged it off. She'd have to wait for the two from District 1 to die first, wouldn't she? Then everything could come to play; then she could figure this out. Storm no doubt would have better ideas. He was the smart one, no matter what she said – he was the one with the plan most of the time. The can-do attitude; the aggressiveness and assertiveness.

Fresco changed all that.

She barely heard him coming. Only a snap of a downed eucalyptus branch even alerted Sam to something amiss in the forest. She slid her hand over to her kukri with the sound; adjusting the blanket to be able to throw off in a hurry. Storm slept beneath her quietly as her eyes searched the darkness – what was that? Someone, something – had the Gamesmakers released another mutt on them to drive the pair towards the other two?

"Storm!" Sam cried, shaking him once and hurling the blanket off her as the first sight of a body in the forest came into view.

The boy from 12 rose sleepily. Sam had the blade up and reached for her shield just as Fresco emerged from the darkness, sword out and ready. Storm swore and went for his bow as the boy from 1 slammed his blade into Sam's shield, driving her back into a tree. The kid had power – regardless of whatever she had thought of Fresco from the night Gannet had died, when forced into a collapsing situation the Career could fight. He swung the broadsword like a rapier, striking quickly and with a fury as Sam struggled to hold him off. Only the size of her sword kept his swings at bay.

Storm recovered enough to shoulder his quiver of arrows and unloose a shot. Fresco grunted in pain as the arrow slammed dead into his left arm – unfortunately, his non-dominant arm – and recovered just in time to parry Sam's strike. He hacked at her blade and dove to avoid her, somersaulting backwards into the dark.

"Where'd he go?" Storm breathed heavily, an arrow loaded despite him obviously in pain. "You see him?"

"No," Sam exhaled, her eyes scanning. "He was right-"

Fresco plowed out of the forest like a train, just missing Storm with his sword and slamming with all his weight into Sam. She raised the shield in time to accept his weight, but he came through and drove her into a tree. The two fell to the ground with a slam, twisting and turning over the dry earth. Sam felt her shield loosened from her grasp and pried away; it was just her, Fresco, and their two blades now.

Storm moved in to get a better shot but the two were too close. The boy from 1 twisted beneath Sam to use her as a human shield as they battled, grappling her neck and trying for a stranglehold. She bit down hard on his arm, eliciting a scream.

That's blood…and not your blood you're tasting. Salty.

Sam managed to shift position, using Fresco's off-balance arm to drive herself away. He flipped over just in time to avoid Storm's ready arrow that smacked into the ground, inches from his head. Sam rebounded in time to receive an elbow to the face – she'd brought the kukri up to intercept, but Fresco's blow caught her just at the wrong moment. She shrieked and stumbled backwards, swinging blindly in front of her to counteract any follow-up move. Before she had time to recover, however, a chilling sound echoed through the grove.

The sound of a male scream…

She shrugged the blow off and blinked steadily. Fresco was on her again, his blade swinging through a complicated maneuver. She ducked the high swing, taking aim at his gut and pulling through. Fresco grunted in pain as she hit her mark, spilling his blood from a deep gash in his hip that shone in what little light made it to the grove floor. Still the boy came on – as if unhindered by the blow, he spun and slammed his sword against Sam's kukri, knocking her off her footing and to the ground.

Sam prepared for the inevitable as Fresco turned. She had just managed to turn her head and see the sword come swinging downwards for a kill stroke when her metal shield came flinging through the air. It caught Fresco in his neck, knocking him sideways and giving Sam just the time she needed. With the temporary distraction in place, she whipped her kukri around and aimed straight down the middle.

Spluck! The sharpened metal tip of the kukri hit paydirt, bringing forth a gasp from Fresco as she drove the blade vertically from the solar plexus down to his groin. It tore remarkably easily through his flesh, ripping out intestine and sinew as it carved laterally down. The boy from 1 echoed agony and shock on his face as he sank to his knees. Sam ripped the blade out, full of anger at the tribute who had caused her so much hurt. As Fresco tried to steady himself, Sam slashed at his throat.

Under the dark trees, Fresco was no more.

Sam tossed aside the blade as she struggled to contain herself – well, three dead now. Got quite a count going, Sammy. Then she remembered. Storm.

Her partner had fallen to the ground a few meters away, sunken against a tree. His face explained all that needed to be said; Storm's eyes scrunched up in pain and hurt, his mouth jammed shut to prevent cries from escaping his lips. Sam spotted it as she approached – Fresco had gored him straight through the center of his chest, just missing the heart. It wasn't an instant kill, but it was fatal. Storm's time had come.

"No," Sam squeaked out a cry. "No, no no."

Storm managed a small smile. "You…you got him."

"No, Storm," she breathed.

"It's okay," he replied, his eyelids half-closed. "It's okay, Sam. We…all knew this had to happen."

She couldn't be brave like with Gannet. Sam had no control over the tears that flowed like oceans of hurt from her eyes, leaving smearing streaks down her dirt-worn face. She could hardly look into Storm's gray eyes and keep her emotions from completely overwhelming her fracturing psyche.

"Storm, I'm sorry," she cried.

"I'm not," he smiled weakly, reaching his fingers far enough to grip her hand. "Don't be sorry for me. Any other way, I wouldn't be here. I could be a thousand other places dying in some other age…but all I really want is to be here alongside you."

He fretted with pain momentarily before continuing, his words barely audible now as life slowly slipped away. "I'm happy I got you this far. There's just one left, Sam…you have to finish the rest. You…deserve to go back home. Go back to what you love."

"I love you!" Sam cried, saying the words that had never escaped her lips. "I don't want to lose you!"

"You won't," he replied. "You told me you wanted to reach the stars, Sam. They're up there tonight. When I'm gone, I'll be up there with them, smiling down. When you look up and see them…you'll know I'm there. But don't make me an anchor. Find another way to love, another person. Go out and see beauty again…I don't want whatever I am to bring you down. I love you; don't give up now."

Sam sniffed aside tears. "I'll keep fighting. I won't forget you, Storm."

He struggled to bring in enough breath now, inhaling in shallow, short bursts with a voice just loud enough to be heard. "You can touch the stars, Sam. You're the brightest star there is."

His fingers went limp in her hand, sliding away back to the earth. A last exhale drew out from Storm's breath as he let his head slump to the ground, his eyes glassing over with glaze. Deep within the desert somewhere far from District 12, Storm Hawthorne slipped away.

Boom!

Sam slumped her head and shoulders over his body, closing his eyes for the final time. She clutched a handful of sand stained with his blood, bringing her fist to her lips and giving it a kiss. She let it fall from her hand, a trickle of red-soaked earth that fell back to earth like dust from a sieve. The Hunger Games had taken all she had – her optimism, her spirit, Gannet, and now Storm. She had given it everything, and still it had not been enough to save even one last friend from passing on into the dark.

Sitting under the black trees, Sam was finally and ultimately alone.