Chapter 25: Keep Going

I'm running. My legs move so quickly that I can feel the muscles stretch with every movement, and I love it. The sun is bright above me, and that feels good too. The houses and the people are a blur as I run down the muddy path, the earth squishing and moving beneath my feet. The air is fresh, the way it can only be after a storm. My legs burn just like my lungs, but it feels good, so I keep going.

The scent of coal fills my nose when I pull to a stop, replacing the metallic scent that I can't quite place. I walk up the steps slowly as I catch my breath. The relief of being home is overwhelming, settling deep in my bones and making me feel light for the first time in ages. The door swings open easily when I turn the knob and push. I smile when the cool air hits my skin, when I see the familiarity of my surroundings.

"There you are, sweetie. I was wondering where you were."

The smile on her face is warm, as are her grey eyes.

"Sorry, Mom. I just lost track of time," I tell her, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto my own face.

"Dinner should be ready any minute," she says, walking back towards the kitchen. I follow after her, taking a seat at the table.

"Smells great. What are we having?"

"It's a surprise."

I laugh at the look of excitement on her face, but it falters when I hear a loud sound from outside.

"What was that?" I ask.

Her eyebrows furrow. "What was what, honey?"

"That yelling," I say, throwing a look at the window. There isn't anyone there, but I can still hear it.

"I don't hear anything," she tells me, a look of concern covering her soft features.

"What are you talking about, Rosie?" Amelia says, stepping out of one of the back rooms.

And just like that the yelling is gone.

"Nothing, I thought I heard something, but I was wrong."

I smile at my sister. She looks especially happy today, the warmth in her eyes matching that of my mother's.

"Where were you all day?" Amelia asks as she steps up to the stove, stirring a pot alongside my mother.

"I was…" I pause, thinking over the question. I can't recall anything I've done, except running here, and then the yelling starts again outside. This time there's a high-pitched scream to go with it. "I don't know," I say, ignoring the noises from outside. "Just around, I guess."

She hums and nods.

The sounds get louder, and I want to plug my ears.

"Dinner's ready," Mom announces, and I try to forget about the noises.

Both her and Amelia walk towards me, each carrying a tray. They're covered though, and I can't tell what's in them.

"I'm so excited. I just know you're going to love it," Mom says.

I'm sure I will too. I've always loved her cooking. No matter what we had, she always knew how to make it special.

"It smells great," I tell her with a smile. "So are you ever going to let me know what it is?"

"Of course. Just give me a moment and—"

There's a loud knock on the front door. Something sharp prickles at the back of my neck, and the yelling is back.

"I'll be right back. No peeking," she says, pointing a finger at me before walking to the door.

I crane my neck to see who's there, something nagging at the back of my brain, but Amelia speaks, pulling my attention away.

"You can take a look if you want," she says, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I won't tell her."

I laugh but shake my head. "It's okay, I can wait a little while."

The smile slips from her face, and the warmth follows. Concern fills her eyes as screams fill my ears.

"I think you should take a look."

"Amelia, what's—"

"Please, Rosie," she begs, and it sounds so wrong.

She looks so wrong. The color has drained from her face, a thin red line stretched across her neck. My chest constricts at the sight. I've never seen her look so sad.

My hand reaches out of its own accord. It's shaking, even when I reach the lid of the tray. I pull it back and a gasp slips out of my mouth. A cat-like animal sits on the metal, its eyes wide and staring at me.

"What's going on, Amelia?" I choke out, anxiety spreading through my limbs.

She's by my side in a second, uttering soothing words that I barely hear over the rapid beating of my heart.

"It's going to be okay," she tells me. "You're going to be okay."

"I don't understand," I wheeze.

I can't get my breathing under control. The yelling outside is so loud that I can't hear myself think.

"You've got to keep fighting. Do you hear me?" she says, her voice no longer soothing but stern. "You're almost there. You can't give up now."

"Please, Amelia, tell me what's going on."

She cups both of my cheeks in her hands and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I believe in you, Rosie," she whispers. "Hang on a bit longer. Just push through it. I know you can." Amelia stands abruptly, fear shining in her eyes.

"Look who's here, girls," my mother says.

The screaming from outside fills my ears. I stand on shaky legs.

"Keep going," I hear Amelia whisper as I turn around.

The boy from Seven stands before me, and there's nothing but him and yells surrounding me. Suddenly everything throbs, and I can't move.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes a step towards me and raises his ax. He swings it down and I don't move.

I realize that the scream was coming from me.

There's something uncomfortable tugging at the back of my brain. I try to grasp it, but it slips away, and then I'm too tired to go after it again. There's buzzing in my ears but it's distant. I want to open my eyes, and I think I manage, but I can't see anything. There's a sharp pain in my head from the glaring lights. There's more buzzing, but I ignore it and close my eyes again.

It's there again, something grabbing at me, but I can't name it and I don't want to. I'm too tired.

…

It won't go away. I feel a dull throbbing from somewhere to my left, which is strange, because how could I feel that? It's a steady pain and a flicker of light before everything goes black again.

…

Sharp pain, that's what I feel breaking through the black haze. Am I dead? No, because this wouldn't hurt so badly. My eyes fly open, and the pain becomes excruciating, but this time it's in my head. A whimper passes my lips as bright colors sway in front of me. I think it's a person, but everything is fuzzy. The pain is enough to block out my fear.

"Cato?" My throat feels raw when I speak, and my voice is groggy to my own ears.

I struggle to force my eyes open wider, and everything is too bright and too loud and it hurts. Pain blossoms everywhere as the nausea stirs in my stomach. I start wheezing, and everything spins and then I'm vomiting.

Seconds pass as I catch my breath, and it turns out the world wasn't spinning; I was just being turned on my side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice booming in my ears.

I try to answer, but I feel bile rise in my throat again, so I just nod. My head throbs with the action. There's something wrong with me, I know it, but I can't pinpoint what.

"Stay on your side."

It's an easy command to heed because I don't think I can move.

"My hand hurts," I mumble, even though I try to sound strong.

I blink up at him. He's fuzzy when he speaks.

"You weren't waking up."

I frown at his tone of voice. "What does that mean?"

There's silence for a moment, which is nice.

"I broke one of your fingers."

I almost laugh even though it isn't really funny. It's just not what I was expecting. But he said I wasn't waking up. There must be something wrong with my head. It's the only thing that makes sense.

I try to focus on my surroundings, but it's hard to pay attention to anything other than the throbbing radiating through every inch of my body.

"What's wrong with my head?"

Cato shifts in front of me, and I have to close my eyes again because there's too much light. Then he settles down, and the light fades.

"You've got a concussion," he says bluntly. "A bad one."

"So that's why there's two of you."

Neither one of him smiles.

I can't help but stare at him, trying to figure out how this happened. This must be how Cato felt when he woke up in the cave. It's hard to tell exactly what he looks like because everything is still fuzzy, but it's obvious that Cato has been through some fight. Was it the same one as me?

There's a large red gash across his cheek, and the skin is purple, at least I think it is, forming a dark ring around his eye. There's dried blood on the corner of his mouth, and he looks more tense than I've ever seen him.

"I can't remember what happened," I tell him. I have no reason to pretend to be okay. I can barely move and I know that no one would believe me.

"You went to check the snare," he says. "Ring any bells?"

I try to remember what he's talking about.

"No," I say after a moment.

Another wave of nausea washes over me. Cato waits until I stop dry heaving before he speaks again.

"The tribute from Seven attacked you," he says, and if my head wasn't messed up, I'd think he sounded angry.

There's a flash of someone rushing at me, and the memory of searing pain in my skull as my head slammed against the tree. My heart sinks at the memory, and fear settles low in my stomach.

"He had an ax," I say. It's getting really hard to focus on anything.

"He did."

I remember screeching metal and figures blurring in front of me. "Is that how you got hurt?"

Everything is going black around the edges again. I feel so weak for having to ask, but I try not to let it get to me. I need to know what happened more than I need to pretend that I'm not the most vulnerable I've been since entering the arena.

"Yes."

"Is he… you killed him?"

Both Catos stare at me intently and they nod. "Yes."

My eyelids are too heavy, and I feel them sliding shut.

"Briar?"

"Hm?" My eyes stay closed.

"Briar?" He's too loud again.

I'm afraid to fall back asleep, but I can't fight against it.

"Hey," I hear someone say. "Hey, you need to wake up."

I squeeze my eyes tighter because I can feel the throbbing begin in my head. Then it blooms in my left hand. I groan.

"You conscious?"

Fear jolts through me and I try to get up, but the whole world tilts. I think I'm going to be sick again, and I start to fall over. I feel something—someone—grab me, and I'm placed back on the floor.

They move into my line of sight. I see light colors and then blue, and then I remember what's happening.

"Are you going to throw up again?" Cato asks.

I shake my head, because I don't think so now that the world is standing still again.

"Good."

He stays crouched in front of me, playing with something his hand.

"I passed out again?"

"Yes."

I groan a second time, but now it's not just because of the pain that pulls at my limbs. My head doesn't feel quite as foggy as it did before, but I still can't piece everything together. The only thing I know is that I should probably be dead right now.

"What else is wrong with me? Besides my head?" I ask, blinking up at the sky. It's dark now, so the light doesn't hurt my eyes.

"He got your shoulder with the ax, and you've got a black eye," he says. "And your throat is bruised."

My eyes drift to side and catch sight of something wrapped tightly around my shoulder. I close them after a few seconds though because the pain is horrible. It could be worse, I think, but then I remember that that's all that's wrong with me not counting my head.

"Are you sure you're not going to be sick again?" Cato asks.

"I think so," I say, because I don't really feel like lying. It takes too much energy.

He moves closer to me. "You need to drink this then, but only if you're going to keep it down."

"I will."

He nods. "Okay. You need to sit up then."

I feel him place a hand behind my back to help me up. I'm a little embarrassed that I need it, but I'm thankful nonetheless. I take the small bottle from his hand and pour it down my throat. It burns, and I start coughing, but I get it down.

"You can go back to sleep now," he says. "But I'll have to wake you up in four hours."

I'm confused for a moment. Does he want me to take watch?

"You have a concussion. You have to be woken up every 3-4 hours or you could fall into a coma," he tells me bluntly when he sees my confusion.

I shiver at the thought. What would the Gamemakers do with me then?

"Has that ever happened before? In the Games?" I ask him.

"No. Now stop talking. You're slurring your speech."

"What?"

Even though everything is still hazy, I think I see him roll his eyes. "Just go to sleep."

I do.

That's how it goes for a while: Cato wakes me up every few hours, and I try not to whimper in pain. By the fifth time he wakes me up, there's only one of him, which I hope is a good sign. I tell him as much.

"There's only one of you now."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's good, since there is only one of me."

Shakily, I push myself up into a sitting position. There's a rush in my head, but I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore it.

"What are you doing?" Cato asks, frustration obvious in his tone.

I push myself the last of the way. "Sitting up. What does it look like I'm doing?"

He just stares at me for a second and then shakes his head. "You aren't slurring as much."

"That means the liquid stuff is working, right?"

He shrugs and says, "Seems like it."

"What was it anyway?"

"Don't know. Medicine, I guess. Sponsors sent it," he tells me before passing over a tiny white slip of paper.

I look down at it, trying to read the words. The letters are a black blur on the page, and it sends excruciating pain through my skull when I try to focus on it. I just stare at it for a couple of seconds.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"I'll read it," he sighs.

Embarrassment doesn't even begin to cover what I feel, but I hand it back anyway.

"It says 'Keep it down' and 'Try not to die again,'" he tells me. I think he's joking for a second, but then he raises an eyebrow at the paper before looking at me. "That's some great advice. A lot of thought went into that, I'm sure."

I shrug. "As good as any, I guess."

What else is there to say? Besides, the only thing that matters to me is that someone out there cared enough about me to send this. My head may be messed up, but I can still recognize the importance of this. Medicine is far from cheap, and maybe everything hurts just a little less knowing that someone thinks I'm worth it. Now I just have to prove that they were right.

Cato just stares at me, but I don't think he's going to say anything, so I keep talking. "How long has it been?"

"About a day, maybe a little more."

Fantastic.

It's not that I'm ashamed of having almost died, because I'm not. But I'm… well, I don't really know what I am. Disappointed, maybe? Because all I can remember is thinking about how many people I would be letting down if I died.

If this is how Cato felt after I saved him, I definitely have a new respect for him. The thought sends a shock through me.

Cato saved me. He killed the boy from Seven, and he could have killed me himself when he saw me lying there, completely vulnerable. Instead he brought me here, wherever here is. And he saved me. Why would he do this? The idea that he cares about me in any way, even as an ally, seems absurd, but there's no other explanation. Unless the poison got to his brain. That could be it. I stop thinking about his reasons makes my head hurt worse.

"Thank you," I say. My voice quivers slightly, but I try not to care. This is the least I can give him.

"Why are you thanking me?" he asks.

It sounds confused, which clashes with the expression on his face. I'd almost call that afraid, or maybe even embarrassed. It takes a moment for me to realize that I'm probably making him uncomfortable, but I need to say it. I need to make it real so that I can move on.

"I'm thanking you for saving my life."

"Well stop," he says. Now he looks annoyed.

Definitely uncomfortable.

"Relax, I'm not asking you why you did it, Cato. I don't care why. Whether or not it's because you felt indebted to me, or you wanted me alive, or you had a temporary lapse in sanity, it doesn't matter. I'm just glad to not be dead." He sends me a serious look, and I relent. "Fine, I'll stop."

A couple of minutes of silence pass between us before either one of us speaks again.

"You can go back to sleep if you want."

"I'm not tired," I say, which is a blatant lie, but he doesn't call me out on it. "You've been awake for a long time. I can watch if you want."

He laughs at that, but it's not the angry one I've heard before. "There's no chance in hell that I'm letting you take watch right now. Just go back to sleep, Briar."

I feel better with the use of my first name. I don't back down though. "No, I don't want to."

He narrows his eyes in my direction for a second before he shakes his head. "Fine, do what you want."

"I will."

"How do you still have the energy to be this stubborn?" he asks with a roll of his eyes. It sounds almost teasing, so I just shrug in response.

The truth of the matter though, is that I am tired. Again. I've never had a concussion before, so I don't really know what to make of it. My father had one once from an accident in the mines, and he couldn't work for weeks. What does that mean for me? Especially if Cato said that mine is bad. I internally groan, which is matched by an external one when I lay back down. The part of my head that touches the ground sends pain shooting through my skull, and I can't stop the sound.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I wince. "Just feel like I got my head bashed into a tree."

He snorts at that. "I bet."

I hear movement, and then Cato steps into my line of sight. "You should eat."

There's a bunch of berries in his hand, ones that I pointed out to him as not being poisonous. I glad he remembers that because I don't know how much hunting I'll be doing in the next few days.

"Thanks," I say, taking them from his hand.

He grunts and returns to his spot. I can see the backpack to his right, and that makes me concerned about the wire. We probably don't have it anymore. It's probably still in that spot.

"Hey, Cato?"

"What?"

I lick my lips and try to stamp down the anxiety twisting in my stomach. "How did you know where I was?"

His eyes flicker up to me, and for a second I don't think he's going to answer, but then he says, "I heard you scream."

"Oh."

I don't really know what to say to that, because that, I am a little embarrassed about. I've tried so hard not to let them get to me: to not give them the satisfaction. But then I'm angry because it's so wrong that they've made me feel like this. They're actually beginning to make me embarrassed for being human.

I have to push through it.

I won't let them win.

"Cato?

"Hm?"

"What happened while I was out?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just the tribute from Seven."

I look up and see stars in the artificial sky. I didn't even realize we were outside. "He was a favorite."

He could have killed me.

He should have killed me, but Cato saved me.

"Yeah, his odds were 5-1."

"And now there's only five of us left."

As soon as I say the words, I feel the bracelet around my wrist. This is how close she got to the end, before everything was ruined. I can't stop the pit of fear from forming in my stomach either. Not with Cato so close. I remind myself that I wouldn't be alive without him, and that makes it loosen a little.

We could actually do this. As long as my head doesn't get in the way.

"I'm going to go back to sleep," I say.

"Okay."

"You should sleep too, Cato."

"I'm good."

I can't stop myself from sighing. "You've been awake for more than 24 hours. You have to be tired."

"Someone has to be ready in case we need to move."

"Cato, you're voice sounds like it's coming out of a speaker right now," I say. He merely raises an eyebrow as I continue. "Everything sounds like that. It'll wake me up. Go to sleep."

He's silent, still staring at me and then he says, "Fine," before settling back against a tree and closing his eyes. "Try not to fall into a coma."

He sounds kind of serious, and I try not to be scared. "I'll do my best."

I can feel the ax as it sinks into my chest, the sharp blade slicing slowly through my skin until I can't breathe—until I'm drowning in my own blood. I try to scream, but I have no voice. My head falls to the side, and I see Cato standing there. He does nothing, just watches as I start suffocating.

"I told you, Twelve. You're nothing but dead weight."

I start coughing, and the ax is gone.

I sit up to fight back, and I'm overcome by pain and nausea. Everything is too bright, and I realize that it was a dream. My hand goes to my chest anyway.

"You okay?" I hear someone say, and I startle again.

I try to control my breathing, because I don't want Cato to think that I'm losing it. "Yeah. I was just… I was just remembering the fight." It's sort of the truth.

He doesn't look like he believes me, but there's nothing I can do about that. "We should start moving again. We've been here too long."

"Alright."

He doesn't ask me if I'm okay to move, and I'm more than grateful. Mainly because I know the answer wouldn't be yes, because it still feels like someone is shining a flashlight directly in my eyes and stabbing a knife through my skull, and everything is still a little hazy. There isn't anything I can do about it though. All I can do is hope that the medicine still has some power left in it.

We don't have many things, so we're ready to move without much trouble—for the most part at least. I feel woozy when I stand, like I've done it too quickly, but the light-headedness doesn't really fade. Cato pretends not to notice that I'm unsteady on my feet. But when I start lagging, he can't really ignore it.

He stops and turns, pinning me with intent look. "Do you feel any better?" he asks.

There's a note like concern in his voice, but that doesn't make much sense. But then it hits me that he's tied to me, so he's probably just concerned that I'm holding him back.

"A little."

He searches my face for something, and I have to fight the urge to yell at him. I always feel like he's analyzing me, and it makes me uncomfortable because I can't read him. He has a great mask; no doubt one he learned in the academy. It makes me jealous of him.

When he's done, he doesn't say anything. He merely nods and walks away, and I follow unsteadily after him.

A shift in our relationship—if it can even be called that—becomes obvious to me over the next few days. Cato is nice. I mean, not like Mabel, or Peeta, or even Katniss, but we don't argue. Not once. Which is strange, but that's also nice. With everything going on with my head, I don't want to worry about Cato killing me. And maybe he's a good actor and still plans on it, but that doesn't make much sense considering he saved my life. All I know is that I hope it doesn't change. It would make winning much easier.

I was right about not having the wire anymore, and I can't help but feel bad about it. I should have realized sooner what was going on, that the wire was cut. It would have saved me a lot of trouble. For one, I wouldn't have to rely on Cato to catch food. Not that he can't do it, because he can. And that only makes me realize how much I overestimated my importance to him earlier. He just tosses a knife like it's nothing and then there's dinner. But more importantly, it would have saved us both the trouble of injury. I'm slower and off balance, and everything still feels weird, almost like it's not real. But there's nothing I can do about my head at this point.

Cato's injuries seem less serious, but now that I'm not as bad as I was when I first woke up, I can tell that the fight must have been brutal. The cut on his cheek is actually three different ones, all of which are deep, and I'm almost positive that it's getting infected, which is bad enough. The bruise on the other side covers nearly his whole face, and his limp is even more pronounced than before. I feel terrible, because it's my fault. Well, maybe not mine, but the boy from Seven's. But then again, he was after me, so it's all the same.

Unsurprisingly, I don't bother to ask Cato about his injuries. I don't want him to bite my head off. Especially because he's in the middle of trying to catch us dinner.

I can't help but stare as he moves forward slowly—silently. It's unusual, because I haven't witnessed anything other than his stomp. But I guess this is actual hunting. It's a terrifying thought: that he's capable of moving that quietly, because that could be a person he's sneaking up on, and they wouldn't stand a chance. If Cato wants you dead, I have little doubt that he'd find a way to get it done.

I think it's even truer when I watch the knife sail through the air and into the animal's neck. He's next to me in a moment, the animal in hand.

"You think you can handle cutting this up?" he asks, and I can't help but feel like it's a test of some sort.

I haven't done any of the prep since the fight, mainly because my hand is either so fatigued or so shaky that it's pointless. But I'm feeling a little better, so I answer with a yes.

He doesn't look convinced and he tells me as much. "Are you sure?"

I roll my eyes. "Why do you bother to ask if you're just going to question every answer I give you? I'm fine, Cato."

"If you say so," he says, handing me the animal. "I'll start the fire."

It takes me much longer than usual to finish skinning and cutting for two reasons: first, my movements are sloppy, like I've lost some control of my limbs, and second, because I can't understand Cato. He keeps questioning me, and it makes me wonder why he didn't just let me die if he thinks I'm so… weak. It just doesn't make sense. He doesn't make sense. And on top of that, it doesn't make sense that I'm thinking about this because it's a waste of time and energy.

"You almost done?"

"Yeah. Can you pass me a stick?" I ask, not bothering to look over to him.

He does without further question, and when I finish putting it over the fire, I notice that he doesn't seem nearly as grossed out as the other times, which is an improvement.

"How's your head?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"It's fine. Stop asking," I say. It comes out a lot harsher than necessary, but I can't help but snap at him. I don't want him to keep bringing it up: to keep reminding sponsors that there's something wrong with me.

He looks momentarily taken aback by the harshness in my voice, and it makes me feel a little bad. But only a little.

"Are you sure about that?"

I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. I really don't have the energy to argue with him. "Why do you keep asking, Cato? It's not like it'll change the answer."

"I know."

"Then why keep asking?" I huff out. "Are you just trying to make sure I'm not going to hold you back?"

He rolls his eyes. "If I thought you were going to weigh me down, I would have let Seven kill you," he says.

I blink at him, heat rising to my cheeks at his words—how true I know they are. I don't really know how to respond to that, and thankfully he saves me from having to.

"Are you always so defensive?"

"I'm not defensive," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

He raises an eyebrow. "There. You're doing it again."

"You're one to talk."

"And again."

"I'm not that…" I begin. I stop though, because I know he's right. "Maybe I am," I concede, "but why wouldn't I be? You do know where we are, right?"

"No, why don't you enlighten me?" he deadpans. Then he shakes his head. "I don't buy it. You were like this even before we got into the arena."

"That's because I was afraid of you."

My head snaps up, which makes everything spin, and my mouth shuts. A wave of embarrassment rushes through me. Crap. I can't believe I just admitted that to him, for everyone to hear.

I don't want to see Cato's reaction, but my eyes are traitorous. But he isn't smirking like I expect him to be. Instead, he looks just as surprised as I am.

Then the smirk appears, and I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course he's proud of that.

"You were afraid of me."

"Yes," I concede, because there's no point in lying now. "How could I not be with… everything. Besides, you weren't exactly non-threatening. You basically cornered me on the roof," I say, thinking about our time in the training center—how terrified I was.

He huffs. "I did not."

"You did."

"You could have left at any moment. And besides, you didn't seem very afraid."

That's a relief. I'd try to smirk, but I don't trust my brain to do it correctly. "And that made you mad."

He smirks again, and I feel like I've lost. "So were you."

"Of course I was mad," I say in exasperation. "It's not exactly common for people to say that—" I stop abruptly, suddenly remembering that we're probably on camera right now. I don't know why, but I don't really want people to know all the details of that conversation. "Most of the things you said were less than civil."

"You weren't much better."

"Yeah, but you weren't threatened by me, so it's not the same," I say.

He shrugs. "Still, you seemed even less afraid after that. Why?"

I worry my lip between my teeth, trying to figure out how to explain it, because he's right. In some weird way, I was less afraid. Well not less afraid, but less concerned maybe?

"I don't know. I guess it's because of what you said at the end. I felt relieved, I guess."

"Relieved?" he asks, his voice incredulous. He obviously remembers that his words shouldn't really be considered the reliving variety.

I can't help but laugh a little, because I still find it ridiculous that I felt this way. It doesn't change it though. "Yeah, relieved. It sounds crazy, I know, but it just… I didn't feel like I was going to be singled out, and that was a relief."

He stares silently for a few seconds, and then shakes himself out of it. "You don't make any sense," he says at last.

"Maybe not," I say, but I can't think of another way to explain it.

The people watching us right now are probably confused, because neither of us actually made clear what was said.

"But you aren't anymore?"

"I'm not what?"

"Afraid," he says. "You said I was afraid of you. So you aren't anymore?"

His face is carefully blank, which is annoying, because I can't tell what he wants the answer to be. In the end, I go with a watered down version of the truth.

"This is the Hunger Games, Cato. I'm afraid of everything."

He tilts his head to the side, looks away, and then back at me again. "Good."

I send him a confused, slightly offended look. "What do you mean 'good'."

"You'd have to be stupid to let your guard down," he tells me, his face serious.

The words should be threatening, and maybe they make me a little nervous, but not as much as they should. They don't sound like a threat. It's more like a statement of fact. And it sort of sounds like another way of telling me he approves. But that's probably just wishful thinking on my part. Or my messed up brain making things up.

"I still don't buy it though," he says, breaking me from my thoughts. "That you weren't this defensive before the Games."

"And I never pegged you as the nosey type."

"I'm not. But you wouldn't know either way because you don't know very much about me."

"And you know a lot about me?" I ask, the skepticism clear.

"No, but you're easy to read, so it probably wouldn't be difficult to figure out," he says before taking a bite out of the squirrel.

"Do you always think so highly of yourself? I mean, I don't think I've ever—"

Boom.

I flinch at the sound, my ears ringing and my head pounding painfully, but I try not to care. We both look up to the sky as the sound echoes around us. Another one down.

"What do you think the odds are that the cannon was for either Mace or Nerissa?" I ask, not even bothering to finish my last comment.

Cato huffs out a breath and answers without taking his eyes off the sky. "If I was going to bet, I'd say low. But it's hard to tell."

"The only other tribute is… a girl from your district."

He nods, but his face is emotionless. "Yeah."

I feel something uncomfortable settle low in my stomach and in my chest. It's like a strange mixture of guilt and fear, and I know exactly why. What would happen if we had to face the girl from his district? Would he kill her? Maybe if it came down to winning, but… that would look bad, and I'm sure he knows it—winning with a girl from Twelve by killing someone from your own district. I really hope it doesn't come down to that.

"How good is she?"

"Good," he says after a beat, turning his eyes to the fire.

And I know by that he means great. I remember him mentioning that the other girl from his district was even better than her, and I'm glad I didn't have to face her. I try not to sigh in disappointment. No matter who the cannon was for, it still leaves two Careers.

"How long until they decide it's time?" I ask. I don't bother to specify what I mean, but it seems that Cato doesn't need me to.

"Who knows? Couple days, maybe."

I hope he's right, because I won't stand much of chance against anyone if the world turns upside down every time I take a step.

We eat quietly, waiting for the anthem to begin. When it does and it shows the face of the girl from Two, we stay silent because there isn't much to say after that. I take first watch even though Cato seems no more comfortable with the idea than he did after I first got injured. He must know that while I don't stand much of a chance in this state, he does. So he goes to sleep. And thus concludes another day in the arena, I think. No matter what happens in the next few days, I don't have many more.

The next day is quiet, both of us alert in case the Gamemakers decide to get this over with quickly. Well actually, Cato is alert, while I try to be. But I can't focus on anything too long before the nausea burns away at my stomach and lodges in my throat. To make matters worse, my ears continue to ring, and I keep flinching, thinking that I hear someone coming. Cato sends me weird looks every time. He must think I'm going crazy. Maybe I am. I've given up trying to judge sanity in the arena.

We don't talk much except the occasional comment about the terrain, what to expect, and planning. It's not an unpleasant silence though, which is nice. And weird. Cato is my fourth alliance in the Games, and the only person I can say that I've been more comfortable around is Barden. Not that I'm comfortable with Cato. I'm just not worried every second that he's going to lose it or stab me in the back. I should probably be worried at the latter, but I'm not. I'd blame it on my head, but I know that isn't really it. I've saved his life and he saved mine. Twice, if I'm being more specific. And there's only one other team left and we can go home. If he were going to kill me, he would have done it already.

I feel bad because we have to stop every hour or so, because I'm just too exhausted to keep going. By the time we stop for the night, I don't feel much else besides embarrassment. I already know what they're thinking in the Capitol: I don't stand a chance.

"It's the concussion," Cato tells me as I take a large gulp of water.

I swear under my breath because even that hurts. I unwrap the bandage around my shoulder, inspecting the wound left by Seven's ax. It isn't too deep, but it's red and itchy. It seems to be scabbing over, which hopefully indicates that it won't get infected. That's the last thing I need right now.

I'm so busy staring at my shoulder that I barely realize Cato is walking towards me until he's right in front of me. His face is only a couple of inches from mine, and I flinch back.

"Hold still."

"What are you doing?" If I could, I'd roll my eyes at how pathetic my voice sounds.

Cato's eyes stay focused on me, and I shift uncomfortably. "Making sure your pupils are the same size."

What?

"What?"

"It's been four days, and you're still getting dizzy, and you flinch nearly every time something makes a noise," he states. It isn't a question because we both know it's true.

"What does that have to do with my pupils?" I ask, this time trying to stand still so he can look. Obviously it's important.

"You aren't getting much better, even with the medicine."

"I don't feel like my brain is going to explode anymore," I say weakly.

He steps back and sends me an unamused look. "If your pupils are different sizes, it could mean you have internal hemorrhaging. They're the same size," he adds, no doubt seeing the look of alarm on my face.

He's still within arm's reach, and so he easily plucks a knife from my vest. "Try throwing this."

I can practically feel the color drain from my face, but I take the knife from his outstretched hand. I have to try. I can't look weak. I take a deep breath, remembering what Cato told me, and then I throw. The effort knocks me off kilter, so I miss where it lands. I don't look up right away because I'm afraid of what I'll see. And when I eventually do, I know I was right to be. The knife sticks out of log no more than ten feet in front of me.

I want to cry, and scream, and curse the Capitol. The rage swells in me quickly, most of it aimed at the boy from Seven. It doesn't matter to me that he probably just wanted to go home like I do. He did this to me, and he could be the reason I don't get to go home either.

Cato pulls the knife out of the log, and hands it back to me. His lips are pulled into a thin line, and I can't read anything on his face. But then again, I never can unless it's anger.

"Do it again," he says.

And of course I listen. I don't want him to decide that I can't do this, and that he should just get rid of me himself. I do it about ten more times, and I feel absolutely horrible. My limbs are sluggish, and my head and stomach are swimming. Cato must notice because he stops me from taking another shot.

"I've got first watch."

I'm extremely grateful when I wake in the morning to find that he never woke me to take over.

"Hey," I say, nudging Cato's leg.

He's alert in seconds, looking ready to pounce on anything that attacks.

"It looks like another storm is coming. We should head out," I say, glancing at the afternoon sun. Or rather, lack thereof.

He nods and we're off in minutes. It's getting tiring doing the same thing over and over again. Even with Cato around, the only things I can pay attention to are the constant pounding in my head and the large pit of worry that's continuously expanding in my stomach. We're running out of time, and I'm running out of energy. It's been almost three days since the cannon went off for the girl from Cato's district. I just want this to end. I can practically feel the energy seeping out of my pores, and I want it to stop.

It actually makes me thankful for the storms, because that means it's not nearly as bright outside. It's not as hot either. The only problem is the wind. I'm not completely steady as it is, and the wind just makes it that much worse. I'm afraid of another flood. That, of course, only makes me think of Mace and Nerissa, and I'm right back to the pit in my stomach.

We head back towards the lagoon, trying to make our way back to the caves. We're careful to avoid the poppies though. We're careful to avoid a lot of things, and I can tell it's making Cato antsy. He basically says as much.

"It's taking too long." He casts a glance to the side, and I can see the tension clear on his face.

"I know," is all I can say in response.

I don't know why the Gamemakers have allowed it to stretch on this long, but I know that the end must be coming soon. The knowledge that I'll either be a victor or dead in the next few days is nearly crippling, but I keep moving. There's no point in stopping now. I'm so close. I have to keep going.

We walk quietly for hours. On some level, I'm praying that we'll run into Mace and Nerissa, just so that we can get this thing over with. I know Cato feels the same.

Apparently so do the Gamemakers.

The earth begins to shake beneath my feet, and I stumble sideways into a tree. I frantically look over to Cato, but he's stable on the shaking ground. Then there's a loud clanging noise. I wince as it ricochets through the air, and the earth shifts again. It tilts, and we're both sliding down towards the lagoon.

I look up, trying to stop the world from spinning all around me, and that's when I hear it.

"Well look what we have here," someone drawls.

My vision clears, and Mace is there. Everything in my body constricts and then expands, forcing me to my feet. Cato is already prepared, sword in hand. I clutch my knife so tightly that my knuckles turn white. And then Nerissa strides up beside him.

"I always knew I'd be seeing you here, Cato," Mace continues before his gaze shifts to me. "I've got to say though, birdy, I didn't expect you to make it this far. But that'll only make this more fun. Won't it, Nerissa?"

The girl in question smirks beside him, but there's something different, something off about it. It looks tired, and not nearly as confident as I remember. She's looking worse for wear—so is Mace for that matter—but I know that we don't look any better.

My stomach drops. This is it.

Cato walks closer to the pair, his pace near leisurely. "Maybe you could win this if you didn't talk so much," Cato says before he's moving, so quickly I barely know what's happening.

Him and Mace collide, and the fight has officially begun. I look long enough to see Cato punch him in the face, but then my attention is drawn away.

"Let's see what you got, Twelve," Nerissa says, as she paces in front of me.

There's a small limp in her walk, and I catalogue it because it might be her only weakness. I don't know what she's waiting for as she circles me. If she wants me to attack first, it's not going to happen. My body screams at me to move, but I can't give up the defensive.

"Are you going to tell me how you've managed to survive this long?"

"You're more than welcome to ask," I say, taking a step to the side as she continues to circle me.

"Has big, bad Cato been taking care of you?"

I take a deep breath, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. "I said you could ask. Not that I would answer."

She glares, and she's nearer to me all of the sudden. I don't know how I missed her inching closer. I'm in her range, and I can practically see her fingers itching to use her trident. I should move, but my limbs are glued to the ground.

"I don't need you to answer. He can't protect you now."

And she's right. My eyes flit sideways as Mace slams Cato back against a tree. Cato head butts him and I hear something crack. I can't watch him though.

I look over to Nerissa just in time to see her lunge towards me. I lurch sideways, her shoulder hitting mine and sending me stumbling. My head is foggy and so is my vision, but a blurry figure moves towards me and I know it's her. I kick my leg out and it hits her weak ankle. She falls to the ground beside me, and I struggle to push myself away from her reach. I can barely feel the throbbing in my limbs as we both stumble to our feet.

I sprint forward, but I'm not fast enough. Her trident slashes across my back and it screams with pain. I cry out, but I keep going. Ignoring the pain, I pivot on the spot, facing Nerissa. I make a mental note not to turn my back on her again. I distantly hear the sound of metal on metal. Nerissa's heavy breathing reaches my ears.

Part of me just wants to give up, to collapse on the dirt and let her kill me. The pain in my back and my head is blinding, but I can feel the adrenaline shooting through my body and I grab onto it as tightly as I can.

She comes at me again, and I'm thrown to the ground. She's pinning me down, one knee digging into my arm with the knife and the other pulling at my hair. I don't know where the trident went. I could die any second, but if I can, I'm going to make her suffer with me.

I put my hand on her face and shove back. She slips to the side just enough for me to yank my arm free. I slice the knife towards her, but she dodges it just quick enough so it only leaves a shallow cut on her cheek. I bring my other hand back and punch her in the throat. She reels back, gasping for breath.

I flail beneath her, trying to throw her off. I can feel bile in my throat and searing pain in my back, but I don't stop. With the punch to her throat and my flailing limbs, she can't stay on top. I push myself up and she dives towards me again, and I have no choice but to fling the knife towards her. She blocks her face with her hand, and the knife lodges in her palm. She screams, and I push myself to my feet as she dislodges it.

Someone cries out, and I can't tell if it's Cato or Mace. I want to check, but I don't. I don't know what to do, because my body just feels too slow, but I have to push through.

Something glinting catches my eye, and I realize that it's her trident. We spot it at the same time, and we both lunge. The metal is warm in my grip as my hand closes around it, but she tackles me before I can make a move. We wrestle on the ground for the object, but my grip slips on the metal and she wrenches it from my grasp. My shoulder jerks with the movement, and then the butt of the weapon collides with my cheek. I thrash but it's useless. She'll kill me, I know it.

I'm not wrong because everything is still for a moment, and then I swing my knife towards her chest as the tips of the trident slide through the flesh in my side. The scream that pushes out of my throat is agonized as heat and excruciating pain explodes throughout every nerve in my body.

I barely notice her slipping off of me. I'm paralyzed on the ground, my body in absolute agony. I can feel the energy flood out of the wound in my side as the blood pools beneath me. My head lolls to the side, and I see Nerissa struggling to push herself up. I know that I should get up too or I'm going to die right here, but everything my brain says is drowned out by the searing pain in my limbs. My head drifts to the other side, and I think I can make out Cato and Mace. I can't tell who is who, and my head drifts back to Nerissa.

She presses a hand into her chest, and I can see the red flowing over the fingers. The word flies to my mind, bouncing around and forcing me to listen. Survive, it screams. My entire body quivers with the effort, but I manage to push myself to my feet just as Nerissa stands slowly. I grab another knife from my vest despite the protest in my limbs. I'll die if I don't do this. I still might. But I have to.

I stick the knife out to the side, and then we move together. I don't know what happens as we collide on the ground, because then she's suddenly falling away from me and my knife is gone. I cough and I can taste metal in my mouth, and everything hurts, but it's fading. I roll to the side with the thought of getting up, but my body doesn't cooperate, so I give up. I look over to where Nerissa had fallen, and I see something black sticking up from her abdomen. It gets blurrier with every second, but it's clear to me what's happening.

I'll be dead soon.

Nerissa lays unmoving on the ground beside me, and I wonder if maybe she's dying too. I can't hear a cannon though. Does that mean Cato's still alive? I try to crane my head to see because I can't hear anything, but my head doesn't move. My muscles are too tired. I think I laugh, even though it's completely out of place. I came so close, and I'm going to die. Maybe Cato can still win. I hope he does, even if it's without me. It makes my chest hurt though, even though I can't feel anything else, because I'm going to let Mabel and Mr. Fairbain and Haymitch and everyone down.

Has there been a cannon yet?

No.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, as I let my eyes drift shut and myself drift under.

No matter what happens now, it's over.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

AHHH, so the arena is finally over. There's only one more chapter left. I don't know how to feel, guys. This story took me over a year to write and now it's almost over... But worry not. Winter break is coming up for me, so there may or may not be some one-shots/specials coming your way. If you guys have any requests for things you'd like to see in them, let me know in the reviews or send me a message! In addition, I have two playlists created for this story. One is a list of pretty much every song that I listened to/inspired me while writing, and that's almost 300 songs. The other is the unofficial, official soundtrack. I'm hoping to get them on Spotify and potentially 8tracks, but we'll see how that goes.

SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Briar did indeed hang on. Proud of my girl

Mely-the-Mockingjay: They say to write what you know, and I'm certainly a little like Briar in that sense. It just came easier to write her being somewhat socially timid/uncomfortable.

WhiteEevee: Coming up with ideas of other Games was honestly one of the most interesting and fun things because it just allowed for a lot of creativity. And Cato probably did enjoy that class lol. I really enjoy writing those one-liners too. He's just so easy because he's so distinct. Not gonna lie, I was very attached to the ending there. It was probably about the second or third thing I wrote when thinking up this story, and I was determined to make it fit.

FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: But playing with feelings is half the fun ):... I kid, I kid. Hope this chapter makes up for it!

SecretsWithSouls00: We shall see what happens...

Phew, that's all for now, guys. Hope all of you in the US had a good Thanksgiving, and that you enjoyed the chapter!