+ Shout out to Izziwolfy and ArtemisCarolineSnow for the reviews, and to everyone reading and following along! Another Terra-centric chapter here as we stick to the arena. Kinda short chapter, too.

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Why couldn't they just leave me alone?

My heart pounded as I watched a shadowy figure walking towards me as the wind kicked up, shrouding the newcomer in a veil of gray dust. The cloud glowed as lightning flashed behind it, but I couldn't make out a single detail about just who was headed my way. Boy, girl, powerhouse tribute or starving kid; I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out.

I'd been stupid to stay so long on the hill. I couldn't much go sprinting off in the other direction without the other kid seeing me – if he hadn't already – and I doubted I'd be able to outrun him anyway if he had supplies and a few good meals in his belly. My few drinks of water and bites of bug hadn't been enough to keep my muscles from tiring and my stomach from snarling out of angry neglect.

I needed to run, so naturally, I slipped to the ground and froze.

He had to have seen me. The kid closed in, and I pulled my crowbar to my chest. Despite the feeling of the hardened steel in my hands, I felt anything but powerful. I was vulnerable and alone out here. I'd killed the boy from District 7 on sheer luck, and if this tribute was any smarter, I had no chance. My legs refused to kick in even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

As the wind calmed and the dust settled, however, I saw that the new arrival wasn't a killer by the looks of it. My fear of dying at the hands of some brute faded away into a hollowing sort of anxiety, the kind of apprehension that turned my guts into a bubbling swamp.

The skinny, underfed boy from District 12 I'd first noticed back at the chariot parade plodded along through the scree field at the base of the hill. He'd seen me alright: The boy's steps slowed as he approached and he never let his gaze leave the top of the hill. I could just make out his face in the dim light. He didn't look any stronger than when I'd first seen him, and even though the boy had a backpack on, he didn't carry a weapon. The dust covering his every inch made him look like a wilting ghost out here on the wastes.

Would he seriously try to fight me? He was alone, unarmed, and as far as I could tell, he didn't have any trick up his sleeve. There was no way I could kill this kid. It wouldn't be self-defense, it'd be murder. Putting down the kid from District 7 had been bad enough, but at least I could justify it to my skeptical conscious. He'd had the upper hand, he'd come at me, and I'd done my best to play peacekeeper. There were no lies I could tell myself to justify beating this much smaller boy's brains in, even if he rushed me in a headlong suicide charge. I couldn't do it.

The boy, however, didn't look in the fighting mood. He stopped at the edge of the hill's incline, sat down, and unshouldered his pack. I frowned, confused. It had certainly looked like he'd seen me. As he rooted around in his pack for something, however, I crawled forward an inch and strained my eyes for a better look. The boy pulled out a small silver bag and tossed it a few feet up the hill. He glanced up at me for just a second before I understood the gesture. He wasn't looking to fight. He was offering me something.

Trap! screamed an alarm in my head. He's baiting you. You'll run down the hill all eager and he'll skewer you like a rat. Run away. Run away from this kid.

Yet in the back of my mind, some tiny whisper begging for someone else in this lonely hellscape forced me forward. I threw my backpack over a shoulder and held my crowbar aloft, careful to keep my eyes open for some secret danger the boy might have hidden. He tensed up when he saw my weapon, but he held his ground. I inched forward slowly but surely, no more than a foot at a time, keeping my eyes fixed on him. He had to be hiding something. He had to be waiting to strike me as soon as my guard fell.

A thought struck me. He'd tried to help me back at the fire-starting station in training. Ember – that was his name, Ember. He'd shown a friendly hand in training, and I'd run from it.

Trick. Trap.

I slunk forward and snatched the plastic bag he'd tossed to the ground. The contents rattled when I shook it. Careful to keep an eye on Ember, I opened the zipped top of the bag and inhaled a rich nutty scent. After living on bugs and a few sips of water, the smell was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes.

This was the Hunger Games, and Ember was just giving food away.

I hefted my crowbar and backed up a step. "What d'you want for it?" I growled.

"It's not a trade," said Ember. He lowered his head, and darkness swept over his face. "Go ahead and have it."

"Did you poison it?"

He looked up at me without a word and frowned. Can't be too careful, I thought. I pocketed the bag despite my overwhelming urge to chow down on every nut in the bag. "If it's alright, why don't you eat it?" I asked.

"I can't do something nice for someone?" he said, tossing a rock in the air. Thunder boomed as the stone hit the ground.

"We're supposed to be killing each other."

He raised an eyebrow and gave a little snort. "I don't think people like you and me are cut out for that kinda thing."

"I am," I said, sniffing and raising my chin. He's luring you into a false sense of security, Terra, I thought. Pity the weak kid, and then he stabs you in the back of the neck. Get away from him while you still can.

He laughed with a skeptical, high-pitched giggle. "So you're some sort of trained killer?"

"Since yesterday. Or earlier. Whatever day it is."

"That's why you're acting like I'm going to jump you, then," he said, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to act all defensive. I'm not gonna hurt anyone. You're the one with the weapon. Where'd you get that?"

I paused and furrowed my brow. Ember thought I was playing tough. I couldn't figure out what this kid wanted. "Took it from the boy from 7. He attacked me first. Snake bit him. Then I did."

"You're serious?" he asked. His eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw that he, too, was serious. He wasn't playing me for a fool. His dirty, dust-streaked face, with its gaunt cheeks and narrow chin, was the picture of a boy who didn't want to be here. He wasn't a fighter.

It struck me as familiar.

Ember glanced behind him and slumped his shoulders, as if resigning himself to whatever came next. "You gonna kill me too, then?" he asked.

I tightened my grip on my crowbar. Survivors don't pass up opportunities, I thought. It'd be best to get rid of any competition now, especially when I had the advantage. I doubted I'd get the same chance again. Instead of swinging at his head, however, I reached in my pocket, dug out the bag of nuts, and shoved a fistful of them into my mouth.

I sat down and pressed the blood-stained end of the crowbar into the ground, resting my hands on the other end. I kept a few feet from Ember, and I could still react if he tried something, but from the way relief swept across his face, I figured he was happy to have someone who just wanted to talk. Funny thing. "Why'd you come at me?" I asked.

"Didn't see you had that," he mumbled. He paused and waved a hand in the air as if trying to find the right way to phrase his next words. "I'm also…I just…I'm sick of being alone out here."

That hit me with a pang of guilt for thinking he was waiting to backstab me. I was lonely, and here was just another kid from the districts who felt the same thing. Our situations could have been flipped so easily: I could have been some poor, underfed girl from District 12 and he could have come from a decent lifestyle in modest District 5, and we still both would have felt the same thing in here.

I glanced down at my half-eaten bag of nuts. I hadn't prepared for having someone else around in the arena. "Does this mean we're like…a, you know…"

"We're just whatever," he said.

That was fine by me. Team, alliance, whatever. I could do whatever.